His to Cherish

by Christa Wick

  Yeah, like that wasn't a mixed message. I needed a shoulder to cry on. Not that I would have cried on it, but it would have been nice knowing it was there. With Gillie out of the picture, that left Keppler as my sole remaining connection to Keeling. With all the stuff Stark had been buying on a daily basis, that connection would soon be severed.

  Not putting it past Stark to have formulated such a plan, I snorted. Finished with the laugh, I rubbed at my cheeks while I willed myself to move my legs and take a shower. Instead of using the hot plate to make ramen for dinner, I would go into the one restaurant in town that had wi-fi and begin the job search I should have started more than a week ago while I ate.

  When I emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, my hair dry and a light coating of make-up on, I pulled the lid off one bin. Evan was dead. I didn't need to hide the fancy clothes any more. In fact, I needed the opposite, needed to stop being invisible or I would fail any interview I might possibly land.

  I sorted through the clothes, divorcing each of them from the associations they held with Stark. Ignoring how long he had stared into my eyes the first time I wore it, I shook out the long-sleeved blouse in a georgette of cerulean blue over a silk shell. Pairing it with a full-length silk skirt, I suppressed the memory of how Collin's hand had possessed me under the skirt as the sun set over the Persian Gulf and I trembled in climax.

  When I pulled out the expensive leather boots, the black as shiny and smooth as oil, I thought of Gillie at the roadhouse and not Stark.

  I changed into the clothes then spent a few minutes in front of the cracked mirror above the dresser as I brushed my hair into submission. Finished, I ran my hands over the skirt, appreciating its texture. It was too nice for the little diner I was going to, too nice for a hardware store clerk, as well. The skirt alone was two weeks' pay before taxes. I should probably take half the outfits and find a boutique consignment shop in Raleigh. That would extend the cushion of time I had to find a job by months with enough left over to pay for a few plane tickets in case I needed to interview out of state.

  Making a mental note to search for consignment shops in Raleigh when I was at the diner, I slid my laptop into the black leather attache Stark had given me in Dubai. Keys in one hand and reaching for the door handle, I jumped back with a little squeak as someone knocked.

  I didn't open the door immediately. Instead, I went to the window that looked onto the parking spaces in front of the room and pulled the curtain aside. A young male in a business suit stood in front of my door. He carried a box with him that looked heavy from the way he kept shifting its weight. On top of that, a dark yellow envelope kept threatening to blow away each time he lifted his chin from it.

  Deciding he wasn't there for strong arm robbery, I opened the door.

  He took a second to look me over, his expression brightening when he saw the expensive clothes and all the other indicia that I wasn't a regular at the Sweet Home Motor Lodge.

  "Miss Mia James?"

  "Yes." I lifted my chin so I could surreptitiously stare at the box and envelope. Neither was marked. I frowned at the mystery. "Are those for me?"

  He nodded. "But I need ID."

  I rolled my eyes at him but opened the attache to pull out my driver's license.

  "Hey," he smiled as he checked my bona fides, "You're just two years older than me."

  And you, Junior, are at least a decade too young for me.

  I smiled back if only to be polite. "Who is this from?"

  He shrugged and I felt a moment's sympathy for him. He had either been instructed not to tell or someone had deemed him too unimportant to know.

  "Well, thank you for delivering them." I reached for the box and envelope, then hesitated before I would have my hands full. "Should I...uh..."

  Delivery boys generally didn't wear suits, so I wasn't sure if I should tip him. He caught the gist of my confusion and blushed before shaking his head vigorously.

  "They're from the law firm I work at," he explained. "Just dropping them off on my way home."

  Mention of a law firm surprised me. My fingers started to tingle as I placed a palm top and bottom of the box with its envelope and relieved him of his burden. Placing the box on a chair by the door, I immediately ripped the envelope open and pulled two pieces of paper out.

  If Collin Stark was serving some kind of legal process to nullify my rights to the guesthouse, I would go mental on him. It didn't matter than an hour ago I had been ready to abandon those rights, I would not let him take them from me.

  I stared down at the paper, the words making no sense. At the top it read North Carolina Quitclaim Deed. Collin's name filled the Grantor column, mine filled the Grantee. Below that, legalese on heirs and assigns and then:

  WITNESSETH, that said Grantors, for and in consideration of the sum of ten dollars and other consideration to them in hand paid, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, have remised and released and by these presents do remise, release, and forever quitclaim into the Grantee and his heirs and assigns all right, title, claim, and interest of the said Grantors in and to a certain tract or parcel of land lying and being in the County of Martin and State of North Carolina, in Keeling Township, and more particularly described as follows:

  I read the description of the horse farm, the papers starting to shake in my hand.

  "Good news, I hope."

  I looked up to find the young man staring at me, his gaze a mix of appreciation and confusion. My lips parted but I couldn't formulate an answer. I just shook my head, mumbled a good-bye and shut the door.

  I slid down to sit on the floor, the six-hundred dollar silk skirt as forgotten as the aged-in grime underneath. I re-read the first and second page of the form then ran my fingers over the raised notary seal.

  Collin Stark had spent over a million dollars to acquire the horse farm and almost two weeks and however many additional dollars making repairs and he had just assigned his entire interest to me. I looked at the clock and scowled at the time. Closing in on seven in the evening, it was too late to take the deed to the county clerk's and have it recorded.

  I returned the deed to the envelope and placed the envelope in the attache case. I would not go out until I was leaving for the county clerk's office. I would stay home and have ramen. Nodding at my decision, I got up and hid the attache in a bin, a layer of clothing on top of it. I locked the door after that then turned my attention to the box.

  Plain brown paper secured with clear tape covered the outside. I cut at both with my car keys, stuffed the paper in the trash and pulled back the top flaps. Photographs that I had labeled "ruined" filled the interior. Only these were new, freshly developed.

  I picked one up, studied it. My father and me at Christmas. Mold had made his head indistinguishable from the tree. I had left this picture and the others at the guesthouse. I dug deeper -- one outside the stables, me on Corabelle's back, Ray's hand holding me steady. The right third had been almost black with mold. I looked at it closely, my brain realizing that the fence on the right third didn't exist when the picture had been taken. That had been photo-manipulated into place.

  Collin had entered the guesthouse after I vacated it, taken my photos, had them scanned and then -- what?

  NSA has these algorithms

  I shook my head. I had told him he couldn't fix the pictures. Just like I had told him things between us were settled and that I had finally and completely shut him out.

  Sinking to my knees, I started to cry. I had to be right because if I let him back in and he left me again there would be nothing to piece back together.

  I chewed at my lip to stay focused. Things clearly weren't settled because he wouldn't let them be. But he kept coming at me sideways. I mean, Reed -- not Collin -- had given me insight on Collin's reaction to the miscarriage. Kessa had sent me to hospital on the day Collin was released and, instead of telling me he was buying the farm for me, Collin had made it sound like he was buying it for himself and then haunted me
every day at work afterwards. He had sent a man/boy to deliver the quitclaim deed and pictures -- and snuck behind my back to get the pictures to begin with.

  As my list built, I rose from the floor and started to pace. He also had acted lie the ring on the tray didn't exist or had no relevance between us.

  So did you, Mia. So did you.

  I shook my head at the annoying little voice of reason inside me. This was about Collin's behavior, not mine. I twisted the locks on the hotel door and opened it, almost storming out without my keys or wallet. I shut and locked the door again while I retrieved my wallet from the attache and found my keys where I had dropped then on the floor.

  I locked the room up and headed for the horse farm. I looked like a maniac, I'm sure, shaking my head, talking to myself, shouting sometimes.

  Sideways bastard!

  I pulled into the drive, my car kicking up dirt that glowed red in the tail lights as I came to a stop in front of the main house.

  Seeing it for the first time in over a week, I sucked a breath in. The exterior was still in dire need of a new paint job, but the dark, heavy drapes had been taken off the windows in favor of lace curtains. The light fixtures on the porch had been replaced. Those inside the house had been dusted so that the crystal threw fairy lights into the night.

  He had found rocking chairs for the front porch that were a close match to those he would have seen in the ruined pictures. The lace curtains, too -- I hadn't realized that they mirrored the pictures until I saw the rocking chairs.

  I got out of the car and approached the house, stopping just short of stepping onto the porch. The front door was open, the screen keeping out the moths that wanted to dance with the light that streamed from every window.

  I stared hard at the door. He had to have heard the car pull up, had to have known the pictures and deed were delivered. That he didn't appear made me doubt myself all over again.

  Behind me, I heard the crunch of drying pine needles. I turned to see Collin step away from the tall pine that stood in the front yard. He hadn't come out because he'd been there all along, watching my reaction.

  Looking for the tactical advantage.

  Taking my hand, Collin led me onto the porch. Urging me to look up, he brushed a finger under my chin.

  "I figured if you didn't come out right away, there really wasn't any chance left for us."

  "That I came doesn't mean there is." I pulled my hand from his. I knew I wanted him, would always want him. I just didn't think I could survive having him again. "Go home, Collin."

  He seemed to stagger a step back. I knew the feeling, felt a flare of deep pain shoot through my chest as if we'd both been stabbed with the same blade or shot with the same gun.

  "I don't have one." He straightened, his gaze like it had been that last day in the hospital. He studied me as if he didn't quite know who I was. Reaching out, he scratched at a spot of peeling paint on the side of the porch. "Haven't since before I enlisted. I have places I own--"

  "This isn't one of them anymore," I reminded him.

  He acknowledge the fact with a slight nod and then his hands curled against the sides of my face. "What will it take for you to stop hating me?"

  Hate him? I loved him, but I had to love myself, too, and the two loves weren't compatible.

  When I remained mute, he filled the silence.

  "I thought I was protecting you by sending you away." His hands moved, threading in my hair as he stepped closer. "That was just a lie I told myself so I wouldn't feel bad. If it was only about wanting to protect you, I would have kept you next to me."

  His chest pressed against mine. His mouth grazed the side of my face, the pressure so light I could feel the tremble in his lips.

  "I was protecting me," he confessed. "From losing you, from guilt...you had all the power, you still do..."

  He stepped away, his hand dipping into one pocket. The ring came out. He didn't offer it to me or even look at me, just ran it round and round his fingertip as he continued speaking. "I'm done fighting other people's wars, baby. Done keeping other men's families safe."

  His voice caught and I thought for a second the ring would disappear from sight once more.

  "There are horses coming tomorrow." He met my gaze again. "Rescues."

  For a moment, I forgot about the ring. Horses? Tomorrow? Did he realize what a huge responsibility even one horse was?

  His free hand reached behind him to slide a picture from his back pocket. He showed it to me without offering it, as if he intended to keep this one for himself whether I let him stay or forced him to leave.

  The picture was a close up. I stood with my forehead touching Corabelle's long nose, my hand stroking the side of her face. My mother had taken it the day after Evan had forced Ray Haynes to leave his job as foreman on the farm. I hadn't quite felt like I lost my father all over again, more like a favorite uncle who had stepped in after my father's death. A man who had taught me to ride and selected my best and longest friend -- the horse I sought comfort from in the picture.

  Leaning in, Collin kissed the tears streaming down my cheeks. When his arms wrapped around me and pulled me to him, I didn't protest. The picture disappeared into his back pocket, but the ring didn't. He pressed it into my palm and curled his fingers around my hand.

  His lips pressed against my ear. "I thought the farm could offer second chances...to horses and children..."

  Softly, so softly I wouldn't have heard it if I hadn't been hanging on every word, he finished.

  "To me."

  Cherished

  Listening to the shower shut off in the master bathroom, I slowly paced in the bedroom. Collin was washing up for the second time that day. The first had been outside under a hose after he assisted our foreman, Ray Haynes, in delivering a foal earlier in the evening.

  I had watched the circus of nerves and jumbled elbows from a safe distance inside the stable. Three months pregnant, I'd had a hard time getting Collin to even allow me inside the outbuildings since I told him the good news a month before.

  It wasn't just the the stables or horses. He didn't want me carrying so much as a grocery bag from the car to the house or using a two-step ladder to pull something down from a cupboard. As for what I could do in the bedroom...

  I blew a hot puff of air as I walked, clearing a thick strand of hair from my face. The bedroom had become a place solely reserved for sleeping, including the "mommy naps" he insisted I take when I seemed even a little bit tired.

  Mommy didn't need a nap -- she needed a man, the one on the other side of the bathroom door, drying off muscles she should have already been licking a good hour ago.

  Still pacing, I heard the door open.

  "Love, what's wrong?" At my side immediately, Collin gently placed his hand against the curve of my stomach. His pupils dilated with his concern, deflating my irritation.

  I cupped my hand against his cheek and shook my head.

  He wasn't buying it. He pulled my hand down from where I stroked his jaw and grabbed my shoulders. "Is this about the foal?"

  "No." Even Ray had agreed I needed to stay back. The mare had been too high spirited, at least in the beginning. They had to turn the foal before the delivery was over, knocking all the wind out of the mare's sails by the time they pulled the foal from her.

  "It's the other things," I whispered as Collin led me toward the bed.

  He kissed just below my ear, the pressure and duration too platonic to satisfy me. Dressed as I was, he should have known to kiss me harder. I had changed into a long, white peignoir, its front secured only by a series of strategically tied silk ribbons. Semi-opaque, the fabric showed the blush of my nipples and the dark shadow between my thighs that signaled the absence of any panties.

  "I thought pregnant women liked being spoiled?" Collin's fingers trailed along the developing baby bump of my already plump stomach.

  They also liked being fucked, I thought -- at least if the heat and tension thrumming through my lower
torso were good indicators. I buried my face against his neck. It didn't matter that I understood the psychological reasons behind why he had turned from an ardent husband of almost a year into my 24/7 concierge service.

  "Spoiled, yes," I sighed. "Cloistered, no."

  Shackled to the bed, would have garnered a "hell yes," especially with a feather or tongue running up my thigh.

  Feeling the heat low in my gut intensify, I snuggled closer to Collin.

  "Love..."

  Ugh -- I did not want to hear that tone. That was the "get off the ladder, baby" tone, the "it's time for a mommy nap" tone. I wanted the "let me fuck you until you pass out" tone.

  I mumbled something cranky at him but snuggled closer. He had left the bathroom in silk pajama pants and nothing more. My fingers played over his hard, muscled stomach with the same light touch he used against me. Angling my face up, I took a small lick on the underside of his chin. Thighs clenching with need, I kissed the hollow I had just licked and flattened the palm of my hand against his lower belly.

  His breathing altered, but not his will.

  "Honey--"

  "Oh!" I hit at his chest. "Don't you honey me, Collin Stark!"

  A word like that, so complacent, shouldn't come up for at least two years. Not even then!

  "Shhhh, love." He guided me onto my back, kissing the spot on my neck that I had just explored on his. He stroked his fingers up my arm, along my neck and around my ear. When he spoke again, emotion clogged his throat. "It's just..."

  "I know," I whispered. I would cry if we came right out and talked about it. "But Dr. Brady says I'm healthy and it's okay all through the first two trimesters."

  His hand moved to stroke at my collarbone and I felt him harden against my hip. But he had stroked me more intimately and hardened any number of times against me in the last month before the night ended in nothing more than tender cuddling and me biting my lip to keep from bludgeoning him.

  "She says a happy mother means a healthy baby," I pressed. Hearing disbelief in the way he breathed in, I tried to sit up.