by Mary Calmes
“Listen to me. I threw him out and I called her and had him removed from my account, and I would have come to see you, but I got stuck on a conference call and only went into the kitchen—where I found the key you left—the following morning.”
I was quiet.
“And when he came over to deliver more paperwork that night two weeks ago, I called her and she relocated him to Portland. You won’t see him again.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I’m affirming what you just said so you know I’m listening.”
“Hagen,” he rasped. “I want you to keep that key.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You thought I gave him the key just like I gave you one, but that’s not the case. I gave one to you and only you. Period.”
“It doesn’t—”
“It does matter, because you felt special when I gave it to you and—”
“It’s just a key,” I said tightly because, yes, for all my posturing, when he had given me the key I had been touched.
“It wasn’t to you.”
And he was right, it hadn’t been.
“Just… give it another chance.”
“It’s not about a chance, it’s just not necessary.”
“I think it is.”
“Well, I don’t.” I was adamant. Accepting the key in the first place had been a mistake. You gave a key or you took one—that was a next step kind of thing. It meant that there were expectations between you that would eventually lead to promises. If I’d thought about it in the moment instead of being lulled by postcoital bliss, I would have joked around with him and never taken it. As it was, with him wrapped around me planting rough wet kisses up the length of my throat, I’d been too quick to accept.
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t mean anything if everyone has one.”
“Are you even listening to me? I said—”
“I know what you said.”
“Then?”
“And besides, it’s an intrusion of your privacy that’s not necessary. We’re not there.”
“Yes, we are!”
“I will have to disagree with you since Stone was in your bed.”
“But I didn’t want him there. I did not invite him nor was the offer made implicitly or otherwise,” he said implacably. “It was a mistake he made all on his own.”
“Sure.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Sure,” I lied.
“Then?”
“We’re not there yet,” I repeated. “It was a mistake for you to give me a key and a mistake for me to take it. Period.”
“But I want us to be.”
“What?”
“I want us to be there. I’m there. I’m ready.”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“Okay, I acknowledge that you want us to be more.”
“The hell does that mean?”
“Stone was in your bed,” I reiterated. Really, any man who wanted just me, there would be no question that I’d never find another man under their sheets. It wouldn’t happen. He was telling me nothing had happened, but I was still on the fence about it. And it niggled because he’d made it a thing. If he just said, yeah, I fucked him, I would have been over it already instead of second-guessing him. But he had no reason to lie. He was in no danger of losing me since he never had me to begin with.
“I would have come after you had I realized you’d even been there.”
We were back to the first incident with Stone. “So you’ve said.”
“You didn’t even give me the opportunity to explain.”
“There was no reason.”
“But there was for me. I would never do that to you.”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah, but here’s the thing. You travel all over the world, and I don’t. I’m only here. So for me to be exclusive when I’m home means a lot more than it does to you.”
“What are you saying?”
“Why don’t we just stick to what we know? When you’re in town, if you feel like hanging out, then gimme a call. If I’m free, I’d love to see you. If not, then—”
“But that’s not what I want.”
“What’s the alternative?”
“That I don’t sleep with anyone else.”
I could not stifle my groan. “Are we back to this?” Why was he pushing?
“Hagen—”
“Are you kidding?”
“I—”
“We both know that you have fuckbuddies all over the damn place and that there are models and party boys and whoever the hell else. That is not a leash you want to put on.”
“What’s that?”
“Fidelity, monogamy.”
He took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing, though. While I was gone… I missed you.”
“That’s a buncha crap. You don’t miss anybody.”
“Do you want to argue with me or let me pick you up?”
“Neither,” I replied glibly. “Come over here instead and I’ll cook for you.” It seemed like a good alternative. We could still eat together, have sex, and when we were done, I could come up with some reason he had to leave. Or not. But the point was, it would be on my terms, not his. And if I didn’t get picked up, he didn’t get to say when he brought me home.
It was quiet a moment. “You cook?”
I smiled on my end. “Yeah, smartass, I do.”
“I… would love that.”
“Well, there you go.”
“But not tonight,” he said softly. “Tonight I actually want to cook for you, and I had the house stocked so… will you come over here?”
“I—”
“Please.”
“Fine,” I agreed, even though I would have preferred to have him in my bed. Being in his, following Stone even if nothing had happened, was not appealing.
“Good,” he replied, audibly pleased.
“So I’ll be over after I—”
“No, I want to go with you to do your errands.”
“What?”
“Just let me.”
“Why?”
“Allow me to tag along.”
“You’ll be bored out of your mind.” It was an odd request, made out of… what? Was he worried I’d change my mind about going over to his place?
“I won’t be.”
“Just lemme go alone and I’ll meet you at your place around six.”
Quick cough. “I can’t wait.”
“Sure you can.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see you,” he insisted.
“Why?”
“Don’t be a dick,” he snapped and then hung up.
I WAS loading up my Ford F-150 when he rolled up in a sleek black sports car, and when I turned and looked at him, he revved the engine.
I waited until the window lowered on the driver’s side.
“Well?”
“You need to park that over there by the trees if you’re coming with me,” I informed him, pointing away from the house, not impressed in the least.
“Why can’t I drive?”
I arched an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I don’t think all my tools are gonna fit in your fancy ride, there, Mr. Lennox.”
“You’re going to pass up being chauffeured around in an Aston Martin DB9 Carbon Edition?” He was horrified by the prospect, as evidenced by his startled expression and the way he waved his open hands around as though clearly, I was insane.
“Yeah,” I affirmed, gesturing at my truck. “Now get out of the car already, because I gotta get going.”
“You actually want me to ride in that thing?” He was aghast, looking at my baby like she was made of trash instead of heaven. The look of disgust and the upturned nose were not subtle. “How old is it?”
“She,” I enunciated, “is a 1985, and I assure you my girl’s in great shape.”
&n
bsp; He made a face.
“You know what, just go home,” I ordered, laughing, shaking my head. “I knew your ass was too precious to ride in my baby.”
“Wait!”
I looked at him over my shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he snapped, driving over to the spot I’d indicated a few minutes earlier and then climbing out quickly.
He was cute all snarly and irritated, and I found myself smiling at him. Stopping abruptly, halfway to me, he just stood and stared. “What?” I baited him.
“No one annoys me as much as you.”
“I totally believe that,” I teased. “Come here.”
His eyes darkened with heat and I was treated to a lazy, wicked grin, and I saw him take a deep breath right before he reached me.
I took his face in my hands as soon as I could and leaned him forward. I liked him, I really did, and this thing with us had a Use By date, but still, it could be fun until then.
His lips parted the moment they met mine, and I took his mouth possessively, almost savagely, my tongue rubbing over his as I knocked him back against the door of my truck.
“Hagen,” he moaned, boneless and ready, the offer implicit in the cant of his hips, the open stance, and his fingers tangled in my T-shirt.
I could take him right there—he’d let me—and the body I already knew so well, miles of flawless creamy skin stretched over toned and cut gym muscle, would be mine. He was really the most beautiful man, powerful, sinuous, and hard, and his beautiful long-fingered hands fisted in my sheets was something I wanted to see again.
But not right now. Now, I needed to pull it together and go to work. I took several steps back, taking a breath, calming down.
“How are you stopping?”
“Because I want to do what you said before, spend the whole day with you tomorrow, but if I don’t get my work done today, I can’t.”
He blinked several times. “You’re thinking about me?”
“Who else?”
His smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I love that.”
But it was simply thoughtful, wasn’t it? We were hanging out, spending time together until one of us said when. “Well, good. Can we go?”
“Yes, we can,” he agreed, full-on smile now, big and wide, his gaze firing all gorgeous green before he strutted around to the passenger side of the first vehicle I ever owned and got in.
Once we were both in the truck, he got comfortable, stretched out, head back and aviators on, and kept up a steady conversation about how sleeping with me was great for him but not so much for his bed-and-breakfast.
“Why’s that?” I asked, taking a left down on Caraway Lane, heading toward the beach where the Goodwin house stood.
“Chastain has already gone over budget and he’s only been working on the house for a week.”
“I told you to hire either Lee Construction or Santoro Builders out of Brookings.”
“Both were booked through the new year.”
“I never told you to hire Chastain.”
“You never said he was sued by a horse breeder either.”
“Yeah, but he’s been sued by a whole lotta people,” I quipped. “It’s hard to keep track.”
“Well, he’s going to add me to the list and I will bankrupt him if he’s not careful.”
“People who don’t know better think that the mob is scarier than lawyers.”
“Foolish people,” he said, chuckling.
As we got out of the truck, a blast of cold, crisp sea air, at once damp but with the smell of the ocean, hit me.
“God, I love it here,” I said, in awe, filling my lungs at the same time I took in the view. It was a beautiful, sleepy little cul-de-sac with redwoods and sequoias in back yards and between houses and maples lining the sidewalks. If I had to live in town, this would have been one of the places I wanted to be. It was funny—for most people, having enormous thousand-year-old trees in their back yards and an ocean just down the hill would not be something “in town” would encompass, but here, in Benson, on the Oregon coastline, it did.
I was so calm, so deep in my breathing that at first, I missed the scream. But I caught it the second time.
Chapter Four
“WHAT THE hell is that?” Ash barked, startled.
I looked up and down the street from where I was standing at the Goodwin house, and then, across from us, I saw a little boy appear. He was maybe five, six, and when he came flying around the side of the house, the high-pitched wail coming out of him registered. I heard a lot of that when I served in Afghanistan.
He was terrified.
The scream he was making, the panicked keening, sounded like a wounded animal. I knew the noise. I’d made it myself once upon a time.
I charged toward him and he met me halfway, clawed at my shirt, eyes huge, hyperventilating, still shrieking.
There was no choice. I shook him hard. “Who’s hurt?” I asked, because that was all it could be. He wasn’t scared for himself, but for another. I knew that look too.
He pointed back from where he’d come.
After shoving him at Ash, I bolted, retracing his path, flying around the two-story A-frame, through the still open gate, and into the backyard where the pool was.
I saw a boy at the bottom of six feet of water.
I never stopped, didn’t slow, just dove in, hit the heated water, and used every drop of power in me to get to him and get him to the surface as fast as I could. It took only seconds, but I had no idea how long he’d been down there.
They taught survival skills in the military, and it always surprised me how often I’d used them to help others instead of myself over the years. In that moment, I was tremendously thankful I’d learned CPR from a sergeant who was not only meticulous but thorough as well. I didn’t just know adult procedures, but how to help infants, toddlers, and every size of kid in between. I recalled the steps, turned him sideways, got rid of some water, pressed, pushed, and then breathed air into him.
Peripherally, I heard the screaming like a siren, climbing, getting bigger, louder. Then I heard Ash’s soothing voice and noted the decibel level lowering as the little boy responded to the gentle coaxing in Ash’s tone. The stillness soothed me, too, and seconds later, when chlorine-scented water spit up all over my face, I choked on my own sob of relief. I heard Ash comforting the little boy.
“See, buddy, I told you, everything’s going to be just fine.”
The one I’d gone in for spluttered out more water, and I smiled down at him as his eyes fluttered open. The other boy, smaller, scrambled over to me, landing hard against my chest as I sank back on my haunches and clutched him tight.
“Bran,” the boy clinging to my chest whispered.
The one I had just given CPR to rolled his head, glanced from me to the little boy, and then back to me.
“What happened?”
“You fell off the platform and hit your head,” he responded, voice shaky.
He absorbed that and then looked back at me before he tried to sit up.
“No, no, no,” I pacified. “Just stay put until the ambulance gets here, all right?”
He winced. “Please don’t call an ambulance. My dad’ll kill me if he finds out.”
The boy in my arms started to cry as he buried his face in the hollow of my throat. Apparently, with death averted, parental fear was now a very real thing.
I turned to look at Ash, who leaned in close and put an arm around my shoulders as I started to shiver with the ebb of adrenaline and the cold grip of fear.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, pushing my hair back from my face. “You did great. You were amazing. Superman in the flesh.”
I smiled even as my eyes filled. Facing death or the possibility of it, in any way, never ceased to gut me. Once I knew what it was like to actually have people die in my arms, to know that anyone could be lost at any time, there was no taking anything for granted. I hadn’t been certain I could save him when I dived in, and now, with m
y adrenaline dissipating, I was vulnerable. I hid my face in Ash’s shoulder so the kids wouldn’t see me weep.
After a few moments, he wiped my tears away, giving me his body heat, kissing the little boy’s head when he left my arms and wriggled back into the warm cocoon of Ash’s lap. Ash’s ability to comfort both of us at the same time even as he gave directions over the phone to the 911 operator struck me as impressive under pressure. His smile, when he noticed me staring, was gentle.
“I’m ready for dinner now,” I told him.
He nodded, smiling at me in complete understanding.
“So,” I sighed, turning back to the boy lying on the stamped concrete, staring up at me with wide eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Bran Thayer,” he told me. “My dad is Mitch Thayer.”
Of course he was.
BRAN WAS, as I suspected at poolside after his name was spoken, short for Brandon, and I sat beside him, still not letting him move, after covering him with a beach towel that his brother, six-year-old Ryder, took Ash inside to get. They came back with T-shirts and hoodies and sweats as well as socks and shoes for them both. The pool was warm, outside of it was not.
By the time the EMTs arrived, a crowd had gathered outside the gate, but the two sheriff’s deputies, one being Theo Esposito, who had moved to Benson two years ago with his lovely wife, Tara, were keeping everyone away. When Ash returned with Ryder, he apologized and said he had an emergency of his own he had to take care of.
“Unless you need me,” he said solemnly, searching my face, cupping my cheek. “If you’re not okay, I’ll stay with you.”
“No, I’m good,” I promised. Though it was nice of him to offer, it wasn’t necessary. “But are you okay?”
He grimaced. “My father set up the alimony agreements and trust funds for all his ex-wives and their children—including me—and apparently one of my stepbrothers is trying to sue him over the money he’s supposed to be getting. He received some sort of paperwork about an injunction.”
“These sound like first world problems.”
“Yes.”
“And your dad called you?”
“I’m the peacemaker in my tribe. It’s the celebrity thing.”
“Ah.”
