Touch of the Bone by Baxter Clare Trautman

Author:Baxter Clare Trautman [Trautman, Baxter Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Found Family, Growing Older, HEAT LEVEL: Medium, Law Enforcement, Mature Lead 40+, Murder/Crime, Mystery/Suspense, Paranormal, Pet/Wild Animal, Quirky Characters, Romance After 50, Self-Discovery, Starting Over, Supernatural, Thriller
Amazon: B0BVNRJ87M
Goodreads: 183697460
Publisher: Bywater Books
Published: 2023-08-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Heading home the next day after a sexy, lazy brunch in bed Frank saw the old red pickup parked on the side of the road. Kevin leaned against the driver’s door.

“You okay?”

“The darn gas gauge in this thing has been broken for years. I thought I’d have just enough to get into town but I didn’t.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t happen to carry an extra can, do you?”

“Nope. Sorry.”

“You wouldn’t need to in a beauty like this,” he said, admiring the Tacoma.

“Got a hose? We could siphon some.”

He gave a rueful shake of his head. “I usually do but I know right where I left it when I swept the bed out yesterday.”

“Hop in,” Frank said. “I’ll give you a lift to town.”

“No, no, no,” he answered. “That’s the opposite way you’re going. There’ll be someone along soon enough.”

“It’s no trouble,” she said and made a U-turn. He stowed an empty gas can behind the cab and climbed in, exclaiming, “This is terribly kind of you.”

“Happy to do it.” She got a better look at him as he buckled up. He was portly, probably sixty-something, and when he turned to look at the dogs there was a twinkle in his eye that made him look like a scruffy Santa Claus.

“Who are your friends?” he asked, twisting to let them sniff his hand.

“The little one’s Kook. The big one’s Bone.”

“Well, hello Kook,” he said, rubbing their ears, “and Bone. You two have unique names.”

“Can’t take the credit,” Frank admitted, steering back onto the road. “I kind of inherited them. How’s the hermitage?”

“Busy as ever. Never enough hours in the day.”

“What exactly do you do in a hermitage?”

“Ora et labora.” He laughed and his belly shook “like a bowlful of jelly.

“We pray and we work, that’s the short answer. The long answer is, everything that needs to be done in a monastery, from contemplation and prayer to toilet cleaning and gardening. Throw in a little cooking, some carpentry and plumbing, and that’s pretty much what I do.”

“I assume you’re a Catholic order?”

“Indeed we are. Camaldolese Benedictines.”

She smiled at him. “I got no idea what that means.”

“We’re an offshoot that follows the teaching—the rule—of St. Benedict, which is basically a life dedicated to prayer and contemplation.”

“That sounds pretty intense.”

Kevin gave his hearty laugh. “Quite the opposite.” He swept a hand toward the windshield. “All this down here is intense. I don’t know how folks do it.”

“I hear you.”

Frank found herself telling Kevin how she’d retired from the LAPD and holed up in the mountains, how she was just now, cautiously, returning to “down here.”

“Our Benedictine sisters are always looking for a few good women,” he offered.

Frank chuckled. “I doubt I’d be good religious material.”

“You might surprise yourself,” he said taking in the view. “In my experience some of the best nuns and monks are the older ones who’ve seen a lot of life. There are far fewer worldly mysteries to tempt them; hence they’re much more interested in spiritual mysteries than corporeal.

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