Lost and Found

by Gwenna Sebastian

Genres: LGBT Gay; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Sometimes even a hero needs someone to save him. Mark Connor doesn't feel like a hero even though he served two tours in Vietnam and survived a vicious ambush that took the lives of all but a handful of men. But he lost his best friend and lover, and now he refuses to be close to anyone. That makes his instant attraction to Josh a real problem. Josh Myers hires on with Mark to help him with a remodeling job. A survivor himself of a Beirut bombing, he embraces life with open arms. But he can't get his new flame to take an interest in love, in life, or in himself. Alone in the northern Outer Banks in January, Mark clings desperately to his past, even as Josh offers him a future he doesn't think he deserves. 43,424 Words

Release date: June 21, 2010

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 99

Sample

 

Chapter 1

 

Currituck Lighthouse sliced through the gray skies, the unpainted brick dull in the weak winter light. Mark Connor barely noticed it as he drove down Route Twelve, heading south to Kitty Hawk. During the summer, this road was crowded with tourists, making the narrow two-lane highway slow going. But in January, the height of the off-season, it was an empty road until you reached Duck.

The barrier islands along the coast of North Carolina were by and large deserted during the coldest part of the winter. People came for the beaches, the lighthouses, and the fishing. This time of year, you got miles of cold beaches with bitter ocean spray whipped at you by the blustery weather. It was damp, raw, and uninviting.

That suited Mark fine. The less he had to deal with people, the happier he was. Home remodels were what he searched for, this one being sweeter than most. Back in the eighties, a couple had bought the land above Corolla, building a massive house there, renting it out over the years as an investment. They were ready to live down here full time, but the place needed a major overhaul. When built, it had been outfitted for tourists. Now the owners wanted to turn it into the luxury retirement home they’d waited years to enjoy.

The wind buffeted Mark’s old Suburban, throwing salt spray over the hood and windshield. He put his cigarette between his lips in order to use both hands on the steering wheel to keep the truck on the road. The sky was a dull gray with dark clouds. It would probably rain before he got back.

He drove through the small town of Duck. There wasn’t a lot here during the winter months except some essentials for the locals: a post office, market, a couple of small restaurants. A pair of four-wheel drives were parked at the plaza. Someone walked their black Lab along the shoulder of the road as he drove on toward Southern Shores. The walker was so bundled up against the elements, Mark couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. Not that he cared.

The owners had made sure that everything Mark would need in the way of supplies had been delivered to the house. That included hardwood floors, boxes upon boxes of tiles, fixtures, molding, new cabinets for the kitchen and four bathrooms, countertops, paint and much more. Most of it was stacked in the great room.

Mark agreed to have the work completed by the end of April. He traveled, mostly along the east coast, looking for rehab jobs just like this one, where he'd have complete run of the place while the owners were away, even living there. Mark stipulated that he'd wouldn’t accept payment until they returned and were satisfied with the results.

He had started work after moving in at the beginning of November. It was only him, in one, big-ass home located in the northernmost part of the Outer Banks.

This part of the island was more developed, with enormous vacation rentals lining both sides of the highway, all in the classic “Outer Banker” style. They stood empty during the cold months, windows shuttered against the elements. Mark came into Southern Shores, a town a little bigger than Duck. He rolled the window down far enough to toss what was left of his cigarette outside as he drove past a couple of large gated communities with more expensive homes built up on stilts. Like the dwellings along the road, they were vacant for the season. Even the docks, lashed by the winter surf, were bare of the boats that would return in April and May.

A truck drove past him, heading north as Mark continued south. More vehicles now, he no longer had the highway to himself. He was coming into the heart of the Outer Banks where it was the most built-up, the stretch of Kitty Hawk to Nags Head. Here, land was at a premium with cottages built right next to each other along with the condos, hotels and businesses. Most of the rentals had names, a charming custom that Mark didn’t understand.

He didn’t like coming into town, so he kept his trips to a minimum. Groceries, kerosene, batteries, the odd item at the local Home Depot or Walmart. There were a couple of pizza places that stayed open all year where he’d often pick one up after going through the Brew-Thru, getting three or four cases of beer.

Mark waited at a light in front of the Kitty Hawk fire station, glancing at his watch while he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

He was in town to meet a potential employee. The owners had bought a massive spa tub to go into the master bathroom. At fifty-eight, Mark was still in excellent shape. He could hold his own just fine. But there was no way he could muscle that bastard into the bathroom by himself, let alone up the stairs to the second floor. The plumbing was becoming an issue as well. Mark was a big enough man to admit when he was in over his head.

He continued driving after the light changed.

One of the perks of this job was a satellite hook-up for the multitude of TVs and the internet. Realizing he needed someone to help him, Mark ran an ad on Craig’s List looking for a licensed plumber who could do some carpentry and was willing to move in for a few weeks, possibly more.

He spotted the restaurant he was looking for up on the right side of the highway in a small strip mall. It was one of those places done up for tourists with the usual pirate and seaside theme. Mark wouldn’t normally come here, preferring one of the bars off the main road, but it would be easy for the guy he was meeting to find.

He’d only gotten one response, from a guy who said he'd drive down from Norfolk. He sure as hell hoped he wasn’t wasting his time by meeting up with this man. He put the truck in park and climbed out. The wind whipped past, snatching his breath with its bitterness. He ignored it, slamming the Suburban’s door before heading for the entrance.

God, the place was tacky. The bartender, a tall, slim guy with thinning hair, nodded to him as he sat at the bar. Mark asked for a longneck and tossed his money on the glossy surface before sitting back to wait. There were four or five teenagers in a booth at the far end, talking and laughing as they ate. A large man who looked like a trucker sat in another booth, working his way through a huge burger. Writing something on a pad, a bored waitress leaned on the far end of the bar, sipping on a cola.

The rest of the place was empty. Welcome to January in Kitty Hawk.

Mark finished his beer then ordered another one. The kids paid and, still laughing, shoved each other as they tugged on their coats. The trucker mowed through a mound of fries in a basket, the burger now gone. Mark heard the kids go out, the girls squealing at the wind’s bite.

“You Mark Connor?”

Mark glanced up at a tall man. He must have come in as the kids left.

“Yeah, if you’re Josh Myers.”

Josh nodded, sliding onto the barstool next to Mark and ordered a beer. He had to be at least six foot, four inches Mark estimated as he sized up the other man. Tall and lanky, with sandy hair he tied back. He wore round, wire-rimmed glasses, a wild tie-dyed shirt that was too big for him and a rough, baggy pair of jeans, all topped off with a flannel coat. But under that, Mark recognized something that only another man who’d been in the military would have picked up.

Myers recognized it too. “Former Marine.” He took a swallow of his beer. “You look like Army.” He gave Mark a considering look. “Infantry.”

“A long time ago. You got your license?”

Josh raised an eyebrow at the directness, but Mark wasn’t here to socialize. Either the guy would work out or not. Mark didn’t care that he was a Marine. Much.

Josh pulled his wallet from his back pocket, slipped something out and slid it across the bar to Mark. It was his union card. “I’m licensed. You won’t have to worry about passing the inspections.”

Mark pushed the card back to him. “I need a guy who can do some carpentry work too.”

“Yeah, I can do that and a bunch of other stuff. So, what you got?” Josh pulled the bowl of pretzels over.

“A fucking big tub I need to get up a flight of stairs into a master bathroom. There’s a lot of other shit. It’s a full-time gig with the run of a house north of here. It’ll be just the two of us but the place has five bedrooms, so take your pick."

 “Sounds reasonable enough. When you want me to move in and start?” Josh crunched down on the pretzel. The trucker got up, paid his tab and left, tugging his hat on as he pushed out the door.

“Right now. If you brought your gear and got four-wheel drive, you can follow me.” Mark shook his head as the bartender asked if he wanted another beer. He turned, sizing up Josh with a long look. “It’s a good gig, the place’s huge, there’s satellite TV and internet. I’ve got an expense account for groceries with other odds and ends.”

“Then I’m in.” Josh polished off his beer, then pushed the bottle aside. “One thing I want cleared up before we get there.”

“That being?”

“I’m gay. I’m not gonna lie or apologize for it. You got a problem with that, then it was nice meeting ya’ and I’m on my way back to Norfolk.” Josh crunched down on another pretzel. The bartender stopped wiping and polishing the bar, staring at the two men. Mark ignored him.

“Christ, I don’t care if . . .