Читать книгу Siberian Hearts - James Anderson - Страница 4

Sacramento , California - 2007

Mike Valentine was six feet tall and two hundred and twenty-five pounds, every pound part of a well-tuned machine of flesh, bone, blood, and muscle. He had a thick head of brown hair and light blue eyes the color of a summer sky. He had a powerful chest, shoulders, and arms, all so thickly muscled that the stitching on a cheaply made shirt would rip open with only normal movement. He was more intimidating than handsome, although his features were even and well placed. When his eyes were not narrowed and watchful, they were kind, although troubled. His hands were thick, even clumsy, and his knuckles were calloused from striking everything from tree bark to concrete walls. He moved with a quiet confidence that came with knowing he could wipe out the entire neighborhood if he was so inclined.

Mike pushed his garbage can out to the curb and placed it where he thought it should go. He just moved in and today was the first garbage day in his new neighborhood - that’s when the county truck picked up the garbage. The can was overflowing with moving dross and he wanted to make sure it was emptied to make room for the next wave of unpacking.

He turned back and looked at his house, again feeling good about the purchase. It was a large two-story affair with white, adobe looking walls, a red, curved-tile roof, a full basement, and large, beautifully landscaped yards. The three-car garage was to the right; to the left was a covered tiled walkway with Spanish arches. The house was well made and beautiful in every detail. As soon as he saw it the Saturday morning after New Year’s, he called his little brother, a building contractor, to come over to check it out with him. Jason came with his wife Tracy and their two year old little tank of a blond headed boy, Job.

Fifteen minutes after he called Jason, his brother drove up with his family. His pretty blond sister-in-law, Tracy, jumped out of their Ford F150 and said, “Oh, Mike, I love this house!”

Jason parked and went around to unhook Job from his car seat. As soon as Job’s feet hit the driveway, he had a full head of steam for Uncle Mike and a piggyback ride. Mike swung him up on his back and started galloping around making horsy sounds. Job’s parents laughed, more at the sight of thick muscles contorted to accommodate their two-year old than the act itself. Job’s giggles filled the chilly Sacramento morning and nestled nicely against the off-white stucco walls.

Jason walked up and said, “This house is unbelievable, Mikey. You really thinking of buying it?”

Tracy chimed in. “Don’t you just love it?” She tickled Job’s ribs and new peels of laugher resounded in the thick fog.

“Yes,” said Mike, “I really like it. The Realtor’s inside already. The people that own it had to move to San Jose in a hurry and the house is empty.” He turned his head back to Job. “You ready, stinkboy?”

Job jackknifed his sturdy body up and down. “Ready,” he said. “Go, go. Go in house.”

They went inside where a tall, attractive blond of about thirty stood in the entryway. Tracy entered first and the woman walked over to her, extending her hand.

“Hello. I’m Nora Samson, the realtor.”

Tracy shook her hand. “I’m Tracy Valentine. My husband’s brother is the one interested in buying the place. My husband Jason is a contractor so he knows what to look for. My brother-in-law, Mike, doesn’t know squat about houses so he relies on Jason for stuff like this.”

Mike came up behind her, Job still on his back but trying to touch the walls. “Hey, I know squat.” That made Nora laugh but Mike thought it was just out of politeness. He repositioned his left arm to make sure Job was secure and extended his hand. “Mike Valentine.”

The beautiful blonde smiled. “Nora Samson. Is your wife here, also?”

“No,” said Mike. “I’m a widower.”

She seemed embarrassed. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s OK,” said Mike. “How could you know?”

Job started jackknifing again and saying, “Down, down.”

Mike lowered him to the ground and Job was off like a shot.

“Oh, no,” said Tracy, and started after him.

“Yours?” asked Nora.

“My nephew.”

“So you’re alone?”

“Yep. All by myself.”

“I’m not trying to talk you out of buying this, but it’s a big house for just one person.”

Mike looked at her eyes and saw green circles floating in white floating in long thick lashes and alabaster skin. It had been eighteen months since his wife and daughter died.

“Well, hopefully I won’t be alone forever.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling, “I see.”

Mike suddenly felt a little uncomfortable and looked around for Jason. “Hey, little brother, where you at?”

“In the kitchen.”

Nora made a graceful turn and said, “This way.”

She fell in alongside of Mike. “What kind of work do you do, Mike?”

“I’m medically retired from the Sacramento Police Department. I was on the SWAT team but lost the hearing in my right ear from an explosion.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m surprised. You certainly look healthy.”

He was healthy. Since the accident that killed his wife and daughter he had dedicated himself to keeping fit to stop from going insane. He’d been a martial artist since before he went in the Army, but now he was a fanatic. Martial Arts, his family, and his best friend were the only things that kept him from sticking his gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I try.”

She led him through a large living room into the big, open kitchen with a large window overlooking the pool and backyard which ended thirty yards from the American River.

“I love this kitchen, Mike,” said Tracy. “It’s big with plenty of counter and storage space. It’s got a great lay out.”

Jason was opening cabinets and drawers and checking underneath everything. “It all looks good, Mikey. They took their time building this one.”

Nora showed them the four upstairs bedrooms and two baths, then took them on a tour of the remainder of the house. There were two bathrooms and an additional bedroom downstairs, plus huge living and family rooms and all the extras. Nora led them to the backyard and the swimming pool and enclosed Jacuzzi. If the fog were not so thick that January morning, they could have seen the American River with her heavily wooded banks of valley oak, cotton wood trees, and wild berry vines stretch out lazily on its way to the Pacific Ocean.

By the time the tour was finished, Tracy had told Nora everyone’s life story and all of Job’s ailments since birth. Nora politely listened, but asked too many questions about Mike. Tracy sensed Nora’s interest and liked the tall blond so let her brother-in-law’s story spill out. If Mike had known, he would have done his best to stop her.

“Mike’s just a doll,” Tracy whispered to Nora. “He’s a nice guy, good-looking, filthy rich, and totally available. Every single woman he meets is trying to land him. He’s just having a hard time getting over Maria and his little girl. What a tragedy that was. So, so sad. It still breaks my heart just thinking about it. He needs a woman in his life again. He wants one, too. He’s told me so many times. But he was just so in love with Maria. She was such a sweet woman. She was Hispanic – from Mexico; a truly beautiful woman. And that little Amy! What a precious little girl. Only four years old when it happened. And that awful truck driver driving while he was drunk. Oh, well. Mike got a huge, I mean huge, I mean really huge settlement from it and he’ll never have to work again. But he wants to work. That’s just the kind of man he is. A wonderful man, just like my Jason - hard working, responsible men from a strong middle class Scotch-Irish family - raised right here in Sacramento. Mike is a fourth degree black belt and martial arts are his passion. He holds self-defense seminars and teaches karate. But he is so lonely. Such a shame - a good man like that and so many good women paired up with complete jerks. The thing is, Nora, he wants to be married. He wants a wife. He hates being alone. But he was just so deeply in love with Maria. And that beautiful, sweet little girl. Such a tragedy. I swear, Nora, I tear up every time I think about it.”

Mike and Jason didn’t come in from the back yard until all the beans were spilled. They saw Tracy talking to Nora and Nora looking at Mike like he was a steak done just the way she liked it.

Jason whispered to Mike. “Looks like Trace has you married off again.”

Mike could only shake his head. “She means well,” he said.

The truth was that Nora wasn’t Mike’s type. A beautiful, classy, intelligent woman like Nora Samson was normally every man’s type. But Mike Valentine was different. He was one of the few males in the United States of America who didn’t prefer tall, willowy blondes. In fact, he liked shorter women, with thick black hair and exotic features, like Maria. And there was something about a woman speaking with an accent that drove him crazy.

By the time the tour ended, Mike had decided to buy the house. The asking price was one point eight million. Mike would pay cash. He had a Mormon accountant he had grown up with and in whom he had complete trust. Mike let him worry about tax shelters and stuff like that. The accountant had Mike’s money steadily growing with safe investments. A lot of money makes a lot of money, the accountant had told him, and it was true. Mike paid him well to deal with that. He wanted to pay cash for the house, and didn’t want to think about tax shelters and interest and protection. To him, a house wasn’t an investment, it was his home.

He slowly turned around, taking a last look at the details. The more he saw, the better he liked it. It was absolutely loaded with every amenity possible and he could almost hear children running through it. He suddenly imagined Maria cooking in the kitchen and fantacized again about beating that truck driver to death.

He turned to Nora and smiled. “I’ll take it.”

Nora raised her eyebrows slightly. “Do you want to submit an offer?”

“Do you think they’ll come down on the price?”

“I don’t think so. It just went on the market and there are several interested parties. Even at this price, it’s a huge bargain.”

“OK,” he said, “tell me what you need and I’ll have a cashier’s check for the full amount first thing Monday morning.”

Tracy leaned over and whispered in Nora’s ear. “Filthy rich.”

That was three weeks ago. The deal was closed, the inspections made, the papers signed, the money transferred, and the house was his. Now he had to worry about furnishing it. He knew he didn’t have good taste so he figured he would hire an interior decorator to help him out. Nora had come by twice and offered to help but he discouraged any connection from the start. She was very nice and certainly beautiful but, again, not his type. No bells rang for him. He remembered the bells he heard when he first saw Maria - they came through loud and clear.

As he was heading back to the house after placing the garbage cans, he heard a scurrying sound from across the driveway and saw what he thought was a big rat. Instead, it was a tiny dog barking like a maniac. It had a red plaid covering over its back and a studded collar. Each time it barked, it seemed to lift off the concrete a fraction of an inch. The dog reminded him of a windup toy with an industrial strength spring.

“Whoa, dog. Calm down. I live here now.”

“Shatzee, be quiet. What is wrong with you, silly dog?”

A girl about ten years old came over and picked up the dog. “I’m so sorry. He’s a very sweet dog once he gets to know you.”

The girl spoke with a hint of a wonderful accent which Mike couldn’t quite place. It almost sounded German but not exactly. He’d spent two years in West Germany with the mechanized infantry and learned a little German. ‘Shatzee’ literally meant treasure but is often used as an endearment.

“That’s OK,” said Mike. “I just moved in so I was a surprise to him.”

“Oh,” said the girl, “you are our new neighbor?”

“Yes, I am.”

The girl turned and said “Mama,” and something else in another language Mike thought was Russian. There were well over a hundred thousand Russian speaking people in the Sacramento area and the language could be heard everywhere.

The girl turned back to him and said, “I called my mother. She will want to meet you.”

Mike smiled and said, “I would be happy to meet her.”

The girl smiled in return as an exceedingly beautiful woman in her middle thirties walked out of the mist. The woman looked part Japanese.

“Mama,” said the girl, “this is our new neighbor.”

The woman’s face melted into a strikingly beautiful smile and stepped forward. She extended her hand and Mike shook it. “I am Ludmilla Hermann,” she said. “We live next door.”

“I’m Mike Valentine. I just bought this house. I’m very happy to meet you.”

“And I am happy to meet you, Mr. Valentine.”

“Please, call me Mike.”

She nodded. “And please call me Ludmilla.”

A tall, handsome athletic looking blonde man of about forty came up behind her. He spoke with an undeniable German accent. “And who is this gentleman?”

“Ah,” said Ludmilla, “this is Mike Valentine, our new neighbor. Mike, this is my husband, Rolf Hermann.”

The man stepped forward and they shook hands. “Please call me Rolf. And this is our daughter, Greta. I heard our small pest introduce herself.”

“I just bought this house. I fell in love with it the first time I saw it.”

“Yes,” said Rolf, “it’s a beautiful house. The people who owned it before you were very nice and we were sorry to see them leave. But,” he held up his hands as if to say ‘oh, well,’ “I’m sure we’ll be great friends.”

Mike smiled. There was something about these people he liked. “I’m sure we will.”

Greta looked around. “Do you have a child I can play with?”

Mike’s eye twitched and his heart skipped a beat. “No,” he answered. “I’m alone.”

“Oh,” said Ludmilla. “You are not married?”

“I’m a widower. My wife died about two years ago.”

“Kak zhal,” she said. “Oh,” she caught herself. “I mean, how sad. I’m very sorry.”

“Thank you. I also had a daughter who would be six now. But, she died with her mother.”

“Oh, dear.” Tears came to Ludmilla’s eyes. “How terrible. How absolutely terrible.”

“Well,” said Rolf, “we have just made some coffee, and you must come to our home and sit and talk. We will get to know each other and become good neighbors. Ya?” He assumed control in typical German fashion. It wasn’t offensive. It was just the way Germans do things when they recognize something has to be accomplished. Mike always thought it was an admirable trait.

“That sounds good, Rolf. I’d like that very much.”

“Excellent,” said Ludmilla. “Come, come.”

Greta walked over and took Mike’s hand. “I’m sorry your little girl died, Mr. Valentine.”

Rolf was about to say something to his daughter but stopped as he saw tears spring to Mike’s eyes. Mike couldn’t help it. He kneeled down until he was even with Greta. “So am I, Greta. I know you two would have been very good friends.”

Rolf smiled at his daughter and took her other hand and they went into the house. Mike noticed immediately that the family was taking off their shoes by the door. Rolf explained. “My wife is Russian. It is a Russian tradition to remove your shoes when you come into the house.”

“OK,” said Mike, taking off his boots. “I believe in traditions.”

Greta grabbed his hand and led him into the living room. Mike had never seen a house so beautifully furnished. “I think this is the most beautiful house I have ever been in.”

Ludmilla was in the kitchen getting things ready. “Thank you, Mike. We love it very much.”

Rolf motioned for Mike to sit down at a huge oak table. “My wife is an excellent decorator. She enjoys it very much.”

“Maybe you can give me some ideas,” said Mike. “I have no idea how to decorate.”

Ludmilla laughed. “Very few men do. If I left the decorating to my husband we would be surrounded by charts and graphs and photographs of business meetings.”

Mike had to laugh. He looked at Rolf who smiled and winked at him. “And what’s wrong with that? It sounds wonderful to me.”

Greta brought over a silver tray with some silverware and cups and saucers decorated with intricate designs. She sat the tray down and laid out three place settings. Ludmilla was right behind and poured the coffee. Greta went back for some sugar and cream. Ludmilla made one final trip for some wonderful smelling dark bread.

“You men,” she said. “If you had your way, we would all be living like soldiers.”

Ludmilla poured the coffee, asking Mike what he liked in it. Then she offered him some of the dark bread. “This is good Russian bread made just this morning.”

“It smells wonderful,” said Mike. “I am impressed.” Mike wasn’t just saying it. He truly was.

Ludmilla smiled, sensing his sincerity. She was clearly pleased. “Sbaceba. That means thank you.”

Mike nodded. “Have you lived here long?”

“About four years,” said Rolf. “I was transferred here from Berlin. I am the west coast manager for a large, international manufacturing company headquartered in Berlin.”

“Where did you meet?”

“I attended graduate school at Moscow University where I received my doctorate in international business. Ludmilla was there studying art. We have been married for fifteen years now. We have one child, our little Greta,” he said, smiling at his daughter who was drinking orange juice.

Mike looked at him with open envy. “You’re a very lucky man.”

Rolf nodded. “I know I am.”

Ludmilla finally sat down. “Tell us about yourself, Mike?”

“Well, I was born and raised here in Sacramento. I began studying martial arts when I was twelve. After high school, I went in the army for four years. I was stationed around Munich for two years.”

“Oh,” said Rolf. “Konnen Sie Deutsch?” (Do you speak German?)

“Ein bisschen.” (A little.) “Anyway, I came back to the states and became a cop. I was with the Sacramento Police Department for seven years. I spent the last four years on the SWAT team. Two years ago, an explosion took my right ear drum and I was medically retired.”

Rolf seemed surprised. “But, you look like you are in such excellent physical condition.”

“I am. I still do martial arts. In fact, I’m a fanatic about it. I box at a gym downtown every week, teach martial arts in the afternoon, spar every Saturday morning, and take private lessons once a week. I also give self-defense seminars and teach classes at our main dojo, or school.”

“My goodness,” said Ludmilla. “It sounds like you are very busy.”

“I have to keep busy. Since my family died, it’s been real tough.”

Ludmilla reached over and put her hand on her husbands. “If you want to, we would like to hear how they died.”

“It was eighteen months ago. My wife, Maria, was taking our daughter to a doctor’s appointment. There was a man driving a tanker truck. He’d been drinking and ran a red light and hit Maria’s car. I was told Amy was killed instantly but it took Maria twelve hours to die.” He looked up. Rolf and Ludmilla were looking intently at him. There were tears in Ludmilla’s eyes. “I don’t like to talk about it. I guess I’m telling you because I feel comfortable here. Now, I just train. I got a large settlement from my family’s death and I don’t need money. But I just can’t sit around. I would go insane.”

“What was your wife like?” It was Greta who asked the question.

“Greta,” said her father. “Maybe Mike doesn’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“It’s OK.” He turned to Greta. “Her family was from Mexico. She was a beautiful woman with jet-black hair and huge, beautiful dark eyes. She had clear, dark skin and a beautiful smile. When she smiled, she took my breath away. She was gentle and sweet. She loved to laugh and I loved…” Mike had to stop. He was embarrassing himself.

Ludmilla reached over and patted Mike’s hand. “You know, maybe you will let me help you decorate your house.”

“Yes,” said Rolf. “What an excellent idea. Ludmilla would love to do that.”

Mike wiped away the tears and smiled. “I’m sorry. It’s still tough to talk about.”

“We understand,” said Ludmilla. “Now, you must let me help you decorate your house.”

“I’d love that. But only if you let me pay you for your time.”

“Nonsense. If we must talk about that, we will talk about it later.”

Mike nodded. “Where do you come from, Ludmilla?”

“I am from Siberia, from a city called Yakutsk. It is a port on the Lena River and one of the main cities in Siberia. I am half Yakut, which is like a Russian Eskimo.”

“Wow,” said Mike. “Is it as cold there as they say?”

“Colder. But people there are accustomed to it. We Siberians are a very hardy people. Many of the Yakuts are still nomads and herd horses, cattle, and reindeer. They also hunt, fish, and gather whatever is edible. We have a very rich culture. My mother is Yakut and still lives in Yakutsk.”

“Do you still have a lot of family there?”

“Oh, yes. I have three brothers. They all have families of their own. And, of course, there is Natalya, my last unmarried cousin. She lives with our babushka, our grandmother.”