Redwood Bend

by Robyn Carr

  “We both know this wasn’t Randy’s idea. So? Your purpose?”

  “Just a little recon, Dylan,” she said. “You mentioned unfinished business of the female kind and Lang said he was fairly sure you were here about a woman. And I was out of the loop.”

  “I can’t believe you did this,” he muttered.

  “I can’t believe you expected less,” she replied. “I ask very little of you—just that you stay in touch. There are all kinds of things happening in your life and I was…well, curious. Concerned.”

  “Gran, I’m of age. I’m self-supporting. Some things I like to work out for myself.”

  “Was I born yesterday? The only time you don’t call me regularly or at least take my calls is when something of magnitude is going on and you’re afraid you’ll tell me more than you want to. That doesn’t happen to us often. And I suspect this is the first time it involved a woman.” Dylan remained stubbornly silent. “So, this is serious?”

  He gave a nod but said no more.

  “Excellent. She’s very pretty, seems nice.”

  “There’s no guest room here, Gran,” he said.

  “I’ve made arrangements,” she said. “It happens I have an old friend in the area. You remember Muriel St. Claire.”

  He chuckled and just shook his head. “Of course. Muriel lives around here? Why?”

  “Hell if I know,” Adele said. “The town isn’t exactly…much. It’s even smaller than Payne.”

  “I like small towns,” he said.

  “Now, there’s a surprise I was unprepared for. When I took you to Payne, you saw it as a prison sentence and couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

  “Not prison,” he said. “Rehab. And you were the first to leave.”

  “Not until I knew I was leaving you in safe hands. Now, Dylan, what’s going on?”

  “When there’s something to tell, you’ll be told,” he said. He loved and trusted his grandmother, but some things were personal. Confiding in her about business matters was one thing, but with matters of the heart, a man of thirty-five did not go to his grandmother for advice.

  She sat back. She gave him a small smile. “Sometimes I look at you and can’t help but see my son in your eyes.”

  Katie came outside with a glass of tea and a napkin. “Here you go, Mrs.—” She looked into the yard to find the car doors all open on the Lincoln and saw one of her boys behind the wheel. “Boys!” she called. “What are you doing?”

  The driver stood up from the passenger side of the car and looked at her over the open door, smiling. “They’re all right, ma’am. They asked permission.”

  “They’re going to get that car all dirty!”

  “Not to worry, ma’am—I keep it clean.”

  “Don’t worry, Katie,” Adele said. “Randy’s on top of things. He’s very protective of the car. Now sit down beside me and tell me all about yourself.”

  “Prepare to be grilled,” Dylan said, pushing off the rail. “Just because she asks you something doesn’t mean you have to answer.” He went inside the cabin.

  “Testy,” Adele said.

  “Why is he so testy?” Katie asked.

  “I invaded his space. He sent me a text message saying he’d be out of touch for a while and I would hear from him when he’s ready to be back in touch. Well, something like that. I waited as long as I felt like waiting. At first I was worried something had gone wrong with that movie he was considering, but when I called Lang and he said it was probably about a wo—about you, I decided we should meet. And why not? If you’re struggling to decide whether Dylan is worth your consideration, you should have a look at his baggage.” She took a small sip of her tea. “That would be me, Katie. The baggage.”

  Katie laughed. “Well, I’m sure he doesn’t consider you baggage at all.”

  “At the moment, I’m sure he does. Where are you from, Katie?”

  “Sacramento.” She gave Adele a quick run-through of her history. She knew she was revealing more than she’d been asked, but if she were meeting the girlfriend of one of her boys, she’d want to know these things and they weren’t secrets. While she was talking, Dylan returned to the porch with a beer. “The boys and I came here to hopefully settle near my brother. Uncle Conner has always been an involved uncle. I met Dylan on the way into town when he helped me change a flat tire. And we became friends.”

  “You haven’t known each other all that long, then?” Adele asked.

  “Long enough, Gran,” he said.

  “Please, Dylan, I wasn’t being critical!” Adele looked at Katie. “And now you’re very good friends…”

  “Adele,” Dylan warned.

  “I hope so,” Katie said with a smile.

  “Very good friends,” Dylan assured his grandmother. “So, Gran. Just how long can we expect to enjoy the pleasure of your company?”

  “Not long, I’m afraid. A few days. A week. Whatever.”

  Dylan groaned.

  Adele Childress wondered if she should dare even hope that her grandson was finally wising up and settling down with a good woman. Katie Malone was instantly likable. Like Adele, she’d been through some tough times but managed to somehow hold her family together, work and maintain a lovely disposition as far as Adele could tell.

  Adele looked out the car window. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Randy said.

  “It’s nothing but country out there. Or trees.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s what it is.”

  “Are you mocking me?” she asked sharply.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  She grunted.

  A little while later he said, “Look ahead. That’s Ms. St. Claire’s house.”

  All Adele could see was a two-story farmhouse with some outbuildings around it. There were a couple of lights in the windows and some flickering candlelight on the front porch. When they pulled up the drive to the front of the house a couple of people emerged from the darkness and she recognized Muriel. She was standing beside a man Adele didn’t know. He was a very handsome, tall, silver-haired man with a wide chest and strong shoulders.

  This was Muriel in her country incarnation. Adele and Muriel did not share this trait. Muriel liked roughing it; liked to ride, hunt, garden and poke around farm sales and buy antiques. She was one of those do-it-yourselfers while Adele was just the opposite—anything she could throw money at worked for her. And Muriel was wearing jeans and boots. Adele couldn’t remember owning a pair of jeans, even while living in Montana.

  Randy gave her a hand out of the car. Randy had been her driver for years, since his wife died a long, long time ago. He was nearly seventy himself, but he didn’t seem it; he was fit and colored his hair, which was still thick and plentiful. He’d never been one for a lot of outdoor sports so his skin was taut, but he had a trim beard.

  In Hollywood, seventy wasn’t old unless you wanted it to be. Adele hadn’t started playing the matronly or grandmotherly roles until five years ago. She had an excellent surgeon and colorist. She was, after all, a bit younger than Carol Burnett.

  “Oh, darling,” Muriel said, rushing toward her, arms open. “It’s so wonderful to see you!” They embraced and Muriel immediately introduced her gentleman. “This is Walt, my neighbor and boyfriend. Walt, this is Adele Childress. We’ve known each other for—”

  “Very long,” Adele cut in. Adding up years always made her weary. “I appreciate the hospitality, Muriel. I hope it’s not a major inconvenience.”

  “It’s none at all. There’s a guesthouse, and there’s a bedroom in the house on the second floor. Now, bear in mind, it’s an old farmhouse that I restored, so there’s only the one bath upstairs, claw-foot tub. I have no trouble sharing it. You decide if you want to put your driver in the guesthouse with a private shower but no tub or take it for yourself and I’ll put him up in the house.”

  Randy was pulling suitcases out of the trunk and lining them up beside the car.
“Let Miss Daisy have a look at the guesthouse,” he said. And then he added, “Ma’am.”

  Adele tsked. “Impertinent,” she muttered. “Pain in my ass.”

  “Her knee bothers her—that tub won’t work as well as a shower,” Randy said.

  Muriel laughed. “Put her bags in the guesthouse,” she advised. “You’ll have everything you need, even a refrigerator. The shower is perfect for you, the mattress is fairly new, there’s a flat screen, and if you need anything more than you find in the refrigerator, the front door is always unlocked. And you,” she said, looking at the driver.

  “Muriel, it’s Randy. You remember Randy?” Adele asked.

  Muriel stepped closer. “You grew a beard!” she said. “I can’t believe it’s you. My God, you two have lasted longer than most marriages!”

  “Through no fault of hers,” the driver said. “Ma’am.”

  Muriel laughed, covering her mouth. “Well, then, come up on the porch. Let me get you both a drink. Walt and I had dinner, not knowing exactly when you might be here, but saved you some in the warmer. And don’t worry—Walt cooked and he’s gifted. Now, about that drink?”

  “Make mine vodka on the rocks with either a couple of olives or a twist of lime, whatever is handy. Make it good and strong—I just saw my grandson.”

  “Beer,” Randy said. “Any old beer. Can or bottle, just cold. Nothing fancy.” And then he pulled off his black jacket and tossed it into the car, rolled up his white sleeves, unbuttoned his collar and carted the suitcases off to the guesthouse.

  “Sit right here, Adele,” Walt said, placing her beside the table that held a few flickering candles. Then he pulled a couple of chairs near the grouping, but when Randy had delivered the suitcases to the guesthouse and arrived on the porch, he immediately pulled one chair away, to the end of the porch, not too far but isolated nonetheless.

  “Antisocial,” Adele muttered by way of explanation.

  Muriel brought drinks, handing Adele hers first. “One heavy on the liquor for the lady. Now what’s wrong? I can’t believe Dylan gave you trouble!”

  Adele took a sip. “Ah, nicely done,” she said, praising the drink. “Dylan doesn’t make trouble, just his personal brand of contrariness. He’s independent, the ingredient that allowed him to become successful, and I approve of that. He appears to have himself a lovely lady friend, a serious one, and I find myself hoping he won’t mess it up. It’s the first time he’s lingered around a woman’s front door for weeks on end, ignoring all other business. And yet he has nothing to say? He’s still suffering from that old fear of commitment.”

  “Your friend Muriel has the same issue,” Walt said.

  “Yes, but Muriel’s fear comes from another place—she’s afraid she’s not good at commitment. Dylan is afraid he has inherited an inability to commit.”

  “I’m right here,” Muriel reminded them, motioning for Walt to pass her drink from the table.

  “Having you show up unannounced must put him at ease,” Randy added from his much darker side of the porch.

  “I only want to help,” Adele said. “I only want Dylan to be happy. I could resolve ninety percent of his problems if he’d let me.”

  “Let him make himself happy,” Randy said. “He’ll appreciate it more.”

  Adele turned her head in her driver’s direction. “Do you wish to join this conversation? Then pull your chair closer!”

  “The one thing you insisted he learn,” Randy went on, completely uninhibited by the sharpness of her tone, “that he make his own way, learn to think for himself, not follow the crowd and definitely not expect happiness to come from taking the easy way or handouts from his rich parents or grandparents, whether it comes in the form of money or influence. Well, he learned it. And now you better live with it.”

  Adele looked pointedly at Muriel, frowning. “We’ve taken some rather long road trips. Apparently I’ve been flapping my jaw to a person with a dangerous memory.”

  Muriel just laughed. “Take it easy, Adele. You’re among friends.”

  “Then I hope you won’t mind if we stay among friends for a while. Just a few days. Long enough for me to try to crack that nut I half raised.”

  “You stay as long as you like. Weeks if you need to. It’s not fancy, but it’s very comfortable.”

  “Groaning like that was rude,” Katie chastised.

  “Shhh,” he whispered, kissing her. “Talk later…”

  Adele hadn’t overstayed her welcome that first visit. She had Randy take her to her friend’s home where she’d be staying, Dylan made a spaghetti dinner with garlic bread, the boys showered, watched some TV in the loft, then were tucked in. Then Dylan tucked Katie in.

  “Don’t go to sleep until we talk,” she insisted.

  “I’ll be awake awhile,” he murmured, kissing his way down her neck. “Katie, have you noticed what happened to your boobs?” He held them in the palms of his hands. “They’re magnificent!”

  “They’re temporary,” she said. “And sore.”

  “Does this hurt?” he asked, gently kissing them.

  “No. Thank you for being sweet to them. They’re…” She felt her panties sliding downward and Dylan’s fingers where there had been silk. “Oh, God…” And then his hands were again on her breasts, tender and soft, and something else was where the silk had been. “Dylan…” she whispered.

  “Yeah, baby?” he asked, probing. “You want something?”

  “You. I want you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Hmm. Sure. Any day now…”

  He laughed and then covered her mouth with his just as he slid into her. He held her still, filling her. He moved a little, carefully, slowly.

  “Don’t tease me,” she whispered.

  “Easy,” he said. “Let’s go easy. I don’t want to disturb anything…”

  “You’re going to disturb me,” she said. “Come on…”

  He seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he grabbed her behind the knees, bent her legs to take him deeper, licked a taut nipple before latching on to it for a solid fit, and he pumped his hips. She threaded her fingers into his hair to hold him against her breast, dug her heels into the mattress to push against him, moving with him. She began to moan and cry out his name and his hand came up to gently cover her mouth. The boys were sound asleep and the door was locked, but still… He slipped the other hand down between their bodies and had barely made contact with that erogenous button when she blew apart, shattered, pushing against him for a moment as everything inside her clenched around him in hot spasms.

  And he went with her, coming so hard and long he thought he might’ve lost consciousness for a second or two. When it let up, he let her nipple slide out of his mouth and he rested his head there on her swollen, tender breast, panting.

  She laughed softly and began to run her fingers through his hair. “That’s more like it,” she whispered.

  He lifted his head. “You’re a very demanding woman.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she apologized with a big smile and very sleepy eyes. She was limp as a dishrag. Happy. And not sorry in the least.

  He brushed the hair away from her face. “It’s a good thing I didn’t know about this unprotected sex business before now,” he said. “We’ll have to try something that has no latex in the equation after the baby.”

  She didn’t open her eyes, but she smiled. “That sounds suspiciously like plans, Dylan. Could you possibly be a little excited?”

  “Oh, sure, a little. And a lot terrified.”

  “That’s understandable.” She opened her eyes. “You have to tell Adele.”

  “I will when I’m ready. I love Adele, but she can’t just show up uninvited and throw her weight around.”

  “But you love her,” Katie said. “And she might look like a million bucks, but she’s not that young.”

  “She’ll be dancing on my grave,” Dylan said.

  “She’s going to have a great-grandchild. My guess is sh
e didn’t think she ever would. Tell her.”

  “I’ll tell her when I’m ready,” he said.

  Seventeen

  Dylan wanted to languish in bed with Katie, but he was up, putting on the coffee she wasn’t drinking these days. His first overnight in her house, she had been the first one up, dressed, making coffee, greeting the day. But that probably had been the night he put the curse of sleepiness and morning sickness on her.

  The cabin was very quiet and he didn’t put on his boots. He wanted Katie to sleep as long as possible. When the coffee was brewed, he took a cup outside to the porch. He moved quietly in his stocking feet; there was a little movement in the trees at the edge of the clearing and he spied a fawn, nibbling at the grass under a tree. This was so like home....