Women with Mongrel

Women with Mongrel

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Summary

A still grieving widow Carson Robertson hospitalizes in a vehicle accident the author of the bumbling detective book series. Guilty at injuring the creator of the fabulous character Jessie Chicago, Carson takes Harry Truscott into her home to help in his rehabilitation. Harry has a broken shoulder that is encased in a gunslinger’s brace. Carson reads more back copies of the series and finds she is beginning to share the persona of Jessie Chicago and is influenced by Harry suggesting she ought to lace herself with more ‘bite’ – he calls it mongrel. Carson and her niece Sara create a website they link to the new Jessie Chicago fan club in Chicago, informing ‘the world’ that the missing author is alive and well and is working on the hotly awaited twelfth book in the series in which Jessie is expected to propose marriage to the Bumbling Detective. Harry and Carson ignite their passion but Carson is suspicious that Harry will soon abandon her

Summary

A still grieving widow Carson Robertson hospitalizes in a vehicle accident the author of the bumbling detective book series. Guilty at injuring the creator of the fabulous character Jessie Chicago, Carson takes Harry Truscott into her home to help in his rehabilitation. Harry has a broken shoulder that is encased in a gunslinger’s brace. Carson reads more back copies of the series and finds she is beginning to share the persona of Jessie Chicago and is influenced by Harry suggesting she ought to lace herself with more ‘bite’ – he calls it mongrel. Carson and her niece Sara create a website they link to the new Jessie Chicago fan club in Chicago, informing ‘the world’ that the missing author is alive and well and is working on the hotly awaited twelfth book in the series in which Jessie is expected to propose marriage to the Bumbling Detective. Harry and Carson ignite their passion but Carson is suspicious that Harry will soon abandon her

Chapter1 (v.1) - Women with Mongrel

Author Chapter Note

A still grieving widow Carson Robertson hospitalizes in a vehicle accident the author of the bumbling detective book series. Guilty at injuring the creator of the fabulous character Jessie Chicago, Carson takes Harry Truscott into her home to help in his rehabilitation. Harry has a broken shoulder that is encased in a gunslinger’s brace. Carson reads more back copies of the series and finds she is beginning to share the persona of Jessie Chicago and is influenced by Harry suggesting she ought to lace herself with more ‘bite’ – he calls it mongrel. Carson and her niece Sara create a website they link to the new Jessie Chicago fan club in Chicago, informing ‘the world’ that the missing author is alive and well and is working on the hotly awaited twelfth book in the series in which Jessie is expected to propose marriage to the Bumbling Detective. Harry and Carson ignite their passion but Carson is suspicious that Harry will soon abandon her

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 06, 2007

Reads: 1006

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Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 06, 2007

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MONGREL: The notion ‘Get some mongrel in you' means adding something to your persona to toughen up. The idea is a touch of defiance or rebelliousness will make a difference, a significant difference especially to the downtrodden. In this instance the advice to ‘get some mongrel' was given to a character perceived as being excessively too nice for her own good. This is a detective story purportedly in the traditional genre.

 

Chapter 1

The pretty card featuring some kind of flower read, ‘Sorry, chin up. Mrs Robertson'.

Harry Q. Truscott wiped his nose with thumb and forefinger aware he didn't know a Mrs Robertson. So she must be the bitch who'd rolled him.

"What pretty pansies," said the male nurse, immediately raising the acidic thought in Harry's still cloudy mind why would a male nurse recognize pansies?

He dozed, having been told he'd been in a vehicle accident, was knocked unconscious, had his shoulder broken and a kind surgeon stayed on to attend to a bit of internal bleeding in Harry's belly, thereby making himself unpopular with Mrs Surgeon waiting to be taken to a cocktail party.

Harry was miffed that the value of his life seemed to be on about par with four drinks and a couple of chats over cocktails. Or was that seven drinks and hallway kiss with the hostess?

At 2:00 three elderly women came into his 4-bed cubicle pushing a trolley. They clucked over him, saying it wasn't right that such a fine looking man should be without visitors. They handed him a complimentary stale confectionary bar and a book with the first dozen pages missing.

Everything went quiet when they left, so Harry closed his eyes.

"Hullo, my wounded victim. I'm so terribly sorry."

Huh?

The voice was cultured, beautifully modulated - young and vibrant, undoubtedly a sex siren, but unfortunately that description fitted no one he knew. She must be related to one of the other guys, probably a daughter who taught elocution.

A hand gently shook Harry's shoulder.

"Mr Truscott?"

"Yes, um, am I being discharged?"

"No, I'm afraid not - you have a two more days and then, according to the house surgeon, conditional discharge because you live alone."

Restricted by his shoulder restraint, appropriately called a gunslinger harness, Harry turned carefully on to his back. His eyes met those of a fine looking woman in the classical tradition, beaming a soft blue-eyed smile at him through slightly parted pink-coated lips behind which lurked very white teeth.

God, she was attractive. He attempted to check if her breasts were up to scratch but was thwarted as she was wearing a shirt with front ruffles that screened the beauty of her womanly physique - that is, if she really was packed with something of substance.

Presumably this was the flower-giver, Mrs Robinson er Mrs Robertson. She held out a hand spearheaded by four beautifully manicured long fingers, with the thumb slightly tucked into her palm but then, comprehending that a man with his right arm in a brace was unable to shake hands, she learned forward and kissed his cheek.

The kiss landed like a moth making a perfect touchdown under a lamp. Harry's nostrils took in a combo of scented facial cream, lipstick, hair spray and above all, top-shelf perfume that screamed, "I'm a classy lady."

"You're a mirage," he said in his most impressive voice.

She just smiled. "I'm Mrs Robertson, whom you met by accident yesterday. I have admitted full liability - my insurance company will sort everything out and my lawyer will negotiate fair settlement to cover your loss of property, loss of income and payment as a contribution towards pain and suffering."

"But I reversed out in front of you."

"That is true, but apparently not unduly fast according to one of your neighbors, the only independent witness. I was distracted as I had turned to look at my six-month-old daughter gurgling in her restrainer-seat behind me."

"Oh God, a baby. How is she?"

"She's fine. She handled her first vehicle accident very well, thank you Mr Truscott."

"I should be held partly responsible, liable to pay you something."

"For what? Paint scrapes to my bull bars? Insurance will take care of that. Perhaps you could take me out to dinner one evening if that will ease your conscience."

"Yes, right Mrs Robertson."

"Carson will be fine."

"Harry, or if you wish Randolph."

"You have two names - one informal, one formal?"

"My given names are Randolph Quentin Grierson, but I rebelled against being dubbed Randy, which frightened away females as I reached my teens. So I had it legally changed to Harry Quentin Truscott - Truscott is my mother's maiden name. I write under my adopted name."

"Ohmigod, you write the detective series about Diomedes Mantell and his sidekick Jessie Chicago. I've read all eleven in the series and according to the blurb from the publisher the twelfth novel is due out just before Christmas. This is incredible - I've sent Jessie's creator to hospital and I've just kissed him."

"You can kiss me again if that will make you feel better."

Another moth-like landing added lipstick to his cheek.

They chatted and she asked where were his other visitors.

"I don't have any family in this city and my literary agent and publisher are located abroad.

"What about Jessie?"

"Who's Jessie?"

"Jessie Chicago."

"She's not..."

"Oh, how stupid of me, of course she lives only in your imagination and on your pages. I know this sounds awful, but I'm in love with her. She's such a role model to modern women, but she is rather excessive about sex."

"Too frequently, or too many times per session?"

"Um, both I should think."

"Don't you get it all that often?"

"Harry, that's rather a direct question for someone you've just met."

"It's called reader feedback."

"Oh, then that's different. Well yes, she's getting rather a lot more than what I'm getting, as you so quaintly put it. My husband was killed in a helicopter crash just before Lydia was born."

Harry's good hand clutched the bed covers; he closed his eyes and muttered, "Damn."

In that instant Carson decided she liked this creator of the Bumbling Detective Series. He looked as if he might be a bumbler himself, even without the brace stabilizing his broken shoulder. He looked uncombed, poorly shaven, in need of a haircut and his muddy brown eyes looked, um, doglike as if waiting for a bone. Character lines cut into his forehead and, um, his lips looked permanently curled upwards to support smiles. Now for the test - would she trust him if left alone with him in a remote cabin? This was a test Carson habitually applied to males since having a couple of scares with older men as a teenager.

Absolutely - just look at those eyes!

With compassionate gentleness, Carson unclenched Harry's fist and took that hand in her soft, warm one.

"It's all right; you weren't to know."

"I could have made the connection - Philip Robertson, one of this country's best blue water sailors."

"You knew him?"

"I knew he was a successful businessman in the marine industry."

"Yes, thank you Harry. I'm in the process of selling out of his company. Oh gosh, I've just thought of something: how are you going to finish your manuscript with your right arm in a brace?"

"Produce tapes and have an agency write them to a CD, I guess. I don't have voice activated software, nor am I likely to want to try it; I'm kind of an old fashion guy who values old cars, romance and respects family values."

"Hmmm. So you'd perform better sitting beside a person doing the keyboarding, pausing now and then to edit?"

"Undoubtedly."

"That gives me something to think about."

That reply puzzled Harry but then so did women.

Ten minutes later Carson was gone, her lingering fragrance proving she'd not been a post-operative hallucination.

A cheerful and robust woman by the name of Maggie, Harry's neighbor from across the street, arrived with a cake, still warm.

Then in popped Mrs McPherson from two doors down and then arrived elderly Mr and Mrs Trumpet from five doors up from Harry's home.

Attempting to rationalize this, Harry concluded these people thought they know him well enough to rate him as worthy of visiting in hospital.

In the tradition of hospital interference, the ward manager arrived and told the visitors they should leave after ten minutes because more visitors were waiting to see Harry.

"You're so popular Harry," said Mrs McPherson, kissing him.

"Yes," said Maggie, looking at him rather intensely. "I don't know how I've managed to overlook you. I shall see you tomorrow. Some of these visitors will be oncers, like moths around a candle. I'll be back every day Harry," she said, leaning over and kissing him, her hand resting quite firmly above his navel, fingers moving.

Harry knew that's exactly the thing Jessie Chicago would do - Maggie O'Sullivan obviously was a reader of the Bumbling Detective Series. How strange. Despite that literary connection, until now Maggie and he had previously only exchanged names and thereafter minimal greetings whenever they slid by like alley cats.

Steady on, Harry, she might look sluttish but don't brand her until you know for sure - be a gentleman.

Those visitors left and six others arrived, meaning half of the occupants of his street had visited him.

The pre-dinner bell went at 4:00 - yes, that's not a typo thought Harry, bloody four o'clock in the afternoon. The ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling squeezed visitors away to allow nursing staff to prepared patients for the delivery of bad food. Actually it was better tucker than most of his home cooking.

Harry took off his glasses, ran a thumb and forefinger over his pencil moustache and settled back for a nap, thinking about Maggie's words, "like moths around a candle." That made her sound really creative. He thought that Maggie could be worth developing; she lived alone and it would save him going into parks and bars looking for a likely opportunity when he felt the need for it.

 

"Oh wow Harry, I think you are ready to go home."

Harry opened his eyes and saw it was the attractive Nurse Yung speaking.

"Just look at this beauty, Felicity," she was saying to the spotty-faced trainee Nurse Smith, who's turned deathly white and appeared about to faint. It was only then Harry became aware that Nurse Yung had his erection in her hand.

"Let's put this baby away," said Nurse Yung. Harry's eyes widened - she looked ready to kiss it! But Nurse Smith slumping to the floor diverted her.

"It's true Harry - virgins still exist in this world," grinned Nurse Yung, going to the aid of her fallen colleague.

Harry quickly tucked himself back into his pajamas and hid as much as he could of himself under the bed covers.

"I'm sorry, Mr Truscott," apologized the trainee nurse after two raps on the cheeks from Nurse Yung revived her. "I hadn't realized they could get so big."

"You call that big, you should see..."

"That's enough, Harry," Nurse Yung frowned. "We don't want to have Felicity applying for a transfer to the women's ward."

"She'll find big ones down there."

"That's enough, Harry. Jessie Chicago wouldn't allow you to talk like that in front of a young girl."

Harry was chuffed. Sexy Nurse Yung knew Jessie Chicago. Another of his fans had come out of the woodwork - er, emerged from the sterile environment of a hospital ward.

"I'm working through to 11:00," whispered Nurse Yung. "I'll call in later this evening and relieve you of some of that tension."

Harry was about to say he was relaxed, not suffering from tension or post-accident trauma, but then looked into her eyes and saw she'd unmasked herself; it wasn't quite naked lust but definitely wasn't the look one got from a clergyman's wife either.

God, whoever would have thought of nurses as being sexy? In Harry's novels they always were implicated with the villains. He wondered if Nurse Yung would use her mouth or hand - he decided she would appear like a shadow with her right hand encased in a thin membrane glove up to her elbow and wearing a heavy thick waterproof apron.


© Copyright 2017 Grigor McGregor. All rights reserved.

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