Brush of Shade Read Free

past
me, laughing when I stumbled against the cooler.
    A steadying hand
gripped my elbow until feet and crutch were steady. I turned slowly to thank
the Good Samaritan. A guy with a mop of russet curls shoved off the wall of
coolers. His hazel-brown eyes eased down my body then flicked back up to my
face. I felt a flush stain my cheeks. Guys were the same everywhere. At least
he hadn’t stopped at my chest. I gave him a point for that. Despite the
evening’s chilly fall temperatures, he wore cargo shorts and a snug, short
sleeve T-shirt that emphasized his muscular frame and his deeply bronzed skin.
    “So you’re one
of the Pepperdines ,” he said in that peculiar drawl
that seemed to be part of the local charm.
    What did he mean
by that? Sure, I could trace my family tree back to the original settlers, but
I supposed that could be said for most of the folks in town. Maybe it was an
archaic, local custom where people were pigeonholed based on their family name,
a kind of Hatfield and McCoy sort of thing, hopefully minus the bloodshed.
    I juggled the
bread and milk carton in one hand. “And you would be?”
    “A Cassidy,” he
answered like it should mean something.
     “Does
everyone around here go by their last names?” I asked, not getting the
friendly, small town feeling that I’d been expecting.
    His lips curled
up into a lukewarm smile. “Trent Cassidy, football jock and team captain,
pitcher on the Spring Valley High baseball team, student body president, and
hiking club vice president. I could get you my class rank, SAT scores, and
investment portfolio, so you’ll know I’m in the same league as the
high-society, boarding school guys you’re used to dating.”
    I blinked. How
did he know anything about me? The nerve implying I was a snob. Did he just ask
me out? “Let’s leave something for next time, shall we?” I replied, squeezing
past him.
    He chuckled and
before I could protest, relieved me of my groceries. On my way to the check-out
line, he added peanut butter and jelly along with a bag of apples to his pile.
While we waited in line, I twirled my beige-blond hair around my index finger
and asked, “How do you know who I am?”
    “That’s easy. My
dad’s outside talking to your aunt. They’re old friends.”
    The elderly
couple from the bread aisle finished checking out. I pushed my stuff closer to
the cashier. A bouquet of white roses tied with a red bow had been added to my
pile. “Excuse me, you forgot your flowers,” I called after the couple, holding
out the bouquet.
    “The flowers are
for you,” the cashier explained.
      “Really? That was nice of them.” I retrieved my wallet from
the bottom of my purse and held out a twenty-dollar bill.  
    The cashier
exchanged a look with Trent that I didn’t understand. “No, dear, they paid for
everything.”
    “But I can’t
take money from strangers,” I replied, staring out the glass door, scanning the
parking lot for the couple.
    “Here, Little
Lady, you must be tired after that long trip.” A man dropped two premade turkey
sandwiches into my bag. “Put it on my bill, Rosie.”
    “No, sir, that’s
not necessary.” I protested, sounding flustered.
    “Course it is. I
was sorry to hear about the accident. I grew up with your folks. Your dad and I
played football together. Have Trent show you Ethan’s MVP trophy up at the high
school.”
    Trent had his
hand on my elbow and was angling me towards the door. I think I mumbled a thank
you to the gentleman. At the moment, I was distracted by several conflicting
thoughts. One, I’d been told my mother grew up on a farm in Nebraska. Two, what
was it with these people giving me things? And three, why was Trent practically
dragging me out of the store?
     A black
Mercedes pulled up alongside the sidewalk. “That’s my dad. I’ll see you at
school. You can sit at my lunch table. As for the other items we spoke of, I’ll
have those ready for your consideration,” Trent said as though