Secrets of Chalice Bay

by Yuwanda Black

  “I did, but it happens to be true,” he smiles, the fading afternoon sunlight hitting his golden eyes and illuminating them to what seemed like twice their size. And what I see in them is trust and strength. And lord knows I need someone to lean on. I’ve been so alone for so long, and I am so tired. I bite my lip to keep a sudden tear from falling.

  Ford reaches across the large, rugged kitchen table and grabs one of my hands. He squeezes. “It’s ok.”

  I drop my head and squeeze his hand back. “I pray you’re right. ... Why don’t you tell me about your special skill,” I say, as I dry my eyes with my other hand.

  “I had a sister who was married to an abusive husband. He killed her, and I will never forgive myself for not being there to protect her.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Using my special skill on behalf of this fine country of ours as a Marine. I was deployed in Africa.”

  “I see.”

  “At the trial, he admitted killing her before I got back because he said he knew that I was going to kill him after he found out what he’d done to her while I was gone.”

  “Did you know he was abusive all along?”

  “Not all along. By the time I found out, it had been going on for about three years. He was her high school sweetheart, and once I found out he’d been abusing her, I put him in the hospital. The only reason I didn’t kill him was because she begged me not to. She was pregnant, and she literally stood over me screaming. I’ll never forget those screams, but I wished I hadn’t heeded them. Every day of my life, I wish I’d just kept on squeezing. She’d be here today, and so would my niece. She was seven months pregnant when he killed her. They tried to save the baby, but she died too.”

  I inhaled a sharp breath, the pain on his face as severe as a fresh cut with a jagged-edged knife. “I ... I don’t know what to say. Saying ‘I’m sorry’ seems trite.”

  “It is, and there’s never anything anyone can say that’s appropriate. But thanks just the same.”

  “Now, your turn. Who are you running from, and why?”

  “My husband, but he wasn’t always like that.”

  “They never are, otherwise, you’d never get hooked up with them. How long was it before he hit you; before you recognized that you were in an abusive marriage? I don’t think my sister ever came to terms with it. Not fully.”

  “It took me about five years to realize it. Saying it out loud is embarrassing. I’d should have realized it long before. But I kept hoping, praying that things would change. And not all parts were bad; we had some good times. There was personal chemistry; a connection I’d never felt before.” I squirm as I note his expression.

  “Go on,” he prods.

  “We’ve been married for seven, almost eight years, now. I escaped seven-and-a-half months ago. The first three to four years, I can actually say were good. A little after year four is when things took a precipitous nosedive. The last fourteen months were the worse. I was literally kept locked in the house. Bodyguard on duty. The whole bit.”

  “Bodyguard? So your husband is rich?”

  “Yes. Very. And powerful. There was nobody I trusted that I could turn to.”

  “How about your parents?”

  “Deceased. They were killed in a car accident coming back from a weekend trip at their lodge in the Catskills.”

  “You’re from New York?”

  “Born and bred,” I say proudly.

  “And you’re content to live in the bowels of the country of Alabama.”

  “Must be something in the blood. I never would have thought it either. But I’ve never been as content as I have been here these last seven months.”

  “I would think that your ex would have found you by now. Surely one of the first places he’d look is where you hold real estate.”

  “He doesn’t know about this place,” I explain.

  “Why not?”

  “My mother willed it to me, and told me to keep it secret. In her will, she said a woman should always have assets in her name that belong only to her. She said it was a safe place to go to if I should ever need one. She left me a bit of money too. My husband knew about everything my father left me, but I guess he just assumed that my mother had no assets. She never worked. She was a stay-at-home mother. She left me the property in her adopted name. I didn’t even realize she was adopted until her death.”

  “And you never told your husband about this place at all?”

  “By the time my parents died, things had already started to go south with us. They weren’t as bad as they eventually got, but I think my mother must have sensed something. I never told my husband because I wanted to honor my mother’s wishes, but I think something in me knew I’d need a safe place to go to one day too.”

  “Was your father abusive to your mother?”

  “No. He was what I would call protective. Although, when I think back, I can see how he was a bit controlling as far as things like money went. Until I received my inheritance from my mother, I didn’t think she knew what a bank account was. Credit cards. Yes. Bank accounts. No. My father always handled all the finances. He was an investment manager; owned one of the largest black-owned firms of its kind in New York State. It’s how I met my husband. He worked for my father; became a rising star, and went on to start his own firm.”

  “So what made you finally leave?”

  “My husband was always possessive, but I was only twenty when we met. So I thought that was normal. I even reveled in it; like this is a man who really cares about me and has my best interests at heart.”

  “Society has to do a better job at teaching women the signs of an abuser.”

  His statement surprised me. “You sound very enlightened on the subject.”

  “I did some learning after what happened to my sister. Things could have been so different if I’d only known what to watch out for. So what was the precipitating event that made you realize you had to get out?”

  “One night after a dinner party at our home, he slapped me. It was supposedly because I paid a little too much attention to one of his potential investors. I was just being my normal, friendly self. But the more I tried to explain that, the angrier he got. It progressed from there. Every time we went to a function – and there were a lot of them for his business – I could almost count on an hours-long run-down of what I’d done wrong, or a beating after. It got to the point where I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone. Then I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without his permission. Then I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere, unless he was with me. Then I just wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. He hired a bodyguard to keep me under lock. One time, I escaped and went to my parent’s. My father told me that a woman’s place is with her husband. He ‘talked’ to him, and my husband told him it was just a little lover’s spat.”

  “Did you tell them about the abuse?”

  “No. I was too ashamed. And, I thought it would get better. Well, I hoped, because there were some good times, like when we—”

  “When you what?” Ford asked.

  “Never mind. It just wasn’t all bad, that’s all. It sounds crazy and contradictory, but there were times when we were really close; when I could make myself believe that it would all work out.”

  “Sex can be an aphrodisiac,” Ford states.

  I blush to the soles of my feet.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of. Sex can make two people closer, especially when it’s with the right person,” he explains, his eyes daring mine to leave his.

  “Do you think it’s crazy to be intimate with someone who abuses you?”

  “I think being a human puts us in crazy situations. Things are not black and white like they are in the animal kingdom. I’ve seen and done things as a soldier that I’d never do here. You navigate the best way you can in the world given the situation.”

  “You really believe that?” I asked.

  “I do,” Ford responded.

  “I don’t need you to rescue me, Ford.”

&
nbsp; “I beg to differ. But what if I want to?”

  “Why would you want to? Because you couldn’t be there for your sister?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  “And the other part is?” I ask.

  “The other part is, and forgive my bluntness, I’m attracted to you. I haven’t thought about a woman as much as I think about you in a long time. And it occurred to me that maybe it was time to do something about it.”

  “You’re crazy,” I say, letting out a nervous laugh.

  “I’ve been told that a few times. And it’s helped me survive a few times. So I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “My baggage doesn’t put you off at all?”

  “Nope. If anything, it makes me want to hang around more.”

  “You’re a soldier, so I know you’re used to danger. But this war that could be coming to your doorstep; there are only one set of rules. His.”

  “Lucky for me, I don’t play by the rules. Anybody’s. ... So does that mean you’ll agree to go to dinner with me.”

  Taz smiled.

  “How could I say no after all this? I’m willing to be that since nobody else in this town would be crazy enough to ask me out, especially after they found out about my past.”

  “Then lucky me,” Ford says.

  “Good. Friday night it is. I’ll pick you up at 7. And while I’m on a roll, let me take you to the town’s annual Valentine’s Day dance. It’s three weeks from this Saturday. Bonfires, hay rides, live music, apple bobbing, kissing booths, line dancing, square dancing; it may sound corny, but it’s actually a lot of fun. So, we got a date?”

  “Can we not call it a date? Can we just call it two new friends getting together to have a good time?”

  Ford put his chair down on four legs, got up and came to stand in front of me. He took one of my hands in his and pulled me up from my chair. The front of me lands on the rock-hard wall that is him, and I swear, my knees buckle.

  “I don’t like to play games, Taz. But we can call whatever’s happening between us anything you want. Just know, I want you and I intend to have you. I know that may scare the shit out of you coming from what you’re coming from. But I want you the way a man is supposed to want a woman: because he feels the need for her in his bones. Because he wants to make her laugh at silly shit. And because he takes more cold showers in a day than any man should have to because he can’t stop thinking about her. ... And one final thing.”

  “What?” I squeal, my knees still jellied, and becoming weaker by the second as his scent invades me.

  “I’m a patient man when I really want something. And I really want you. But not before you’re ready to give yourself to me. Not out of fear. Not out of gratitude. Not even out of simple need. When you come to me, I want it to be because your need matches mine,” he finished, his lips so close to mine I could almost taste the smell of them.

  He dropped a kiss in the center of my forehead and promptly released me. I puddled back into the chair from which he’d drawn me just a few minutes ago.

  “Enjoy the food. I’m on duty for the next thirty-six hours. Gotta run.”

  “Saturday. Seven o’clock sharp, ok?”

  I couldn’t muster a word, so I just shook my head. I heard the front screen door screech shut. I really should oil it, I thought.

  Yip looked at me, his head cocked sideways like, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

  “Fine guard dog you are,” I say to him. “If he’d been a danger, I’d be dead right now.”

  His response is to let his tongue lag out of his mouth and sit on his hind haunches, as if to say, ‘You were never in danger.’

  Chapter 9

  Preacher

  “Alabama? Are you sure? I’ve never heard of Chalice Bay, or any connection to Alabama at all.”

  “Here’s the pic to prove it. Apparently, it was a property left to her by her mother, along with a pretty hefty inheritance.”

  “She cut her hair,” I say to no one in particular.

  “Another reason it was hard to find her. She barely looks like what she used to look like when she was with you here in New York. No makeup, short hair, jeans, and she’s put on a little weight. So all the pics we were circulating; they were practically useless. The only giveaway was that mouth.”

  Preacher looked at the Private Investigator as if the say, ‘Watch it.’

  Angelina Jolie’s lips have nothing on my Taz. Her lips are made for loving a man, from his lips right down to his granite-hard dick. And man, the things she can do with them. I get hard just thinking about it.

  “Does someone have eyes on her now?”

  “All the time, although it’s hard to blend into the little town she’s in. Everybody knows everybody there and my boys stick out like sore thumbs. So, I sent in a female agent who’s staying in the next town over. They’re contemplating a highway coming through, and she’s passing herself off as some kind of hack from the government looking into things. I don’t understand all the particulars of her cover, but she’s good at what she does.”

  “Well done Kenwood. Well done. I knew you’d eventually get the job done.”

  “I’ve never failed you yet,” the PI replied.

  “So what do you want us to do? Want us to bring her back?”

  “No. She’s my wife. I’ll collect her myself.”

  “But what if she refuses—”

  “There’s nothing she can do. She’s my wife. Her place it at my side. And that’s where she will return.”

  Chapter 10

  Taz

  “I thought you said Saturday at seven o’clock?”

  “What? It’s not Saturday yet?” Ford grins, looking at his watch. “Well as long as I’m here, you might as well invite me in for a cup of coffee.”

  Yip barks, but this time it is accompanied by a tail wag instead of a snarl.

  “Useless. Useless as a guard dog, I tell you,” I remark, as Ford ruffles the fur under the Shepherd’s neck.

  “Dogs know danger. Trust me, if I meant you harm – at least the kind of harm he’s thinking – he wouldn’t let me anywhere near you.”

  “So you admit to meaning me harm?” I say, running water in the coffee pot.

  “I do,” he admits, coming up behind me. I could feel the hardness of him against my butt through my jeans.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you. And as soon as I got off, I knew I had to come over and do something about it.”

  “Like what?” I say, holding the full coffee pot in my hand.

  “This,” he says, taking the coffee pot from my hand, placing it in the sink, and turning me around. “I want you in more ways you can’t even imagine woman.”

  I love it when he calls me ‘woman.’ So damned sexy. “But you said you were a patient man.”

  “I am, but this can’t wait,” he explains, cupping both sides of my face and bringing his lips to mine.

  He needs to taste her, to feel that she wants him as much as he wants her. He needs to feel the purr in her throat as he slides his tongue down it, claiming, for the first time, the thing that will lead to other things. The thought of someone hurting her ... he wants her to feel that she is safe with him, that she can feel free again; that he will defend her right to that feeling with his dying breath.

  From the moment his lips touch mine, I want to surrender. I want to fall apart in his arms and forget everything but the power of this feeling he unleashes inside of me. I’m guiltily turned on by the force of him, this, us. Dealing with everything on my plate, if I was sane, I would be scared shitless by the intensity of his golden eyes; of the possessive way he holds me. But something inside me knows I’m safe; safe in a way I’ve never been safe before. I know he wouldn't hurt me; couldn’t hurt me – at least not physically. All I can think about as our kiss deepens is how easily he could take me; how easily this raw emotion that’s exploding inside me makes me want to do the one thing I have no business doing. I ignore all of that, and grind my hips into h
is hard center. I know I shouldn’t, but I want him; want him with a ferocity that should be criminal.

  With a growl, he tears his lips away from mine, holding my face captive in his large, rough hands. He parks his forehead in the center of mine, fighting to control the frustration that’s clawing at him like a tiger with a piece of fresh meat. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, his breath singeing my lips. “I don’t know how the hell I’m doing this, because I want to ram my cock into you so hard, so bad. I dream about it every waking minute. But you’re not ready, Taz. And the only way I want you is when you’re ready.”

  “But—” I start to protest. His lips punish mine with another kiss, silencing me. I fight for breath.

  “If all I wanted was a fuck—Just ... you’re not ready, baby. You’re not ready. Saturday. Seven o’clock, ok?”

  And with a light kiss on my forehead, he’s gone; an unexpected gentle parting that touched me deeper than another passionate kiss would have.

  I sag against the porcelain of the farmhouse kitchen sink, feeling like a first-time-in-love teenager as I savor the touch, feel and taste of him on me, around me, in me.

  In me ...

  I need a cold shower.

  Now.

  Chapter 11

  Taz

  “Well that’s more like it,” Luther says as the bells on the front door to his hardware stop their jangling.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You got a smile on that pretty face. Never saw you smile before. Been waiting on it for months. I figured you had to do it sometime. But having a fella in your life will do that for a pretty girl like you, won’t it?”

  “Excuse—”

  “Oops, take that back. When you and Ford finally got ta talking in here a few weeks ago; that was the first time I saw a wee bit of a smile. But it’s wide and bright now, just like it oughta be on a face like yours.”

  It confirmed what Taz had already surmised; nothing got past Luther; not if it happened in Chalice Bay.

  “I’m ... I’m not sure what to say,” I reply, taken aback at his observation. All I know is that I did seem to sport a goofy grin these days. While it had a lot to do with Ford, it had more to do with feeling like I belonged somewhere for the first time since my parent’s death.