Tombstones (Beekman Hills Book 4)

by K. C. Enders

  We eat quietly for a bit, fork tines scraping against the plates.

  “Y’all have been gone a lot then,” Kate says, her accent coming out a bit.

  “Mmhmm. But, when Jake was born, we were just out on an FTX—sorry, field training exercise—so it wasn’t quite like it is now. Chloe called the CO’s wife when she went into labor, and that woman was a teacup terrorist.” I chuckle, thinking about how mighty my commanding officer’s tiny wife was.

  She sure as shit didn’t let Army bureaucracy get in the way of what needed to be done. If she had an important message to get to her husband, she found a way.

  “She made sure the colonel knew that Tripp needed to be fast-tracked home, and he fucking made it. There are some truly amazing people in the world.”

  Kate smirks over her wineglass. “Kind of makes up for the assholes causing trouble across the globe.”

  If only. I have seen some things. Things that sour my stomach and make my blood boil. Make me question whether God exists. I don’t tell her any of that. What’s the point? I deal with the bogeymen and the bad guys, so the rest of the world can rest easy.

  Chapter 13

  Kate

  WE SPENT TWO DAYS skiing in what I guess was a rare powder event in the Catskills and two nights wrapped up in each other. Drinking wine and eating dinner in front of a roaring fire. The only thing that could have possibly made the weekend better was a promise of a tomorrow. The possibility of a future even if that future was as simple as a date next week. A phone call next month. But, no, not here, not with us.

  This weekend was good-bye. Tomorrow, I go back to work, and by the end of the week, we’ll each be tucked in with our families, celebrating Christmas.

  Not once have I had a desire to be anywhere but home for the holidays—until now. Snowy horse rides, crackling fires, wool socks, and mountains of blankets. That’s how I picture Christmas in Montana. I’ll be home in Hattiesburg, pretending it’s downright chilly out and anything less than a puffy coat, scarf, and fingerless gloves is just asking for pneumonia. Meanwhile, I’ll be tapping the AC a few degrees just so I can survive the heat. At some point over the past three years, I became a Northerner. Or at the very least, my blood’s gotten thicker.

  Jack’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts as we approach Beekman Hills. “When do you head out? You are flying to Mississippi, not driving, right?” Taking his eyes from the road, he glances over at me.

  “Flying, for sure. Wednesday afternoon. What about you?” I ask, wondering if we’ll see each other even one more time before this is all over.

  “Out of Newark on Wednesday morning.”

  “I’m out of LaGuardia.”

  The awkward tap dance, the back-and-forth of how to end things. Maybe it would be best to say good-bye today. A kiss at the door. Thank you for a lovely weekend, and leave it at that.

  “I have a date tomorrow night with Jake, for dude time. It’s tradition. But Tuesday? Can I see you then? Dinner maybe?” he asks, guiding his truck into a parking spot in front of my building, one that seems impossibly small.

  I nod, biting at the inside corner of my lip. “Yeah, I can do that.” The streetlights glow in the cold night, a haze illuminating out from antique-style fixtures.

  “Good,” Jack says quietly, stepping out of the truck.

  Cold air invades the warm interior, and I pull my gloves on as he comes around to open my door. The manners on him. I’m sad. I hate that what we have is so short-term, but dear God, if I got nothing else out of the past month, I got my recalibration. I will not be wasting my time on any more trolls from this point on. My standards have been elevated.

  Jack grabs my suitcase and a handful of shopping bags, leaving me with just my tote and a few smaller bags to carry. We climb the stairs in silence, and after unlocking my apartment door, I hold it open for him.

  “Where do you want these?” he asks, slightly lifting my bags.

  “Anywhere. By the hallway maybe? Can I get you a drink? Do you want to stay for a bit?” I need to get unpacked and ready for the last two days of school before Christmas break, but I don’t want him to leave.

  “Thanks, probably not though. I have some stuff to take care of”—he sets my things down—“and I would imagine you’ve got to get organized, too, yeah?”

  He walks toward me until he’s right there. A breath away. If I were to lean forward, I could bury my nose in the warm hollow of his neck.

  Instead, I close my eyes and breathe in the scent that is all Jack—spicy citrus, a hint of leather. He slides his hands along my neck, thumbs lifting my chin so that my lips meet his. The kiss is soft, full of reverence. And over far too soon.

  “Thank you for spending the weekend with me, Kate. I needed that more than you know.” His lips brush against mine as he speaks. “I’ll call and let you know what the plan is for dinner.” Tilting my head, he presses his lips to my forehead; it’s sweet, tender, so much more intimate than the chaste action should be. And he goes.

  This is not good. Completely and totally bad actually. My heart is not going to come out unscathed; that’s for damn sure.

  I text Gracyn, wondering where the hell she is at ten on a Sunday night.

  Gracyn: Working late. My boss is an ass.

  Me: You work for your dad …

  Gracyn: Yep. Don’t wait up. You have school in the morning. See you tomorrow maybe?

  I send a kissy face emoji and pull my bottle of Casamigos Blanco from the cabinet above the fridge. Three fingers of oak-aged tequila will make doing laundry and organizing myself a little less painful. My playlists all feel just too much for my mood, so I browse through the categories, finally settling on something entirely Jack. Old-school Rat Pack. Crooners with voices rich and deep to balance the smoky caramel and vanilla notes of my drink and the melancholy that has descended on me.

  I connect to my Bose speaker and let the music surround me, the tequila warming me, and I just start going through the motions of doing what needs to be done. I haven’t been home much, not nearly as much as I normally am since hooking up with Jack. Gracyn, God love her, is not the neatest roommate in the world, but I guess the only other one I’ve spent a significant amount of time with was gay and ridiculously fastidious with his clothes and home decor. It’s not a stereotype if it’s true.

  By the time I fall into bed, laundry done, apartment mostly cleaned, and supplies organized for two wild days in kindergarten, I think I should fall right to sleep. Sad to say, that’s not how it works. Gracyn still isn’t home, and I’m lonely. The apartment feels empty, my bed far too lonesome. I roll to my side and flop to my stomach, stretching out, reaching for the comfort of the person who’s not there.

  ***

  TWO DAYS OF TEACHING kindergarten is a walk in the park. Unless it’s the two days before the biggest holiday in these little kiddos’ worlds. Add to that the disruption of having a substitute on Friday while I was off sexing it up in the mountains, and even the most seasoned teacher would be considering a career change right about now.

  “Miss Beard, were you sick?”

  “Miss Beard, that other lady didn’t read the story right.”

  “Miss Beard, I missed you so much.”

  I knew I’d get a full rundown from these kiddos on the injustices of having a substitute change their routine.

  What I didn’t plan for was Jake.

  “Miss Beard, Daddy said Uncle Jack went away with a pretty lady this weekend. Did you go away with Uncle Jack?” Jake pipes up just as I think the complaints, questions, and commentaries are winding down.

  Laughing to try to cover the uncomfortable feeling of getting called out by a five-year-old, I ask, “Why would you think your daddy was talking about me?” Sweet Jesus in a manger at Christmas.

  “’Cause, besides my mom, you’re the prettiest lady I know,” he responds, eyes wide and earnest.

  “Aw, thank you, Jake. That was a really nice compliment. Hey, I have an idea.” I sit down in my story-time c
hair. “Come sit on the floor for me, and how about we take a minute to go round the circle and give a little compliment to our friends?”

  Nothing like thinking on my feet and finding a way not to lie to the little bugger. I know I can do it, but since we’re pretty much guaranteed to not get a whole lot of book learning done today anyway, why not work on life skills? And saying something nice is never a bad idea.

  Sitting and listening to these sweet children tell their friend to the left of them what they like, what makes them smile, what they’re good at, it makes my heart happy. Some of the best teaching moments happen spontaneously, and all the planning in the world just can’t compete.

  The rest of the day and much of the next are spent on fun—giving crafts and activities for the kids with lots of time to share their thoughts and excitement for the coming break—and all the packing and organizing for me once school is out.

  On Tuesday though, the last hour of school is dedicated to the winter party. Pin the Nose on the Snowman, Snowball Scoop with oven mitts and small white balloons. Sugar cookies and gifts galore. Books and coloring books for the kiddos. And so many thoughtful gift cards and coffee mugs and goodies for me.

  And I finally get to meet Jake’s dad.

  “Miss Beard,” Jake says in his playground voice, bouncing on his toes. He grabs my hand and wiggles it, trying to get my attention while I thank Cecelia’s mom for all her help with the party. “Miss Beard—” Jake whines, all patience gone.

  “Jacob Triplett, you simmer down and use your manners, sir,” a deep voice commands.

  Jake stops bouncing and shaking my hand but doesn’t let go for a minute. “Yes, sir. Excuse me, Miss Beard, this is real important.”

  He turns his puppy-dog eyes to me, and I’m lost. An absolute goner. I squeeze his little hand and thank my party helper one more time before giving my full attention to Jake.

  “Thank you for finding your manners, friend. What can I help you with?” I calmly ask him.

  Jake smiles proudly and sweeps his free hand toward the giant of a man behind him. The one with the deep voice, soft eyes, and arm wrapped solidly around Chloe Triplett. “This is my dad. He and Uncle Jack are best friends, and they are soldiers and fight the bad guys.”

  I can totally see where Jake gets his sandy-brown curls.

  Offering my hand, I say, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mr. Triplett. Thank you for your service.”

  He takes my hand, firmly shaking it. “And thank you for yours,” he says sincerely. “Jake talks about you all the time. All good things.” He smiles broadly and winks at his boy.

  “Ditto.”

  “Yeah, no need to sugarcoat anything. I’m sure he talks about Jack way more than me. Serious hero worship there.”

  “Maybe it’s a phase?” I offer.

  “It’s all good. If I had to handpick someone for Jake to look up to, it would be Jack, all the way.”

  Jake beams up at his parents.

  “Anyway, it was great to meet you. Enjoy your break. You’ve earned it with these heathens.”

  “Thanks so much, and y’all do the same. Merry Christmas.”

  I turn my attention to the class in general and get them ready to go. The class turtle is going home with Aubrey, the care instructions tucked into his food carrier. Flipping the chairs and shutting off the lights, I turn before locking my classroom door.

  I couldn’t be more ready for this little break, but I still have a few things to take care of once I get out of here. Most of my gifts were shipped home last week, but the ones I bought up in that little mountain town for my mama, I need to pad and pack, so they make it through the flight in one piece. And I want to make sure all of that is done and that my bags are ready to go before Jack picks me up in a couple of hours.

  Chapter 14

  Jack

  FINALLY, ON THE THIRD try, the lock clicks, and I push open the door to my room. Streetlight filters through the window, casting the room in a soft glow. It would be romantic as fuck if, for the life of me, I could think straight. But let’s be honest; my blood has all gone south, and I can’t process much more than getting to where I want to be. Where I need to be.

  Kate drops her purse to the ground with a decided thud.

  “You have enough shit in there?” I ask, chuckling.

  She bites her lip and steps farther into the room, pulling at the belt tie on her ruby-red coat. Lord God, help a poor soldier. This woman is sexy as sin, even in the way she takes off her fucking coat. She might just be the death of me.

  “Mmhmm, make fun all you want, but I do believe in being prepared, and you know, if we need it, I probably have it in that bag,” she states, dead fucking serious.

  “I have everything we need right here.” I toss my wallet to the table by the bed and slide the coat the rest of the way down her arms, dropping it to the floor.

  And there she is. Standing in front of me in nothing fancier than jeans and a sweater, but damn the way her curves are hinted at beneath the bulky layers. I slide my hands along the sides of her neck, twining my fingers through her hair, and pull her in for a kiss. To savor or devour? Take my time and make this last, or rip her clothes off and ravage her until we’re nothing but a sweaty mess in tangled sheets? This is it, and I’ll be fucked if I’m not going to soak her in.

  While my brain is trying to function on short rations, Kate’s hands get busy, taking over. Working the buttons on my shirt, pulling it loose from my jeans. Shoving the material aside, she tickles and dances her fingertips down my torso, straight to my belt. She struggles with the buckle, getting nowhere fast, growling her frustration.

  “You gonna laugh at me or help me with this?” she murmurs against my lips. “Why is this so hard?”

  I try—really, I do—but I’m a guy, so pressing her hand over my hard dick, I snort out a laugh and tell her with all the honesty I possess, “You did that, sweetheart. That’s all because of you.” I shrug my shirt off the rest of the way and step into her. “Tit for tat, how ’bout you lose your sweater, so we keep things even?”

  Before the words are fully out of my mouth, her sweater hits the growing pile of clothes on the floor. I flick open my belt buckle but catch her hands as they reach for me. I’m a grown-ass man, and I’ve got all kinds of control, but Kate makes me feel like a horny teenager, and one errant touch could have me coming in my jeans. And that’s just not going to happen tonight. Hell no.

  Holding her hands, I pull her toward me and kiss her again, parting her lips with my tongue, tasting her. Distracting her just enough to get myself back under control. Releasing her hands, I cup her tits, the lace straining over her tight nipples. The buds hardening against my thumbs while I hook my fingers into the cups, pushing the straps down off her shoulders. I kiss a trail from her lips, along her jaw and across her delicate collarbone. Dip my head and suck her nipple into my mouth, nipping at her through the lace.

  Kate reaches behind herself, arching her back as she does, and pops the clasp, allowing her bra to drop away. Dear God, she takes my breath away. All that pale, creamy skin right there. Just for me. I guide her toward the bed and crawl up her body until she is splayed out, her chest to mine, touching everywhere we need to be touching.

  Almost.

  I push myself up and pop the button on her jeans, sliding them and her panties down those mile-long legs. I stand and grab hold of her boot-clad foot, unzipping one and then the other, peeling her jeans off and adding them to the mess.

  “Katelyn, look at you. Fuck me,” I mumble, working myself out of my briefs.

  “That is the plan, right?” she asks, running her hands up to her breasts, pushing them together, toying with her nipples.

  “It is. You good with that plan?”

  I pick up her foot, kiss the arch, her ankle, behind her knee, settling it on my shoulder. I repeat the sequence on the other side and slide down until I am face-to-pussy and give her a long, slow lick before circling her clit with my tongue. Kate’s hips buc
k off the bed, a moan escaping from her lips as she grabs at my hair. I drag a finger through her slick heat and curl one and then two fingers into her pussy, pumping and sucking and flicking and stroking her to orgasm.

  That’s one, just to get her ready.

  “Jack,” she breathes my name on a shuddering sigh.

  “You good?” I ask, reaching for one of the condoms in my wallet.

  Kate hums her satisfaction as I rip open the black square and roll the condom down my length. I lean over, grasping my cock and rubbing it against her, slicking it up. Nudging her entrance, I push in partway and drop my forehead to hers. And that little hum that Kate had kicking a second ago turns to a moan as she adjusts. With small pulses, I thrust in deeper and deeper each time, gritting my teeth so that I don’t fucking lose it. Her moan turns into a gasp as I push in that last bit until I’m fully seated, my balls tight up against her. Her eyes blown fucking wide.

  “You still good?” I grit out—pausing not just for her, but for me, too, because my dick is being strangled right now. The life squeezed out of it in the best possible way. “Fuck, Kate. Tell me you’re okay.” I fight to keep my eyes open as her walls flutter around me. I want to know, see it in her eyes that she’s ready to go.

  “Gawd, yes. Oh my … yes,” she pants, rocking her hips. “Yes, Jack. Oh-ma-Gawd, yes.” And she rolls back into me, stroking me. Fucking me.

  And far be it from me to make this gorgeous woman do all the work. Retreating until just my tip is nestled in her tight heat, I thrust back in, moving her up the mattress. God, I could fuck her through time, forever. She makes me forget to breathe, forget my name. She almost makes me forget that I’m getting on a plane to hell in a few short hours.

  She’s the first woman who’s made me want to miss a flight and stay right here, wrapped up in her.