by Pamela Clare
He guided himself into her, burying his cock inside her with a single, slow thrust that made both of them moan. Then he took hold of her hips and began to move, thrusting slowly at first, blown away by the feel of her—so tight, so perfect.
He shifted the angle of his hips, trying to hit the most sensitive place inside her, driving into her faster. She turned her face to the side, and he could see that her eyes were squeezed shut, her lips parted, her every exhale a breathy moan. He reached around to play with her clit.
“Yes!” She rocked back against him, pressed her hips into his hand. “Fuck me. Hard.”
She didn’t have to ask twice.
He let himself go, pounding into her, one hand still busy between her thighs. If only his anatomy would cooperate, he’d stay inside her forever, driving into her just … like … this. Though he had more control now than he’d had in his twenties, he knew he couldn’t last much longer.
She had to be close, too, her moans growing desperate, her fingers white where they clenched the edge of the tub. He willed himself to relax, kept his rhythm steady, wanting to please her … wanting to satisfy her… wanting her to know. He loved her. Goddamn, yes, he loved her. He loved her so fucking much.
She gave a quick inhale, and her breath broke on a cry, her inner muscles contracting around him as orgasm carried her away. He followed her over that bright edge, climax washing through him in a surge of incandescent bliss.
When he came back to himself, he took hold of the edges of the condom and withdrew from her, tossing it in the trash.
She turned in the tub to face him, looking flushed and sexy as hell. “I wish you could just stay inside me all night.”
“Honey, I had the same thought.” He got to his feet, stepped out of the tub, and reached for a towel, wrapping it around her as she, too, climbed out. Then he reached for a towel for himself.
They walked hand-in-hand back into his bedroom, where the candles on his nightstand had burned dangerously low. He blew them out, then crawled into bed beside Rain, drew her into his arms, light from the fireplace casting a warm glow across his bedroom.
“Please tell me this wasn’t all a dream.”
He kissed her, knowing exactly how she felt. “Get used to the new normal.”
Chapter 13
Twenty-two days till Christmas
Rain awoke the next morning to find herself in Joe’s arms, the sun shining through his blinds. She smiled, stretched, her heart so full of joy she thought it might burst. It hadn’t been a dream.
Joe kissed her. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Good morning.”
They made love in the shower, Joe pressing her back against the tile wall and lifting her off her feet. She came hard and fast, and he was right behind her, nuzzling her neck, kissing her forehead.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he said.
While she dried her hair and dressed, he went downstairs to get breakfast started. She was supposed to meet the claims adjuster this morning. Then she would go to the pharmacy to pick up the morning-after pill and call her GYN for an appointment for an IUD or something. After that…
She and Joe hadn’t talked about her job, so she had no idea whether he expected her to show up at Knockers today or ever again. If he didn’t, she’d have to look for a job somewhere else—a prospect that didn’t excite her at all. Where would she go? Food Mart? Arturo’s, the Mexican restaurant? Juana’s taco truck? The liquor store?
She went downstairs, the scents of coffee and bacon making her mouth water.
Joe was on his cell phone, his long hair hanging damp down his back, denim apron over his jeans and black Henley. “Thanks. I appreciate it. We’ll see you soon.”
He set the phone down, glanced over at her, smiled. “I reserved a rental for you. You need a way to get around town until they liberate your SUV.”
“Oh.” That was a surprise. She wasn’t used to having people do things like that for her. “Thanks.”
“I asked them to put chains on it. The drive up here can be a little tricky.” He walked to the oven, pulled out the bacon, then went to work making scrambled eggs.
Rain poured herself a cup of coffee, trying to remember what the balance was on her credit card. “How much do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I can pay for it myself, truly.”
“I know you can.” He glanced over at her. “What good is my money if I can’t spend some of it on the woman I love?”
He had a point, and yet the thought left her feeling guilty. “I can’t do the same for you, and that feels wrong to me. I don’t want this to be lopsided.”
He shut off the burner, scraped the eggs onto plates, then set the pan in the sink and turned to her. “Come here.”
She stepped into his embrace. “What do I bring to the relationship?”
He held her, kissed her hair. “I’m forty-seven, and in all those years, I’ve never loved a woman the way I love you. Isn’t that enough? Besides, if you were wealthy and I were in your shoes, would you hesitate even for a moment to help me?”
Well, he had her there. “No.”
He drew back, hands cupping her shoulders, and looked into her eyes. “Let me help you. Let me spoil you the way I want to. Let me be a part of your life.”
“And if you go broke?”
He laughed, a true and genuine laugh, as if she’d just said something hilarious. “Honey, that’s never going to happen.”
How much money did Joe have? Never mind. She didn’t want to know.
He kissed her nose. “Let’s eat before breakfast gets cold.”
She took their plates, carried them to the table together with her cup of coffee, and sat. If he wasn’t going to bring it up, she would. “Do I come to work today or not?”
He took a sip of coffee, seeming to avoid her gaze. “Why don’t you take another vacation day? You’ve got that meeting with your claims adjuster.”
“That won’t take all day.” She didn’t want to pressure him, but he needed to know. “I need the job, Joe. I can’t be dependent on you.”
Brown eyes looked into hers. “I promise I’ll have a decision tonight.”
So he still hadn’t made up his mind. Did he have to be so damned ethical all the time? Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. He fought every day to prove to himself that he wasn’t like the other men from his family.
She tried to cover her disappointment. “I hope the claims adjuster can give me some real information. I’d love to know when I’ll be able to get my stuff—whatever is left of it. Also, someone needs to go to the grocery store. I thought I’d make up a list and drop by Food Mart this afternoon. I have to stop by their pharmacy anyway, so I might as well pick up a few things.”
Comprehension dawned on his face. “Pick up some condoms, too. I checked the box this morning. They expired. That’s probably why the one broke. Sorry about that.”
“Why, Joe, is that your way of telling me it’s been a long time since you’ve been with a woman?”
“Honey, you have no idea.”
Joe dropped Rain off at Scarlet’s only car rental place and gave her his debit card and PIN. He saw the misgiving in her eyes. “I trust you, Rain. Get whatever we need. I’ll be home for supper.”
She tucked the card inside her handbag. “You’re not closing?”
“Why would I hang around Knockers when you’re waiting for me at home?”
That made her smile.
“Tell everyone I said not to be mean to you. Have a good day.” She leaned over, kissed him.
He slid his hand into her hair, held her, made the kiss last, reluctant to let her go even for a handful of hours. “You, too.”
Joe arrived at the pub walking on air. Had he ever been this happy? He settled in at his desk, booted up his computer, and checked his email, images of Rain making it hard to concentrate. The sweetness of her smile. The light in her eyes when she laughed. The bliss on her face
when she came.
God, he was a lucky son of a bitch. It made him feel like a better man just knowing that she loved him.
He reined in his thoughts, tried to focus. The utility bill. An update from a promoter about booking a popular Irish band. A half dozen invoices from their suppliers. A message from Victoria saying that she’d be late because today was ovulation day.
Well, Joe knew what she and Hawke were up to this morning. They’d been trying for a baby for a while now.
Libby stuck her head inside his office, orange industrial earmuffs hanging around her neck. “Is Rain coming in today?”
“I gave her the day off. She has to meet with her claims adjuster.”
Libby’s face lit up. “But she is eventually coming back?”
Joe couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “She and I are working on that.”
“Are you two together?”
“That’s no one’s business.”
“You are! God, that took long enough!” Smiling ear to ear, Libby disappeared back down the hallway. “Finally!”
Did everyone have an opinion about this?
Joe put Libby out of his mind. He wasn’t about to divulge the details of his relationship with Rain—not to Libby, not to anyone. He answered email and then logged into the payroll system. He’d begun verifying payments, which were distributed by direct deposit, when Cheyenne and Marcia walked in.
“What can I do for you two?”
Cheyenne, who was Austin Taylor’s younger sister and as hot-headed as her brother was mellow, had a hopeful expression on her face. “Is Rain coming back?”
“That hasn’t been decided yet.”
Cheyenne’s face fell.
Marcia crossed her arms over her chest. “Is her work going to fall to me?”
This was getting out of hand. “I’m in the middle of payroll right now. We’ll talk about it later.”
The two women walked away, grumbling to each other.
Joe buzzed the kitchen. “Hey, Rico, I need you in my office. Now.”
Rico walked in a few minutes later, apron over his chef’s coat, hairnet on his beard. “What’s up, boss?”
“Catch the door.” Joe waited until he and Rico had privacy. “I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with questions about my private life from staff today.”
“Dealing with staff would normally be Rain’s job.”
So, Rico wasn’t letting him off the hook either.
“She’s meeting with her claims adjuster, so today it’s yours.” Just talking about her soothed Joe’s irritation. “She and I still need to decide what happens next.”
Which reminded Joe…
“Thanks, by the way. What you said yesterday—I owe you.”
Rico chuckled. “Judging from the shit-eating grin on your face, you and Rain are good again.”
Joe tried to quit smiling, but couldn’t. “We’re better than good.”
Rico reached out, slapped him on the shoulder. “Way to go, my man.”
“I’m still trying to decide how to handle this. I don’t want to subject her to gossip or give people the wrong impression of how I run this place.”
“You can’t control what other people think. Hell, why not make an honest man of yourself and marry her? That ought to shut people up.”
“Yeah.” Joe laughed—then realized what Rico had just said.
Marry her?
Joe cleared his throat. “Could you let the staff know that my relationship with Rain is not to be a topic of discussion here at work.”
“Okay.” Rico nodded. “If that’s how you want it.”
“That is exactly how I want it.”
“Got it. I’ll handle it.”
“Thanks—and shut the door behind you.” Joe sat there for a moment, staring at the back of the door.
Marry her?
He set the thought aside and got back to work.
Rain fought back panic. “My policy won’t cover rebuilding my home?”
Agnes, the claims adjuster, spoke without a hint of sympathy in her voice. “Your policy covers the actual cash value of your home, not the replacement cost.”
Heat rushed into Rain’s face. This felt like a betrayal. She hadn’t known there were different kinds of policies. “Shouldn’t you tell people that when they buy a policy? It’s not really insuring your home if you still don’t have a home when you’re done.”
“Here’s a list of contractors who can help you get started.” Agnes handed Rain a sheet of paper with names, phone numbers, and websites. “The price will vary depending on whether you choose to demolish the house, soft strip it, or have it deconstructed, but they can explain all of that.”
Rain couldn’t let it go. “How am I supposed to come up with an extra twenty thousand? I’m switching insurance companies after this. I promise you that.”
“I’ll get your claim started as soon as I get back to the office.” Agnes turned and walked away, leaving Rain standing in her driveway fighting tears.
It had been a long time since she’d felt this frustrated and powerless. This wasn’t just a house. It wasn’t just four walls and a roof. It had been her home. Now, it was a pile of twisted lumber, the garage held up by the roof of her poor, trapped SUV.
“Rain, honey, are you okay?” Mrs. Beech called from her porch across the street.
Rain wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes, Mrs. Beech, I’m fine.”
“You poor thing. Why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea? I’ve got shortbread cookies.”
Cookies.
Wasn’t that just what Rain needed now?
She crossed the street, deep, icy ruts making it hazardous going, and found herself drinking tea and eating cookies at a red Formica table with chrome accents and matching red-and-white vinyl chairs that looked like they’d come from a 1950s diner. Mrs. Beech’s house was so desperately retro that it was almost hip—a big console TV that still worked, an end table with a built-in lamp, mint green appliances.
Rain told Mrs. Beech what the claims adjuster had said. “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to afford this. I guess I’ll work it out somehow. I’ve always managed before.”
“That’s a dirty trick to play on someone as hard-working as you,” Mrs. Beech said. “It just doesn’t seem right. Maybe Joe Moffat will hold a fundraiser at Knockers like he has in the past for others. He’s such a nice boy. The night your roof collapsed, he climbed up on my roof to clean off the snow so the same thing wouldn’t happen to me.”
How like Joe that was. “I’m glad he was able to help you.”
“My family has lived in this house since it was built after that second big fire. I’d have been upset to lose it. We helped build this town.”
“Is that right?” Rain’s eyes might ordinarily have glazed over, but reading Silas’ journal had given her a new interest in local history.
Mrs. Beech nodded and picked up her teacup. “My great-grandfather, John Craddock, worked for the Moffat family.”
Rain stared. “John Craddock was your great-grandfather?”
Mrs. Beech must have mistaken Rain’s shock for something else because she smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m a Craddock. That’s my maiden name. John Craddock ran the Caribou Silverlode after the first Moffat moved back east with his son. He played such an important role in the history of this town.”
Rain wondered whether Mrs. Beech knew that John Craddock had procured young women for his boss to rape and abuse and had helped to frame an innocent man for murder. Whatever else he might have done, Craddock was not a model citizen.
Mrs. Beech took Rain’s interest as a chance to tell stories from her childhood, which might have been interesting if they’d been told by someone else. Rain stayed for another hour to be polite, then thanked Mrs. Beech for the tea and the cookies.
“Stop by anytime, dear.” Mrs. Beech walked her to the door. “It’s a shame you never finished high school. I always thought you were a smart girl.”
&n
bsp; Rain bit back the words she wanted to say. “Thanks again, Mrs. Beech.”
She climbed into the Ford Explorer that Joe had rented for her and drove to Food Mart. She’d made a list before she’d left home and moved quickly through the store. It was mid-day, so she didn’t run into a lot of people she knew. She stopped last at the pharmacy counter.
Herb, who’d been the town’s pharmacist for more than 40 years, met her with a warm welcome. “I hope you’re not coming down with something.”
“So do I.” The last thing she needed right now was to get pregnant. “I need to buy a packet of Plan B.”
He nodded, walked to the shelves, and returned with a small box in his hands. “You’re lucky. This is my last one. I guess lots of people found a way to pass the time during the storm.”
Rain couldn’t help but laugh. Guilty as charged. “Thanks.”
She tossed a new box of condoms into her cart, too, then made her way to the checkout lane, wanting to get back to Joe’s so that she could read and find out what had happened to Cadan Hawke.
December 3, 1880
Today was a day I shall not soon forget.
Cadan Hawke was set to be hanged at noon, but I woke to the news that Sheriff Taylor had just left for Boulder, where he believed he would find proof of Hawke’s innocence. This put me in a state of great agitation, as proof of Hawke’s innocence might lead to evidence of my guilt. Taylor has been seeking for a way to exonerate Hawke since the day the jury found the man guilty.
I immediately sent two of my men to follow Sheriff Taylor down the canyon and through town and to report back each place he went and to whom he spoke. Then I sent a telegram to my hotel in Boulder, setting a man to guard Jenny and giving him orders that no one was to speak with her. Nor was she to leave her rooms.
Mr. Craddock thought it might be prudent to pack our bags and leave town at once, but I told him that was cowardice. I assured him we would find a way to stop Sheriff Taylor and make certain this hanging took place. I would not suffer that whoreson Hawke to live, not after the way he has spoken to me, not after the trouble he has caused.
