“You’re right. It would have slithered.”
Bane spun on his heel to see Myrt had somehow managed to walk up behind him, the early morning sun rays framing her as they streamed through the pine trees. The angle of the illumination made her nightgown and robe translucent, giving him a view of all the slightly rounded curves she kept hidden with her on-the-baggier-side clothing selections. He stifled a groan and did his best to ignore his rapidly chubbing dick. Another vision for the spank bank. Seemed like every time he got close to Myrt, he found something else to like about her.
“I was just convincing myself of that.” He gestured to the mailbox. “Wanna be my spotter as I open it up and see what’s inside? Keep me from tanglin’ with a rogue rock or whatever’s there?”
“What happened to it?” She peered around him at the edge of the drive where the mailbox had stood. A broken post was the only evidence left behind. “Something broke it? What broke it off like that?”
“A someone, not a something. I was on the phone with Truck just now letting him know.” He shrugged and then crouched, extending his arm far to grab the bent-over handle on the twisted mailbox door. It took several tugs, but using one boot to hold the box itself still, he eventually got the door to open with a muted shriek.
“What’s in it? Who would do something like this?” Bane glanced up to find Myrt crowded in behind him, her legs braced close to his hip and thigh as she leaned in to see what he was doing. The sun behind her still kept many things in shadow, but the upper swell of her breasts was on full display, the top of her robe gaping open.
“I don’t know.” He smiled when she transferred her gaze from the mailbox to him, the apples of her cheeks rising in a returned grin. “Let’s find out, shall we?” At her eager nod, he turned back and upended the mailbox, giving it a shake. A piece of metal fell out, and as he reached out to scoop it up, Myrt gasped, sounding shocked.
Still crouched, Bane swiveled to face Myrt, not surprised to see she’d gone pale. Whatever this was, it meant something to her, which put the asshole from yesterday in prime position to be the motherfucker who’d destroyed the mailbox.
Bouncing the twisted metal in one hand, he looked between it and her, then back again, still coming up blank with what it could be. Finally he decided to give way to his curiosity, offering the scrap up balanced on one palm. Surprisingly, Myrt didn’t reach for it. Arms folded across her body, she gave every impression of being terrified.
“What is this?” He plucked it from his palm and held it up, rotating it to see every side. From this close, he could see lines and angles in the metal, which hinted at what it might have been before being mangled. On one side, it looked as if it had melted, the faint details running together to make the puddled base. He looked at her again, studying her features for any clue of what was driving her reactions. “Have you seen this before?”
“One of my little brothers likes soldiers.” Her trembling words didn’t make sense.
He’d opened his mouth to ask what she meant when he saw it. Like a picture that tricked senses into seeing something that wasn’t there before revealing the true image, things fell into place for him, and he noticed the little things that made her words terrifyingly prescient.
“It’s a metal soldier.” He wasn’t asking a question, but she nodded all the same. “Sturdy enough. I think it’s lead.” He pressed his thumbnail against the metal, not leaving a dent. “Maybe aluminum. My uncle had a set. I remember playing with them when I was little.” He folded it into his fist, hiding it from view. “You think this belonged to your brother?”
“It has to. Why else would he put it here and make certain we’d find it?”
Bane stood, staring down at her bowed head, shoulders drawn forward in an effort to fold herself into nothing. He took a chance and stepped nearer, and when she didn’t retreat, came another stride closer, within arm’s reach, and he took another chance, reaching out to bring her tight against his chest. With flexed arms around her shoulders and back, he held her firmly, ignoring her rigid frame, rewarded when finally—fucking finally—she relaxed. Her muscles loosened in a quick sequence, setting off an emotional avalanche he gave her time to navigate. Hand on the back of her head, he cradled her as she wept, words bubbling out of her mixed in with sobs, but repeated often enough he didn’t have to fight long to understand them.
“He’s not quite right in the head. Luke. He’s the third youngest, seven years younger than me.” Her voice wavered, and Bane could feel the fight in her to keep talking. “God touched him only lightly, and he’s a good boy. Likes making people happy. That’s what makes him happiest, makin’ others smile. If Sallabrook went to Daddy and complained about me takin’ off, I just don’t know. I swear I didn’t think about him doin’ that when I left. I didn’t think he might do such. If I had, I would still have expected Sallabrook’d believe he’d gotten his money’s worth outta me. If he did, though? If he went to Daddy and said I’d shorted him, I know my daddy’d be compelled to make it right.” A tremor raced through her, and Bane found himself swaying slightly, offering what comfort he could. “What if makin’ it right was replacin’ me with someone else?”
She pulled back, palms flat against his chest as she created space between them. Looking up, her pale face streaked with tears, she was still the most beautiful woman Bane had ever seen. Thin, but with round, ripe breasts, and enough curve to her ass to make a handful. Full, plush lips that were gorgeous temptation and begged to be kissed, doe eyes that—when the lids dipped halfway—promised anything a man could want.
“You don’t know he went to your father or asked for shit.” It was faint reassurance, and he lost his view of her face when her forehead plunked heavily against his chest. “Does your father have a phone? Can we call and ask?” Her head rocked back and forth. “Sallabrook?” Another silent headshake. “You said he was a preacher. Would the church have a phone?”
“Weren’t a church like that. Not like the one down in town.” Her accent had grown thicker with the tears. “That one had a building, were a proper church. Sallabrook’s flock met in the front yards and barns of the members. At the cemetery if they had a burial to tend to. There’s nobody to call.” She rocked her head sideways, resting her cheek against his chest. “What’ll I ask, anyway? ‘Hey, y’all know if my daddy sold my brother to that mean old man, too?’ That won’t go well for me. The holler takes care of their own, and I come at them asking questions, I’d be treated as if I’m from off.”
“They’d close ranks against you, not caring if you had family in trouble.” She nodded, validating his statement. He tightened his arms around her and gave a squeeze. “What if we went there in person? We could head to Sallabrook’s place, see if your brother’s there, scoop him up if he is, and bring him back here.” He didn’t have to wonder for even an instant if the boy would be welcome. Knowing Truck as he did, it wasn’t a question if the man would open his home to the boy, especially if he were in trouble. “What about your other younger siblings? Would they be in danger, too?”
“Just Luke and my other brother, Thaddeus. When my sister married, she took the other littles with her. Her husband was older, said he didn’t mind a noisy household.”
“How old is Thaddeus?”
“Luke’s seven under me, and Thaddie’s three under that.”
Bane did some quick math. Figure Myrt for twenty-five, maybe, just four years younger than him, and the years don’t matter as much anyway, not when it came to measuring against experience. “So Luke’s eighteen, and Thad’s fifteen?” From this angle, he could see her cheek move with her smile. “What’d I get wrong?”
“I’m not as old as that.” He held his breath, waiting, because in form, she appeared to be a woman, albeit young, and every other impression he’d gotten from her had been filled with maturity. “I’m twenty-one, Bane. I’ve belonged to Sallabrook since I was fourteen. Luke’s the age I was when Daddy sent me there. That’s one of the reasons I think Daddy could
and would give him away.”
“Okay, so we go get Luke and Thad and bring them here. You think the other little ones are okay at your sister’s, then that’s well and good, but we don’t leave your father anyone to use as financial leverage.” He thought back over their conversations and landed on something she’d said. “Your sister Marian, you said she’s with your father?”
“Daddy’d never give up Marian. She’s the glue what holds his household together. He’s said it countless times.”
“But what does Marian want? How much older is she?”
“I don’t know for sure. She was from Daddy’s second wife. Maybe ten years older? I don’t know.”
“That’s okay. We’ll get the boys, and then we can find and talk to her about what she wants.” Jaw clenched, he tried to reassure her about a situation he didn’t have any real knowledge of. “It’ll take us a couple of days, max.”
“Bane.” Myrt leaned back again, fingers clutching his shirt, this time holding tight instead of pushing away. “You can’t try to save my whole family.”
“You say try like it’s not a given I’ll succeed.” He offered her a smile, happy to see the frown creasing her brow relax, smoothing out. “Maybe Marian won’t take the offer. Doesn’t mean I won’t make damn sure she understands it’s there and waiting if she wants it. Also doesn’t come with a time limit. If she decided five years down the road she wanted something different, better, I’d be there to make sure she had opportunity.”
“Vanna said you were a good man.”
“Vanna exaggerates sometimes.” He let the corner of his mouth curl a little to show he wasn’t being serious. “You shouldn’t listen to her about me.” He dipped his head, bringing his face closer to Myrt’s. Close enough he could feel the heat of her blush, the delicate ghosting touch of her breath across his lips. Bane adjusted, angling his hips away so she wasn’t confronted by his self-serving interest in making her smile. “Listen to me about me. I won’t ever lie to you.”
“Promise?” It felt as if she were asking a thousand questions with the one word. Like she’d stretched an arm into the future and was plucking at the strings that were tangling, tying them together.
He gave it back to her, completely invested in his response, something he would stand by for the rest of his life.
“Promise.”
Chapter Seven
Myrtle
She rounded the corner into Vanna’s bedroom, drawn there by Vanna’s hand holding hers, led up and away from the kitchen filled with a conversation still going on between Bane and Sharon. As their voices dimmed with distance, she rolled her shoulders, suddenly aware of how tense she’d become.
Vanna stopped next to a mirrored dresser and pulled out the tiny stool hidden in the kneehole. “Sit,” she commanded. The steel in her voice shouldn’t have been a surprise, given everything Myrt knew about Vanna, but it startled her into movement, her bottom meeting the fabric cover of the stool with a thump. Vanna disappeared for an instant. Through the open door, the splashing of running water preceded Vanna coming out of the bathroom with a dampened rag in hand.
Myrt startled again when Vanna reached past her to pick up a brush. “Hush, child. We need to think while we talk, and I’ve always thought best when I had something to do.” She arranged Myrt’s locks so they draped over her shoulders, stroking the length with the flat side of the brush. “I have fond memories of sitting at this very vanity while my mother talked me through some hard decisions. Different house, but the vibe is still the same.” Vanna chuckled and started drawing the bristles of the brush through Myrt’s hair. “To my teenaged self, the most devastating thing was being asked to the prom by the wrong boy.” She rested her wrists on Myrt’s shoulders, leaning down to whisper near her ear, “Your decisions are a long sight more critical, methinks.”
Myrt’s head drooped on her neck, chin angled down so she could see her hands twisting in her lap. “I don’t know what to do.” She swallowed, hating how her throat made sounds, the scarcely stifled sobs betraying her emotions. “I know what I want to do, but I don’t know how it can happen.”
“Tell me what you want to happen.” The steady drag of the brush through her hair was soothing, a dependable pull that was easily resisted, Myrt able to hold her head steady and still. “Don’t think, not yet. Just tell me.”
“I want to go to the holler and make sure my brothers are safe.”
Each stroke evenly spaced, the movement of the brush in Vanna’s hand was hypnotizing.
Myrt found herself opening up to Vanna about all the things that had happened, good and bad. About her fears for her brother, and even her siblings hosted at her sister’s husband’s place. She talked until her throat croaked, and her voice broke, sipping from a bottle of water that appeared as if by magic, easing the way for her to talk even more.
At uneven intervals, Vanna drew the damp rag across the bristles, settling static electricity threatening to have Myrt’s hair standing on end.
Through it all, Vanna’s movements never stopped. Myrt’s hair hung in shining sheets, but the brush continued to make its patient way from root to tip, again and again. Vanna reacted in other ways, soft humming when Myrt confessed her puzzlement at Sallabrook’s treatment, and quiet murmurs of encouragement during more difficult stretches of the story. When Myrt was all talked out, unable to think of another detail worth mentioning, Vanna finally spoke.
“Oh my sweet, sweet girl. The trials you’ve been through. Look at how strong you are, though, rising above every time.” The passage of the brush paused as Vanna leaned her wrists on Myrt’s shoulders again, bending close to press her lips to the crown of Myrt’s head.
The soft kiss broke the dam on the final secret. “I think I’m pregnant.”
Vanna hummed as she returned the brush to the surface of the vanity, using both hands to arrange Myrt’s hair down her back. Vanna separated out chunks and started braiding, the movement nearly as soothing as the brushing had been. “I’m not past time to take care of it. I just need the herbs to start my flow again.”
“Is that what you want, sweet girl?” Vanna’s gaze met hers in the mirror, just long enough for Myrt to understand this woman wouldn’t think worse of her either way. “Support your choice, however it happens.”
“I never wanted to bring a child into that life.” Vanna tsked when Myrt tried to shake her head, using a sharp tug to get her to still again. “Sorry.”
“No sorries, honey. No worries in the world.” Vanna worked steadily, the brush of knuckles against Myrt’s back evidence of the over-and-under movement. “You’re not in that life now, though, are you?”
The meaning behind Vanna’s question barreled over and through Myrt in an instant. Understanding flooded her eyes with tears, causing her throat to close tightly as her heart lurched in her chest. In the mirror, she experienced a look of stark terror and longing on her own face, one emotion coinciding with how she felt, the other something she’d never allowed herself to have before. She slammed her eyes closed, unable to take in the hope beginning to bloom on her face.
“Honey.” Vanna cupped her shoulders, drawing her back against the strong body behind her. “Oh, honey. It’s okay. You don’t have to make a decision today. Nothing has to change right now.” Boots rattled a quick pace up the stairs, and a moment later, the rumble of Bane’s voice came from the doorway.
“Everything okay up here?” Then from closer. “What’d you say to her, Vanna? She’s crying.”
Bane’s hands replaced Vanna’s, but instead of holding her steady, he turned her on the stool until she faced him. A blink showed his earnestly concerned features staring up at her, crowded as close as he could get, his knees spread on either side of her legs. She forced her eyes closed again, unable to take the unguarded expression on his face.
“She’s coming to some hard realizations, Bane.” Vanna’s voice was retreating, coming from farther away with each word. “Be kind to her. You’re a good man, Will Crow, and do
n’t ever forget it.”
Her hand was clasped in a firm grip as a spot of heat alongside her outer thigh revealed the positioning of his other hand. “Myrtle, look at me.” She shook her head, surprised for an instant at the weight of the long braid swinging back and forth. “If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you fix it.”
From the safety of the dark behind her eyelids, she told him the one thing she’d held back earlier.
“I’m carrying a baby.”
She expected him to drop her hand, to move away, to create a distance between them. What she didn’t anticipate was him doing the exact opposite. When his lower body pressed against her legs, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her close, she gave up a tiny prayer to a God she didn’t know if she still believed in, because Bane wasn’t running. His reaction was to draw her tight to him, press her cheek to his hard chest, and use his soothing voice to create a sense of intimacy.
“Aww, darlin’. Shush now. It’s gonna be okay. Gonna be okay, Myrt. Gonna be all right.” The sobs she’d tried to hold back in front of Vanna burst free, tearing their way up her throat as they escaped into the air. Bane took the harsh sounds in stride, lifting Myrt off the stool and carrying her to the bed. He sat on the edge, arranging her on his lap as he cradled her on his thighs, hands stroking and petting her, the unending litany of soothing words falling like a drought-busting rain on her ears. “I got you, darlin’. You get it all out, sweetheart. I got you. We’ve got all day. You take what you need.”
Myrt didn’t know how long it was until she could bring herself back under control. Couldn’t put a timer on how long she’d sobbed into the sodden patch her tears had created on his shirt or how long he’d patiently stroked her back and sides, playing with the end of her braid as he hummed a song she didn’t recognize. The tone originating from his chest was low and rasping, vibrating through her as if a reminder of his presence.
In Search of Solace (Rebel Wayfarers MC) Page 7
