Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel

by Canterbary, Kate

  Annette held up a finger. "First of all, it's more than enough."

  "I figured as much. Those uniform trousers don't leave much to the imagination."

  "It's great that you're inspecting my fiancé's trousers with such thoroughness," she said. "Thanks for that."

  I shrugged. "I'm just looking out for you, love."

  "Again, thank you," she said. "And second, we don't have sex every night."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," the waiter cooed as he stepped up to the table. He shifted our plates and beverages to make room for the veggie dip and fries. To Annette, he said, "I hope things improve soon."

  I reached into my wallet and pulled out two bills. "Here's one hundred dollars. Take this and exit yourself from this conversation." I glanced back at the table. "After you bring us another round."

  He plucked the cash from my fingers. "Gladly."

  I pushed the fries toward Annette. "Explain this to me. You're engaged, you live together, you can't get enough of each other—and you're not having sex every night? Why the hell not?"

  "We don't need to," she replied. "Being with someone doesn't mean you have three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of sex. It means falling asleep beside them is just as meaningful as sex. Sometimes, more meaningful."

  I stared at her, baffled. "You're steering me toward a long-term, committed relationship and now you're telling me it doesn't involve dick on the daily?"

  As she hefted a handful of fries onto her plate, she replied, "That seems to be what I'm saying, yes."

  "Are you out of your mind? Why would I entertain that sort of thing?"

  "I love you," she said, laughing, "but you're crazy."

  "I think you mean eccentric or free-spirited. Crazy has such negative connotations."

  She grinned as she bit into the fries. "Mmhmm."

  Holding out my hands, I leaned toward her. "Since we're here and we're having this conversation, I need your insight. Your married lady insight."

  "I'm not married. We haven't even set a date yet. You know this, darling."

  An exasperated grunt sounded in my throat. "You know what I mean."

  "Yes, fine. I know what you mean." She fluttered her hands at me. "What do you need?"

  I rubbed my thumb over my fingernails. "He does this thing where he waits for me."

  "Waits where?" she asked around a mouthful of fries.

  Still focused on my fingernails, I said, "You know. During sex."

  There was a long pause and then, "Ah. Okay."

  I glanced up at her, my lip snagged between my teeth. "Is that weird?"

  She shook her head, waved her hands. "No, it's generous. It's respectful. Men who participate in sex like it's a team sport are the best kinds. Oh my god, the best."

  I dropped my chin onto my fist. "I've never thought of it that way. The team sport way. I've always thought of it like an individual competition that happened to involve another person."

  She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, so you're the selfish partner in the bed?"

  I glanced away. "I guess so?"

  "But JJ isn't selfish," she remarked. I shook my head. "I promise you, it's a good thing. It's awesome. Let it happen." When I didn't respond, she continued, "Do you know that expression, Big Dick Energy?"

  I revisited the cheeses. "Ugh. Yes. Why?"

  "Men who wait transcend that. They have a different kind of energy altogether. It's like Mighty Good Dick Energy."

  I wagged a piece of cheddar at her. "Are you invoking Salt-n-Pepa right now?"

  She shimmied her shoulders, arched her brows. "I am."

  "Well done, madam." I smiled at her. I fucking loved this girl. "Well done."

  Annette mimed a curtsey, saying, "To summarize, you have some Mighty Good Dick Energy on your hands. If you're careful, it's going to develop into some Mighty Good Husband Energy."

  Skipping right over the husband comment, I replied, "It's not in my hands, Annette. A woman over thirty shouldn't be giving handies. Understood?"

  She gave me a stiff, fake grin, the kind that made her eyes squint and her lips stretch into a thin, sarcastic line. "Sure. Let's make that the point of this discussion."

  "Listen," I started, "I don't show up to meetings that can be held without me, you know?"

  "I do. I really do," the server murmured. "And here's the blackberry mojito."

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brooke

  Capitalization: the sum of an organization’s stock value, long-term debt, and retained earnings.

  Brooke: I just found an unnaturally long hair on the back of my leg.

  Brooke: I thought it was head hair I'd shed and it was stuck on my leg. When I tried to remove it, I discovered it was growing out of my leg. What the fuck is this about?

  Annette: Welcome to your mid-thirties, love.

  Brooke: I reject that explanation.

  Annette: I'd like to reject it too, but I have a pimple on the inside of my nose and it feels like I'm driving a stake through my skull every time I touch it.

  Brooke: This is some bullshit.

  Annette: You have it easy. You're blonde.

  Brooke: How? My unnaturally long thigh hairs are nearly invisible?

  Annette: That's one benefit, but your grays will blend in. Mine look like tinsel.

  Brooke: What are you talking about? You have no tinsel.

  Annette: Oh, I have tinsel. Curly hair is forgiving, but when they come through, they shine like a disco ball.

  Brooke: I'm not ready to start growing old. We'll do that in thirty or forty years, when we've bought a pair of cottages and wear matching track suits.

  Annette: There's a difference between growing up and growing old. We're not growing old yet, my friend.

  Brooke: Remember being twenty-one and thinking you were a grown-ass lady?

  Annette: I remember being thirty-three and thinking that. I've learned a few things this past year.

  Brooke: Right there with you.

  Annette: I'm looking forward to those twin cottages and wearing stretchy pants every day. We're going to need rocking chairs too.

  Brooke: Have you mentioned any of our plan to Jackson?

  Annette: Not yet. I have to find the right moment. Have you mentioned it to JJ?

  Brooke: Why would I do that?

  Annette: I have to explain this to you as well?

  Brooke: You don't have to explain anything. We have different perspectives on how long I'll keep this dick appointment.

  Annette: No, my dear, you don't have a perspective. You have a good man who adores you and you reduce that to "dick appointment." I, on the other hand, have a clear vision of us living in our cottages and wearing our track suits while Jackson and JJ bicker about sports and politics and the color of the sky, but grudgingly enjoy each other's company.

  Brooke: I don't want to fight with you about this.

  Annette: Then stop pretending you don't care about him.

  Brooke: Okay, so…should I pluck it? Cut it? Douse it in apple cider vinegar?

  Annette: We're talking about the hair again? Not JJ?

  Brooke: Yes, the hair. I wouldn't douse him in vinegar.

  Annette: I didn't think so, but since you refuse to acknowledge your feelings for him, I wasn't sure. I'd pluck it because those things drive me nuts, but it will grow back.

  Brooke: Then…vinegar?

  Annette: I'm not sure how that would fix anything.

  Brooke: Me neither! But the internet really likes that shit.

  * * *

  Brooke: I won't be able to get out of here for a few hours. Another one of Dad's caregivers quit.

  JJ: What happened?

  Brooke: Nothing. She just couldn't handle it anymore.

  JJ: Are you all right?

  Brooke: Of course.

  JJ: You're sure?

  Brooke: Yes. Don't make it seem like I can't manage some staffing changes. I can.

  JJ: It's not the staffing changes I'm referring to when I ask if you're all
right.

  Brooke: Then what the fuck is it? Get to the damn point because I need to talk with the placement director at the nursing service to find a replacement.

  JJ: Why do you expect more of yourself than professionals trained to handle these conditions?

  Brooke: Why do you think you're entitled to ask those kinds of questions?

  JJ: Consider it an objective observation.

  Brooke: If you don't approve of the way I'm handling my father's care, you are welcome to fuck right off.

  JJ: Got it. Get your ass over here when you're free.

  Brooke: No. Not tonight.

  JJ: Fair enough. I'll go there after I close up.

  Brooke: That option isn't on the table.

  JJ: I'm not fucking you on the sidewalk, sweetheart. Too damn cold, even in the springtime.

  JJ: I'll be there by midnight and don't try to pull this bullshit.

  Brooke: It's not bullshit.

  JJ: It's not logical and you damn well know it.

  * * *

  I walked out of Dad's house in the middle of the afternoon. Just grabbed my shoes and walked the fuck out of there. I had no idea where I meant to go, but I knew I had to go somewhere. I couldn't stay another minute. Not in the house where things went from bad to worse, from severe to end stage. And not in the town where I didn't belong, not really. This wasn't for me, not a single inch of it.

  Except for Annette. I couldn't live without her.

  Also, Jed was growing on me in fascinating ways.

  And I couldn't forget about Jackson.

  The three of them were my de facto family, but I couldn't shake the sense that this wasn't where I belonged. Not this small town, not Dad's house, not this compressed, bitter version of myself. I didn't want to resent my father's dementia for stealing him away and leaving me with a living ghost. I didn't want to resent my father for making me promise to keep him at home, keep his condition quiet. I didn't want any of this.

  I blew through the Galley's front door, not wasting a second on the fact I'd walked myself here without conscious thought, and marched up to the empty bar. When Jed spotted me, he stopped what he was doing, his hand paused over the knot at the nape of his neck. I loved it when those strands slipped loose. It checked a box I didn't know I had.

  "You're going to light something on fire with that look, sweetheart," he said.

  "What are you doing tonight?"

  He dropped his hand, blew out a breath. "Don't ask me questions when you already know the answer. I don't have time for that."

  "And I don't have time to repeat my mistakes but here I am."

  He braced his hands wide on the bar. "Do you need to be hauled over my shoulder right now? Is that the kind of attention you need from me? Because that's what it sounds like, Bam."

  "I need your dick paying extra-close attention to my vagina tonight. Do you think you can do that or is this another one of those instances where I'm supposed to intuitively know the answer?"

  Nate sidled up beside Jed, swung an amused gaze between us. "I'll be here until closing, but I'm free after that."

  Jed turned a glare in his direction. "Go somewhere else. Right now. Go and stay gone for ten minutes."

  Nate glanced back at me. "It makes my day when you come in here and yell at him."

  "Go away," Jed barked. When Nate pushed into the back room, Jed said to me, "I expect to find you in my bed tonight. Awake, please."

  "Give me something worth staying awake for,” I replied.

  He pressed his fist to his mouth, but he couldn't hide his wicked smirk. My entire body clenched at that smirk.

  "Bam, you don't know what you're asking for," he said.

  "Explain it to me." I took a step back and then two more. I needed the distance. Without it, I'd vault my ass over that bar and drag him home right now. "Then make me regret it." I was almost certain those jeans of his were getting tighter by the second. "Don't make me wait." I hit him with a dick-eating grin and dodged Jackson at the door. To Jackson, I said, "It's a pleasure to see you, sheriff. Are you here in an official capacity?"

  He responded with the same bewildered smile he'd been giving my innuendos for the past year. "Good afternoon to you as well, Brooke."

  "You really don't know what you're getting yourself into," Jed called.

  He was right about that. I didn't know what I was getting into with him, but I knew I could drop a few words on him and flash a feral stare and he'd be mine. Even if it only lasted a few hours, he could belong to me and I could pretend I belonged to someone too.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  JJ

  Due Diligence: the investigation of an organization or financial opportunity prior to the consummation of an agreement.

  For neither the first nor the last time, I seriously contemplated running through a damn wall to stop Brooke from strutting out of my tavern with my balls in her back pocket. It wasn't about the balls. Goddamn, she could keep them if it meant I could keep her long enough to unravel the issues tying her in knots today.

  "Harniczek. A moment, please."

  "For fuck's sake, sheriff, why are you here?" I shouted, dragging my gaze away from the door and settling it on Jackson Lau. "In case you didn't notice, I just had a moment. I don't have one for you too."

  Laughing, he dropped into a seat at the bar. "I have to admit I'm somewhat afraid of Miss Markham. I can't help but believe she'd reach into my belly and tear out my liver if I crossed her."

  "You best believe she will."

  "She might scare me, but you should know I won't stand for anyone screwing her over," he said.

  Well, that was unnecessary. "It's funny you say that," I started, "because no one screws Brooke over. She can spot that shit from a mile away and she screws back a hundred times as hard. But it's not Brooke you're worried about here. It's me." When he responded with nothing more than his usual cool stare, I continued. "I don't dick women over, sheriff. Not my style."

  "Then we won't have a problem," he answered.

  That was really unnecessary.

  Out of the fucking blue, Jackson said, "I've kept an extra set of patrols on the Markham estate since last summer. Every four to six hours, just to keep an eye on things." He gave me a meaningful nod. "If there's a need for Dr. Gwynn to make another house call during a blizzard, I expect you'll let one of my deputies escort her."

  Without fail, the most annoying portion of the sheriff's lectures was when I realized we were on the same team. "Will do."

  "The white-out conditions aside, I'm pleased the good doctor was on hand to assist when Brooke needed it. Not that Brooke would ever admit to needing help."

  Instead of taking that bait, I grabbed a set of glasses, filled one with iced tea and the other with club soda. "To women."

  Jackson tapped his glass against mine. "And their red flags."

  "And the bulls who love them," I added.

  "Too right," he murmured into his tea.

  I drained the club soda in two gulps and went back to the taps for a refill. "Now, what the hell are you doing here? Did you miss lunch again?"

  He waved me off, saying, "I'm curious about Nate's progress and whether you've noticed any signs of relapse. His probation officer sent a glowing report last week, raving about him meeting all the terms of his probation. I share that enthusiasm, but I know the realities of addiction. I want to hear your take."

  I didn't care whether we were on the same team. I didn't have any patience for this shit. "You want my take, sheriff? Here it is. I believe in the kid and I believe in second chances. Third, fourth, fifth chances too. People can fuck up. People can do terrible things. And they can learn from them. No one should be thrown away or erased simply because they did the wrong thing. I don't care if they did the wrong thing for years. The minute they decide to turn it around, I'm gonna let them." I tossed a lime wedge into my glass with enough force to send half the liquid sloshing over the sides. "He didn't kill anyone, he didn't maim anyone. He harmed himself. S
ure, he stole from his family. He hurt his relationship with his parents in ways that won't easily mend. But he's still alive and so are they. He gets another chance, and if he relapses, he gets another one after that."

  Jackson regarded me for a moment and then said, "All right. I also have concerns about Bobbie Lincoln. He keeps drinking himself into trouble. Wandering down dark roads at night where he's bound to get hit by a car. Arguing with everyone who crosses his path. We're called out to that house at least once a month."

  "It's not as simple as him drinking himself into trouble," I replied. "There's more to the story than you think."

  He knocked his knuckles against the bar top. "That's why I'm here, Harniczek. Tell me the story. Let me help from my side while you help from yours."

  "If you're looking for a buddy cop setup, you should know I'm not one for team sports."

  "You make it sound like that should surprise me," he quipped.

  I poured more iced tea into his glass. "When did you get a sense of humor?"

  "It was probably around the same time you took up team sports with Miss Markham," he replied.

  "Since that's a fully unacceptable line of discussion, let's get back to Bobbie Lincoln. All I can tell you is he's sorting through some issues. There's the unhappy marriage, the job that sucks the life out of him every day, the elderly mother-in-law who invited herself to move in a couple years back." I lifted my glass, motioned toward him with it before taking a sip. "I don't think the guy should be drinking it away to the point of walking in traffic but you can't fault him for bellying up to the bar if for no other reason than getting out of the house."

  "I don't want to fault him either, but he picked a fight with a trash can outside the O'Keefe place shortly after one a.m. last night. The O'Keefes called the station thinking it was a bear. Lincoln pummeled the damn can until the boys rolled up. He broke both hands in the process." He laced his fingers around his iced tea, glanced up at me. "Did you see him at any point?"