Barefoot Heroine

  Barefoot Heroine

  A Mayne Attraction Short Story

  by

  Ann Mauren

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2011 by Ann Mauren

  Contents

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  An Author’s Request

  Feeling Attracted?

  Now Available: In The Spotlight

  Coming Soon: In The Smoke

  Coming Soon: In The Shadow

  Chapter 1 - Intervention

  Ash Ryan

  Louisville, Kentucky, USA

  It was just after dawn on a dewy morning in early summer when a battered pickup truck—perhaps a defeated veteran of some demolition derby circuit—rolled noisily through the neighborhood. I noticed it while I was out for a perimeter check which doubled as my morning jog, unable to avoid breathing in the cloudy evidence of the vehicle’s faulty transmission.

  There were two people in the truck: a hulking mass of a man behind the wheel periodically spitting tobacco out of his lowered window and a scrawny but heavily pregnant waif who was awkwardly exiting the vehicle at each mailbox to place a folded note behind the flag. Though it appeared that she may deliver her baby at any moment, she seemed unaware or at least unbothered by this fact and made quick work of the note distribution. They covered the entire development within fifteen minutes before rolling off with a thick cloud of choking exhaust and the deep rumblings of a damaged muffler receding in their wake.

  The note left at my box could best be described as sad, especially as it appeared the style and content would negate the considerable effort that had been expended in its delivery in the first place. Childish, nearly illegible handwritten scrawl solicited the house cleaning services of Ester Mosley, who promised to be cheap and fast with a deal sealing closing assurance of “very perfeshonal work.” Perhaps she should have consulted a ‘perfeshonal’ for a little proofreading on her sales flyer. Apparently her chauffer didn’t have any other talents beyond procreation and driving.

  Once I had returned inside my home next door the advertisement came to rest at the bottom of my office waste bin—a three point shot from way outside. No doubt the neighbors’ copies would all suffer a similar fate.

  I always looked forward to the time of day when the postal carrier performed his rounds in our neighborhood. His visits to Ellery’s mailbox were the one reliable temptation that lured her from the house each day. It was often my only glimpse of her once school was out for the summer. When her time was her own she chose to spend it alone and mostly out of sight. The focus of our team’s covert surveillance and security operation had turned out to be a lovely and eccentric young hermit whose most notable activity was strolling down her own driveway and back. Sometimes the cruel intervention of Murphy’s Law in my affairs seemed limitless. Still, the pay was unbelievable given the lack of complication or stress involved to fulfill the mission. I’d spent several years putting my life on the line for the government and received far less in monetary compensation or personal satisfaction.

  The mailman drove up earlier than normal and I was worried that Ellery might sleep through the sound of his arrival. But she too must have been ahead of schedule because she appeared on cue just moments after a comically large handful of junk mail was transferred inside and the door of her mailbox was re-secured.

  Looking sleepy, somewhat disheveled and still dressed in pajamas (which were adorable and which I found far too pleasing) she removed the unruly stack of correspondence from the box and then lifted and examined the ‘flyer’ from behind the flag.

  She stood motionless considering the message for much longer than its brief contents would have required. Then in an oddly emotional move she pressed the note to her chest and glanced around at the other mailboxes on her court, an anxious expression playing across her face. Then a different emotion graced her features: determination. She shoved everything, including the flyer, into the mailbox and darted back into her house through the front entrance from which she had come. Within seconds the garage door was yawning open and she came flying out at top speed on her bike—still pajama-clad and dangerously barefooted.

  I couldn’t understand this behavior at all, but as she methodically made her way around the neighborhood it was clear that her goal was to remove all the flyers until she had claimed each and every one of them.

  Completing the task in approximately the same amount of time it had taken the couple to place them, she returned to her garage, dumped the jumble of solicitations into the garbage can and pushed the button to shut the double wide garage door, disappearing inside her home once more.

  Why?

  Why on earth would she do that? Was she that offended by another person’s unfortunate lack of education and writing skills? Wouldn’t it be clear to her that the solicitor truly needed the work they were offering to perform?

  This action seemed totally out of character for Ellery who had established beyond all doubt the kind, patient and generous nature of her personality.

  It was obvious that the duo needed the money from what would unquestionably be Ester’s solo janitorial labors, though admittedly, because of the presentation style of the note, responses would likely be limited, if not altogether nonexistent.

  It seemed, however, that Ester’s fortunes were about to take a turn for the better. Within just twenty minutes, Ellery reemerged through the garage—fully dressed this time—with a thick folder under her arm, resuming the same urgent pace on her bike.

  I laughed in pleasure and disbelief when it was clear what her next task involved. She was now replacing Ester’s notes with something else, something that was guaranteed to be far better.

  Due to the timing, very few of the original flyers (with the exception of mine and two others) had been received by their intended recipients, so Ellery was able to seamlessly insert her production in place of the unacceptable predecessor.

  I had no doubt that the revamped advertisement would be a million percent improvement, but the campaign also benefited from an industrious and gorgeous little messenger. If anyone saw her she would likely be mistaken for the service provider, thus increasing interest and business in a way that even the promise of free house cleaning could not.

  I would pay any price she named for the privilege of having her visit my home—let alone clean it—though, in my fantasies she already cared for the maintenance of things that were ours, not mine. Of course, she was far too young and likely had much better sense and taste to ever return affections to the likes of me.

  When she reached my mailbox she hesitated, then she moved on, deciding not to plant her new message since the original had already been retrieved and the damage was done. I waited until she was back inside, her hero work concluded for the moment, before stepping out to steal a neighbor’s copy of her handiwork.

  Her lightning fast desktop publishing and ad production skills were impressive. Framed in a neat border with a sharp looking mop and dust pan piece of clipart centered at the top, she had given Ester’s marketing campaign an injection of credibility and professionalism in the manner of a true hero—one who would receive no credit or thanks for a good deed well done.

  I never would have guessed that I could have anything in common with someone like Ester Mosley, but just like hers, my own fortunes were about to take an extremely beneficial turn due to the secret actions of a barefoot heroine.

  Chapter 2 - Invitation

  One year later

  Nearly losing Ellery was a shock to my system. I wasn’t myself for several days afterwards. I couldn’t stop thinking about what almost happened. If she had drowned in Cincinnati I would have probably killed myself not long afterward, but not before killing a cert
ain Goth with horrible judgment first. Happily, I now held the distinction as an agent who had saved her life, but I still maintained my place on the half of our team of players who had not officially met Ellery Mayne in person, while she was conscious, that is. Although she didn’t know it yet, I was her soul-mate. Still, the frustrating fact of the matter was that after a year in her presence (but not her consciousness) I had no relationship with her. And that was what I wanted more than anything else: to be her closest friend and to move on from there to being her closest family. Instead, I was nothing but a reclusive yet extremely nosy neighbor.

  It was April now, almost May. Derby Day was just around the corner. The weather had turned wonderfully warm and pleasant after a surprisingly cold and snowy winter. I thought I’d left behind that kind of season when I’d graduated from M.I.T., never to return to Massachusetts again. Kentucky had turned out to be full of surprises. I loved it here, and that was the biggest surprise of all. Of course, all the color and interest would drain away without the presence of my Bluegrass Sunshine neighbor next door.

  Through her weekly girls’ day out sessions (which stung me like a thousand paper cuts in a lemonade swimming pool) Lidia had learned that Ellery would be home alone for the next week while her parents went on a cruise for their anniversary. It was rare when someone other than “Trevor” provided such important information, and Lidia had made the most of it at the staff meeting, reveling in the temporary spotlight. She triumphantly proclaimed that to celebrate having the house all to herself, Ellery was hosting a small dinner party on Friday evening at which she and Ray would be the guests of honor.

  I was so miserably jealous that I couldn’t be around anyone, especially Lidia. When Friday came I wanted to take a sleeping pill and hibernate through it, instead of stare at everything that happened like the sad loser next door who wasn’t invited. If Lidia caught me looking while I was supposed to be off duty I might have to shoot myself.

  Like the junkie that I was, I spied from behind my own windows, moving to get better views when they passed from the kitchen to the deck and then to the backyard. Ellery had been busy that day, starting with a trip to the grocery store in Middletown where the cashier took so inexplicably long to ring out her order that I briefly toyed with the idea of cutting in and finishing the check-out job myself, cover be damned. Although the cashier didn’t deserve it, Ellery was forbearing and polite as opposed to irritated and impatient.

  As the days stretched out and everyone was enjoying having Ellery in their lives but me, I was starting to get recklessly unconcerned about my cover. It was like a prison, and I was desperate to make a daring escape. So I was overjoyed when Ellery herself came to set me free.

  I watched her as she worked in the kitchen. Moving back and forth from the refrigerator to the stove, she gathered dishes and containers from the cupboards, actually standing on a kitchen chair to do so, then moved outside to set the table on the deck. She looked happy and somewhat excited, if her quick, nearly skipping gate was any indication of her mood.

  When Ray and Lidia arrived I could see her visiting with them in the kitchen while she finished the last touches of their meal. Then she led them outside to try the tossing game I’d seen her playing last summer. Both parents had tried to engage her in this activity, but whenever any other human appeared she would quickly lose interest and go inside. Still, I had been amazed at how accurately she could throw the little bags. She hit the hole almost every single time and I had amused myself with the notion that she could make a fortune if sharking was in her nature.

  Ellery had the target boxes set out in the yard and it looked like she was going to get the bags when she emerged from the storage area looking perturbed. A moment of conversation passed and then, to my astonishment, she made a straight line for me, crossing around to my front entrance.

  The floor felt like it was moving under my feet. Ellery Mayne was at my door! She rang the bell a number of times while I agonized over whether or not to turn the handle. Should I let myself out of this prison in the shadow or stay hidden and unknown to the most important person in my life? How would Ray—my boss and my best friend—react if I broke our protocol? How could I live with myself if I didn’t? I knew I’d never have another opportunity like this one. My heart hammered as I opened the door to greet the most beautiful and perfect neighbor of all time.

  Standing face to face at last, we were both pulled into a moment of suspended animation. I was about to say hello when I got caught up in her expression. She was searching my face, concentrating very hard, as if she was trying to work out a complicated math problem at the same time. Eventually her eyes settled on my own and we stood for who knows how long reading souls.

  She snapped out of it first and her face caught up to the situation with a lovely blush, rosy and warm on her soft ivory colored cheeks.

  “Hi. I’m … uh … Ellery.”

  Her voice was soft and shaky with nerves. My heart would have gone out to her if it wasn’t already there.

  “I-I live next door,” she explained. After an eternity of locked eyes, now she couldn’t hold my gaze and spoke to the threshold instead. I followed her eyes to the ground and noticed that she was barefoot, once again. Her feet matched her perfectly: lovely and petite.

  “I was hoping to see if I could borrow the bags to your corn-hole game.”

  Is there any way I can just cut through every pretense and tell you right here and now what you mean to me? No. Probably not. Wait a minute! She just said the name of whatever those things were and I missed it!

  When I smiled but didn’t answer immediately she repeated herself.

  “Corn-hole?” she asked.

  That’s what they call it?

  “Oh … I mean yes. Certainly. You’re welcome to whatever you need from me. Any time.”

  A kiss, a hug, a husband … whatever you need.

  It made me smile just thinking of how absurd I was being. I hoped she couldn’t read minds.

  Though it was obviously a struggle with her shy nature, she pulled her eyes up to mine. We stood and regarded each other for another stretch of time, each one smiling self-consciously. Finally she repeated the phrase “Corn-hole?” including an underhanded throwing gesture for good measure.

  She was so adorable! She didn’t know that it was totally unnecessary to be nervous over me. It would be like Cleopatra being nervous around one of her fan waving or grape peeling slaves.

  I laughed once and said, “Oh yes. Okay. I have to admit, I don’t know what that is, exactly.”

  She laughed too. It was a musical and sweet sound.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s the game where you throw the bag of corn into the hole …”

  She seemed embarrassed by her explanation and started again.

  “Did you clean out your garage after you moved in?”

  Was this a trick question? Was I a slob if I hadn’t or was I callous to the history here if I had? What was the right answer?

  While I debated she broke in saying, “It’s just that, if you didn’t move it or throw it away, I probably know where to find what I need.”

  Oh, of course!

  This was like her second home, though if I had my way, it would be her primary residence and she would be mistress of this place in the not too distant future. She knew what she needed and where to find it. I just needed to get out of her way. So I did that and waved her past me.

  She walked right in, down the hall and into the kitchen, where she turned and headed out into the garage with business-like determination. Outside the kitchen door in the huge garage, where my SUV looked small and alone, there was a bank of cabinets and she located what she needed inside a clear plastic container stored there.

  She seemed pleased and said, “Here they are. So I just need them for tonight. I can bring them back when we’re done … or …”

  She paused for a moment and looked very hopeful as she asked, “Or would you like to come over and … be my partner?”

 
; Yes! Yes I would! I would like that above all else.

  She was talking about for a game. I was talking about for life.

  She continued, the blush firing again on her cheeks, “I mean, if you don’t have plans, that is. I made dinner … and there’s plenty … and when we play, well, you’re supposed to play on teams, and well … we could be a team.”

  I nearly said ‘I do’ and kissed the bride. Then it occurred to me that I should stop being idiotic and give her an answer. The last thing in the universe I wanted to convey was hesitation.

  I replied to her query with, “Amazing! I just went from a TV dinner all alone to a gourmet meal and a game night. I gladly accept your invitation. What time should I arrive?”

  I was so happy with the turn of events and the realization that she desired my presence at her dinner party that I actually felt slightly high. And it was a huge thrill when it dawned on me, after several seconds of wordless smiles between us that she seemed to look like she felt the same way. I was moving from feeling slightly high to extremely high as I let myself hope that this attraction, potent and all consuming, might actually be … mutual.

  I needed to focus now so that we could cross over from plans to action. I asked, “Shall I escort you home now, or would you like me to stop by a little later?”

  She blinked twice, looking through me for just a moment and then said, quite eagerly, “Oh! You can come with me now!”

  Her enthusiasm made my heart swell.

  I took the box of game pieces from her and extended my arm in invitation to accompany her back to the party. The answering smile that graced her face was happy and expectant. It was not my imagination. Unless this was the most perfect of sweet dreams, her hold around my arm gave a decidedly possessive impression. It felt sublimely mutual.