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Saturday morning eased in with little said between Mustang and Helen as he grappled with the upcoming decision that would alter the course of both of their lives. He didn’t know what it was about her, but he wanted her as his own for as long as she’d have him.

“I’m ready to see your shop and make the table we spoke about,” she said.

“Right this way, Milady,” he said with a flourish of his hand.

Helen performed a mock curtesy and headed down the stairs. Lights flickered on with every step she took, illuminating the neat workspace loaded with power tools, table saws, and equipment that could easily dismantle a body.

“I saw that!” he said laughing.

“What, I didn’t say anything,” she laughed, taking note of the space requirement, he would need in a new home.

She watched him remove a sizeable chunk of Sequoia redwood, and then he passed Helen a pair of googles and a hand sander. He explained while she listened and complied. Two hours later, she mixed the resin, added color, and drizzled the concoction into the crevices of the table to create their very first couple's project.

“Okay, we let it set, then smooth it out and apply the final finish,” he told her.

“Odd that we would make a table for a house I’m not going to be living in,” she commented, appreciating the beauty of what they had created together.

“We made this to put beside the reading chair to hold your latest novel and cup of tea in our new home,” he said, watching her face.

Helen blushed a bit at the implication. She had a few ideas she wanted to share. He needed to be made aware of what she’d learned on how to set up a Technician’s living space, as well as what she’d learned living on the land with Mr. Slow. The home she and Cherry shared was minimal in case she got burned, a term used when an agent’s identity was discovered, and they had to move fast. She’d never personalized a place and was beginning to plan some ideas for the home she had on Slow’s land when life changed for her once again. This time, Helen wanted to be in control of the change.

“Bad Apple bought this shit of a two-story colonial farmhouse that needed new bathrooms to say the least,” she told him. “He gave me a budget to set up the house. I guess that will come in handy for what comes next for us.”

Mustang’s back was to her as he worked, turning slowly to inquire, “Your thoughts?”

“Outbuildings,” she said. “You’re going to need outbuildings. This workshop, one, plus the sporting equipment. We will need garages, especially for the two vehicles you purchased for me plus my shop. Your two vehicles and your shop if you still plan to track as a Technician. We need privacy and land. People don’t need to see what we’re bringing onto the property.”

He loved the way her mind worked, which made conversations with the lady so much easier by not needing or having to codify a subject before the discussion. “How much land are you thinking?”

“Don’t know; we have to set a budget and take a look at what’s available,” she told him.

“Okay, lunch, laptop, and we begin searching,” he offered watching her eyes.

The search over soup and sandwiches went well, and they located a property with the requirements, the land, and the buildings. However, the home on the property was a no go as far as they both were concerned.

"That small house would be perfect for a workshop," she said, "but we would need to build a fence around the entire property to keep it private."

“Build,” he said, looking at the screen, using the 3D angles to search the property.

“Or we can stay with a manufactured, but I tell you, I don’t like walking and it feels like my house is moving,” she told him. “A manufactured home, while practical, feels less than permanent. I haven’t had a lot of permanent, and I’d like some for once.”

He still wanted to know more about her background, inquiring, “Before your mother died, did you guys move around frequently?”

She arched her eyebrows at him and she told him, “My parents are both very much alive. My father lives in New York. My mother is shacked up with a loser named Waldo in Chicago who likes to greet everyone by saying “ aiiii .” He’s a creep but her type. She’s happy and away from me.”

“Well, that answers the next question about family holiday gatherings,” he said.

“And your folks in Wisconsin?”

“My grandmother died years ago. My Dad was killed doing Homeboy shit on the streets, and my mother couldn’t cope with life and she sent me to live with my Grams,” he said. “I was getting out of hand in Wisconsin, and Gram’s pastor told her about this summer camp in Ohio. I went, because, hey, I love the outdoors, camping and canoeing. I met the Neary’s. Rebecca almost drowned, I saved her life. The next day, my Gram's had a stroke, which ended her life. Then I got a new family.”

Helen didn’t reach for him. She didn’t ask any follow-up questions about his mother’s inability to cope, assuming the worse and letting the mangy dog lie on the front porch. “We have a lot to learn about each other.”

“Yes, but at least you want to learn. Most women see me and want to have sex- which I frequently turn down,” he said. “I can see it in their eyes what they want for themselves but they never factor in what I want.”

This was the Jarius Neary Helen wanted to know. She needed to understand how the man processed information on life and women. Helen also needed a bit of a guidebook on the care and maintenance of the prized stallion. Softly she encouraged him, “Explain...please.”

“They want the man, a couple of kids, the yappy dog, and a house with a foreign Mom-mobile. Then I am stuck at cookouts standing next to a grill with other beer bellied Dads, looking sad at having to either return to Disney World for vacation or migrating to the Disney Cruise. I don’t want to be an accessory some chick pulls out at functions to show-off that she has a man. Even worse being the reason my kids don’t like to be around me because she’s made me into the disciplinarian, and I hide at work taking extra shifts since I don’t like the people my wife turned our kids into,” he said. “You are the first woman who has ever worked with me in my shop or even wanted to know what I’m into.”

He was watching her again. He stared her in the eyes when he asked the next question. “Why are you considering this union between us, Helen? I mean, it is so random- that...I dunno.”

“Is it random, Jay?” she asked, staring him in his eyes as she responded. “You guided Cherry to find me. In your arms, I felt safe. I felt safe to initiate intimacy with you—which is something I’ve never done. I mean, I’m not a sexual person. Hell, I never really fully participated in the act or tried to avoid it all together. You have me initiating and enjoying things I’ve never had an interest in doing. Now I'm thinking about a raw edge desk for my home office.”

She stopped, biting her lip. What she wanted to say next would tell him so much. He deserved the words and her honesty. “I experienced a very enjoyable orgasm with you, and for some damned reason, every time we couple, I get to enjoy more. Hell, there was that one time, one had barely ended when another one started, and my feet cramped up in sheer delight. I never cared for sex until you, but it is about us, not so much the act? if that makes sense. It is about caring for the person and I care for you. The freedom you give me to enjoy all the feels is liberating. I want to return the sentiment. Your happiness, for me, is important, you deserve that from the woman in your life. Does that make sense?”

“Oddly, it does,” he said. “We are the lone wolves who found each other.”

“What we do next matters only to us,” she whispered, “and now, neither of us feels alone.”

SUNDAY MORNING, THEY spent nearly an hour in Mustang’s canoe on the pond near his home. Helen did not know what she was doing, but she sat facing him in the small boat, her hands resting on the oars fixed out of the water. Several attempts were made to mimic his movements with the oars, but she gave up, simply holding the paddles. Jay’s quietness meant a matter was on his mind.

“If we are going to figure this out, we have to talk it through,” she told him.

“Yeah, just going over the budget in my head, what is needed, and what everything will cost for me to start this new life with you,” he said.

Helen’s back went rigid. She held up her index finger to him, “Aht! Aht! You are considering a teaching position in your field that takes you out of the patrol car on dark back roads. The position brings a promotion along with the change of job title. You also desire to be closer to your family, fish more with your dad, and hang out with your nutty sister who owns a beauty salon and can’t do hair or a pedicure. You also want to be around to get Ruth’s pound cake. The position you’re considering simply happens to be in the state I cover.”

His chest puffed up a bit, “Okay, when you put it like that!”

“Jay, I will be the one moving to be with you,” she said, “so now you can beat your pecs and feel all alpha male that your woman is moving to be with you.”

He was grinning at the words he repeated, “My woman.”

“Your woman, Jay,”

“Does my woman want to be my wife?”

“Are you asking?”

“Not yet; too many variables to iron out.”

“Okay,” she said.

He waited to see if she had more to say, but she didn’t. He loved that about her. Helen didn’t mince words or hide behind platitudes or coy inferences. She said what she meant and meant what she said.

“Helen, I’m going to marry you,” he spoke softly.

“That will be nice,” she said looking out over the water as if the universe spoke to her on a ripple in the pond. “I never gave much thought to it before, aspiring to be a wife, especially, you know, minus giving a man some kids thing. I think it will be nice, me out in the Technician world putting a bullet in an asshole and coming home to Chicken Piccata and snuggling. I can deal.”

“I take it that as a yes, you’re open to the idea,” he said, smiling at her and nodding her head at him before going back to her mental notes. The private conversation she was holding in her mind took up the space in the canoe.

Once more, he sat waiting and she said nothing else. It was enough—they had a starting point. Over the two-week stay, Helen worked daily on tracking down the potential women of the Chrysalis, searching trends and patterns. She was on to something, she could feel it, but the nightly cuddling sessions had her off her game. She needed to get back to work.

Her list was growing.

Order PO Box online; jot it down to remember mailing address.

Send the boys each a card.

Add one in for Ricky and Apple.

Send a card to Naomi with a picture of her in the canoe, but without Jay.

Check in with Cherry.

Fly into Dayton to get her vehicle, then drive to Oxford, Ohio to start training with Lemon.

Grab a book on home remedies.

Winter jacket and possible boots.

Call Azrael to see if there is any 411 on Lemon she’d be willing to share.

Check on the leads of the Chrysalis and share what she’d found, which was nothing.

Just as she did with the boys at Apple’s place, Helen made a special going away breakfast for Mustang. There was no need to caress his ego or pump him up for their next meeting, since she didn’t know when it would be. In the past, her M.O. would have been an offer to help with the move, or create a folder with the steps needed for a smooth operation. Not this time. The move and getting his life from Oregon to Indiana would be solely upon him, that way, if he reconsidered, it had nothing to do with her.

As easily as she’d arrived, she kissed Jay lovingly and left for the airport. She was headed to Ohio to train with Lemon.

“Ohio,” Mustang said, picking up his phone. It was a call he needed to make, but was hesitant. He dialed anyway to get the ball rolling.

“State your need,” the voice said.

“The Mustang is moving to greener pastures and is requesting an assist,” he said in the line. Gabriel Neary, the Archangel, was the last person he wanted to call but the ideal person to handle what he needed. It also helped that he and his brother Bleu Neary dealt in real estate, and Bleu had a crew of toothless construction workers that got jobs done. He also could get his hands on government surpluses of manufactured homes.

“State your needs,” the voice repeated.

“October 1st, I’ll be starting a permanent teaching position in Plainfield, Indiana at the Trooper Academy,” he said. “I texted you the property I’d like to have for my new home, but it will need a privacy fence all around and a double or triple wide residence with septic, propane, and satellite. I will wire you three plus your fee.”

The Archangel asked, “Indiana?”

“Yeap, can you keep it quiet until everything is in place?”

These kinds of moves made The Archangel nervous. Helen wasn’t a tested filly, and she was still in training. The anger she nurtured like a sick puppy didn’t have a home, and The Mustang was about to move into her backyard to graze. It could mean trouble if the woman felt as if she were being monitored. “Does she know?”

“She picked the property. Mustang out.”

THE HOUSE FELT DEAD without Helen in the space. He’d never considered himself to be a lonely man, but her absence really made him happy he was getting the hell out of Oregon. His new future meant coming home from work to her. In the meantime, there was packing and moving ahead for the next sixteen arduous days.

He went to check the workroom to see what would go and what needed to be packed separately for shipping across the country. He started with the workstation where Helen and he had worked to make the tables. A white envelope rested on the countertop. The bold script stated “ the first night without Helen ...”

“What in the world is this?” He said, holding the envelope. Mustang lifted the flap, seeing the words, “ Maybe have a seat first with a cold drink ?”

“Okay, Helen,” he said with a smile, wondering what she was up to with the package.

He held the envelope in his hand as he climbed the stairs. The white package rested on the end table while he poured himself a cold glass of lemonade, almost calling to him like a Siren on the crags, luring him to a salty finish. Seated in his favorite chair, he crossed his legs and opened the envelope. Mustang began to read the words, nearly holding his breath in anticipation.

Night 1- Ending My Day with Helen

Jay, around the house, I have left 14 more of these envelopes. Each evening, before closing your day, we shall end the evening together as we have the past two weeks. Over the next 16 days as you pack up your life in Oregon, preparing to start anew in Indiana, you will find these notes. In each envelope are the 15 reasons I am looking forward to sharing a life with you.

To keep it interesting and to hone those tracking skills of yours, Baby, each letter contains a clue as to the location of the next night’s envelope.

However, in this letter I have included reason one I’m looking forward to a life with you.

Talk soon. Your friend, lover and woman-Helen

Mustang touched his chest, surprised at how much the idea of reading a letter from Helen each night when he came in from work moved him. It also triggered his hunting instinct to find the letters in the house. He was packing, so she knew he’d find them all, but he was game to play along.

Initially, upon her departure, she’d seemed rather cold and distant, almost distracted, and he’d felt some kind of way. However, this made up for it. Mustang checked inside the envelope and located another smaller notecard. He pulled it out and opened it to find a photo.

“Oh, dear Jesus!” he said, looking at a photograph of his bare, naked, flaccid penis. He looked closer at the image, and there was a pink post it note cut in the shape of an arrow pointed at his life givers. “When did she take this shit?”

Inside the notecard in Helen’s handwriting, he read the caption and nearly howled with laughter.

“Jay, I kept one of these pics for myself. It’s in my wallet. When anybody asks to see our kids, I’m going to whip out this photo of your pal Colt and tell them here’s a pic of our kids—they are sleeping.” Helen

He leaned back in his chair, taking a long swig of the lemonade. He chuckled. “This woman nicknamed my junk Colt,” he said, needing an extra second to gather himself. A moment was taken to go over the envelope to look for the clue for the location of the next message. He came back to the image of his member.

“Yeah, burning this right now,” he said, rising to make his way to the kitchen. A twinkle came to his own eyes when he realized Helen knew he’d want to burn the photo. The game was afoot.

“She’s batshit crazy, and I’m going to marry that woman first chance I get,” he said laughing. “This is gonna be good.”

OXFORD, OH – THE HOME of Lemon, The Poisons Specialist

Helen arrived in Oxford, Ohio, the hometown of Lemon and Miami University. It was a college town of about twenty-two thousand with lots of coffee shops, young people on cell phones, and in her estimation, the perfect place to be invisible. It was a little after eight a.m. when she arrived at the cedar covered home and pulled around back to park. In the yard, she didn’t know what to make of what she witnessed.

A storm must have come through during the night. Fallen leaves and branches littered the yard, and a chunk of the roof of an outbuilding was missing its head. However, it wasn’t the buildings that caught her attention.

There were four people. The one in center was Lemon, looking rather pissed off, holding a large pickle jar with the heads of two vipers. To her left stood two teen girls who bore no resemblance to either Lemon, each other, or the man who stood holding the spade. Based on Lemon’s reaction to the blood on the spade, the gentleman must have been the one to remove the heads of the visitors in the jar. He looked up at Helen.

His eyes made her stop walking, but just as quickly as he spotted her, he dropped his head.

“Hmmph,” she said, coming closer. “Lemon.”

“Cranberry,” she replied. “These are my wards, Bria and Ayanna.”

“And the man?” Helen asked.

“I don’t know this son of a bitch who came in here and killed my babies,” Lemon said, angry enough to have spittle leave the corners of her mouth.

“Listen, lady,” he said. “I was trying to get out of the storm. I went into the barn thingy, the roof came in, the cages broke, and those snakes are not indigenous to North America. I reacted and kept them from escaping.”

“Who is going to help you escape from me? Do you know how valuable those were?”

“Do you know how deadly those were?” the man asked, adjusting his stance from an alpha to one of contrition.

There was a lot happening here, and Helen didn’t know what the hell was about to happen, but it sure beat being at Slow’s in that house. This place had energy. Lemon was a fiery one and the man would prove interesting. The girls, they were another story, but she had three months.

“Where should I drop my gear, and what can I do to help?” Helen asked, looking at the man again, who once more made eye contact, then dropped his eyes. “Interesting.”

- Fin-