Chapter 1

“Dalton. Dalton Brewer Prie,” I told my full name to the police officer in the blue uniform, speaking more to his crotch than to his handsome face. “Officer, I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize how fast I was going.”

Red-white-blue lights flashed on a police cruiser behind me. I looked at a forty-five-miles-per-hour speed limit sign to my right, posted on Bixby Road. I could have been going almost sixty, being chaotic and persistent where I needed to go.

The thirty-plus-year-old man took my Pennsylvania license and examined it: date of birth, organ donor, height, and other details. Dreamy and dark-haired, with mossy green eyes and a small nose, Officer Rexington seemed to intensely study the license. Then he leaned over and stared inside my Mazda CX-3, attempted a smile, winked. He studied my thirty-five-year-old face: blond hair, matching scruff on my chin and cheeks, tiny (almost elf-like, which I hated) ears, and blue eyes. His stare ended at my middle, checking out the package there.

“You’re from Pittsburgh. What are you doing up here in Channing?”

I told him about the death of my uncle from long-term lung cancer due to smoking too many cigarettes. “His name was Michael Brewer. He had a cabin next to the lake. My mother, Cecile Brewer-Prie, sent me up here to pack his things. My mother’s side of the family is still contemplating what they will do with the cabin and property.”

Officer Rexington rubbed the base of his chin in a sexy action.

Uniformed police officers made me hot under the collar, but uncomfortable. Half of me wanted him to strip for me and provide my boring life with a lap dance: gyrating against my chest, breathing on my neck, rubbing his tight and uniformed bottom on my denim-covered dick. Magic Mikewasn’t going to happen to me, though. Too bad since it would have certainly boosted the excitement meter in my world. Half turned on, I noticed his Glock 19, pepper spray, and metal handcuffs around his middle. Just the thought of touching one of those pieces of his uniform caused my dick to jostle inside my boxer-briefs, excited.

Officer Rexington asked, “Your uncle wrote books for a living, right?”

I nodded, staring out the windshield. Less than an inch of snow covered the February ground. Hard-packed dirt lined Cheektowah Road to the right, and puffy-white clouds drifted overhead. The Mazda’s dash informed me of the temperature outside and the hour of the day: thirty-one degrees and one-twenty in the afternoon.

I answered the cop’s question with, “Nonfiction narrative about Native American Indians.”

“Mostly the Iroquois?”

“Yes, sir.”

Obviously, he had enjoyed a book or two.

“He won a few awards from what I understand.”

I nodded again. “Are you a fan?”

He handed me the license and winked at me a second time. “I’ve read a few. He’s a legend in these parts since he put Channing on the map.” He cleared his throat, rubbed his chin again, and asked, “How long do you plan on staying up here before you head back to the city?”

“No more than a week. I have a bunch of things to organize and boxes to load up. A few of the boxes will go back to the city with me. The others will be moved by a professional team that my uncle’s estate will pay to have done. If it takes more than a week, I won’t be happy.”

“One week, it will be St. Valentine’s Day,” he reminded the both of us. “I suppose you need to get back to the city to be with your girlfriend.”

I shook my head, keeping my private life to myself. He didn’t need to know I lacked a boyfriend, unattached to women. Some things weren’t meant to be discussed with strangers, particularly a cop who could be a homophobe.

He removed a business card from one of his front pockets and passed it to me. “If you need me, Mr. Prie, feel free to give me a call. I know the area well, especially around the woods where your uncle’s place is located.”

“Good to know,” I replied, slipping the business card in the plastic console to my right.

Who knew what my adventure at my uncle’s cabin had in store for me?

Officer Rexington kept staring at me, leading me to half believe he wanted to have sex with me, drawn to my blue eyes and handsome face. Surely, he desired my naked and blond-hairy chest compressed to his smooth one, aligned together as our stomachs and nipples met, as well as our lips, carrying out an unending and dizzying kiss between us.

He blinked once, twice, three times. Then he said, “Now, back to business. I’m not going to give you a ticket for going sixty in a forty-five zone, but I will tell you to mind our laws up here and keep your speed down. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” I said, smiling and staring into the luxury of his green eyes.