by Alison Kent
“We’re all upset, Dahlia,” Deck said in the voice he used to settle Brandy. “We’ll get Cal home as soon as we can.”
Dahlia gave up her search, set her tea box on her lap and wiped at her nose with a tissue. She looked miserable.
“How about we head downstairs for some coffee?” Deck said.
“I’m not thirsty,” Callie said.
“Just in case,” he said, reaching for her hand. He squeezed hard, as if trying to get through her panic, make her feel him, warm and strong beside her. “Let’s take a moment.”
He leveled his gaze at her and she took a deep breath. “All right.”
“I’ll wait here,” Dahlia said, staring ahead.
“Can we bring you something?” Deck asked.
She shook her head.
Deck led Callie to the elevator and when the doors closed, he put both arms around her. “You’ll get through this,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. “You’re not alone. I’m here for you. In whatever way you need me to be.”
“Thank you, Deck,” she said, letting him wrap her tightly in his arms. They stayed that way all the way down, as the door opened and closed, letting people on and off at different floors. As they held each other, whatever wisdom or caution or fear that had kept them apart melted away. Deck had offered himself to her and she was deeply grateful.
WHEN THE ELEVATOR DOORS OPENED, Deck had trouble letting Callie leave his arms. He’d meant what he’d said. He’d be what she needed—friend, sounding board, assistant…
Lover?
Yeah. That, too. No point trying to pretend he’d be smart or cautious now. Seeing her in the waiting room, small and scared, he’d remembered her pale face after her mother’s death.
Her grief had seemed bottomless. She’d tried to hide it, pretending she had it all under control, but he’d seen she was dying inside, lost and alone, raw with pain.
His own misery was still so close to the surface that he’d ached for her. Together they rode a sea of grief, the choppy waves choking them with salt and sand.
He’d be here for her now, too, no matter the cost to his peace of mind.
In the cafeteria she drank a few sips of soda before she insisted on heading upstairs again to wait for the doctor. He was holding both her hands, trying to still her trembling, when the doctor came out.
The introductions over, he sat across from Callie. “It looks like your father has atrial fibrillation,” the doctor said, pausing to let the words sink in. “That means the upper chambers of his heart aren’t beating correctly. His heartbeat is too fast, so—”
“Can it be treated?” Callie interrupted.
He nodded. “We have some effective medicines to control his heart’s rhythm and thin his blood, reducing the risk of a clot or stroke.”
“So he doesn’t need surgery?”
“We have good luck with these meds. If they fail, there are electrical procedures that sometimes work.”
“You mean with paddles?” Callie asked breathlessly.
“Along those lines. Also, radiofrequency ablation, which is where we send pulses of heat to kill off the misfiring heart cells. It’s painless and works very well. But we have no reason to believe he won’t respond to the drugs.”
The doctor stood, preparing to leave. “So, if there are no more questions…?”
Callie lunged to her feet and threw her arms around the doctor, unbalancing him. “Thanks…so much.” She sounded almost hysterical with relief. Deck’s heart ached for her.
“It was a simple diagnosis,” the startled doctor said. “I did nothing extraordinary. We’ll keep him overnight, make sure we’ve got his rhythm regulated. If all goes well, he’ll likely be released tomorrow afternoon.”
“Can I see him now?”
“He’s pretty sleepy, but you can take a minute.”
Callie went in, but her father was too groggy to do much more than squeeze her hand and murmur that he was fine. Dahlia went in, too. She declined Deck’s offer of a ride home, saying a friend would get her when she was ready to leave.
Callie was quiet on the drive to the ranch, though he caught her looking at him from time to time. They pulled up at the entrance to the house and he stopped to let her out.
She leaned in the window to say goodbye. “Will you be all right?” he asked.
She nodded wearily. “I need a shower, then I’ll try to do some work.”
He wanted to take her in his arms and just hold her, but he’d promised to do what she needed. He had to let her call the shots. “Mine’s the trailer with the blue-striped awning,” he said, pointing toward the mesquite trees. “If you want company.”
“I think I’ll be okay,” she said. “Thanks, though.”
An hour later a soft tap on his door caught him just out of the shower. He knew it was Callie before he opened the door. Her wet hair clung to her cheeks and she smelled of coconut shampoo and flowers.
“I changed my mind,” she said, and flew into his arms, the force nearly detaching the towel he’d thrown around his hips. She kissed him, making it even more difficult to keep his towel in place.
“I can’t get it out of my mind—what might have happened. It’s making me crazy. I need something else to think about.”
“Do you want a beer, some coffee, a movie?”
“No,” she said softly. “I want you. Your body. Your arms. I want to be swept away that way.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, his body tense, eager to do what she’d suggested. He had to be certain.
She nodded. “You make me feel better. Safe. You help me forget.”
She was so pretty, fresh from the shower, no makeup at all. Just Callie.
She kissed him urgently, drawing his tongue into her mouth.
He kissed her back, matching her ferocity, then swept her into his arms and carried her to his bed. He lay over her, braced on his elbows, letting her feel how much he wanted her through the sweatpants she wore and his now-meager towel.
He’d meant what he said. He’d be what she needed, no matter how much it hurt when she left. Because she would leave.
That’s what Callie did. She left.
He kissed her deeply for a long, slow time, feeling her body relax under him, feeling her let go of her panic and pain.
She wrapped her legs around his, pushed her hips up against him and held on tight. “Too many clothes,” she said.
“Right.” He pushed her long-sleeved shirt over her head and off, took down her pants and tossed away his towel until their naked bodies were in full contact. She felt so good, so right in his bed, against him, quivering and eager, soft and firm at once.
“I want you inside me,” she murmured. “You’re my medicine.”
“Whatever you need,” he said, but he realized if he entered her, things would go too fast. He wanted to give her a release that was all hers, with no distractions.
He wanted to taste her, something they hadn’t done all those years ago. He took a nipple into his mouth and sucked gently, enjoying her moan.
Then he ran his tongue between her breasts, then down the center of her ribcage, adding his lips so he could kiss his way down her torso, shifting himself lower as he went.
“Deck…?” she asked uncertainly.
“Just be still,” he murmured. He cupped her ass, ran his thumbs along the impossibly soft skin inside her thighs while she trembled in his grip.
“We’ve never…you’ve never done this befo—ohhhh.” When he found her clit, she jumped, as if electrified. He licked the length of it, while she bucked and cried out. He liked the warm smell of her, the clean, sweet taste of her sex, how slick and swollen she was against his tongue.
This was heaven.
She locked her fingers in his hair, as if she had to hold him in place—as if he’d leave until he was finished—her breathing labored in the silences between soft cries and mews of enjoyment.
He sucked her swollen button, which went tighter. Her body rocked as she rose
from the pillow, then squealed as she fell back. “I’m coming…” she breathed, but he already knew because he felt the throb against his tongue. He stayed with her for those long and lovely seconds that she writhed and shivered through her climax.
Once she stilled, she tried to talk. “I can’t…I don’t…how did you…? I can’t…make words…”
“Don’t bother,” he said, kissing his way up to her mouth, grinning between kisses. “You already said it all.”
“Oh,” she sighed, watching him climb up her body, catching her breath. They kissed for a few moments, then she rolled him over onto his back and rose to her knees. Watching his face, she placed him at her opening and lowered herself, pushing him deep.
He groaned, finding himself in her soft, tight space. Her muscles tightened around his shaft, demanding more, which he wanted to give. He would never get enough of this woman.
THIS, THIS, THIS was what she needed, Callie thought as she slid up and down on Deck, still dizzy from her climax.
“You okay?” Deck asked her, seeming to sense her wooziness.
“I’m fabulous,” she said. She’d been so relaxed when Deck used his mouth on her, completely free, absolutely open. She never felt that kind of abandon with a man, especially when he was doing that to her. But this was different.
This was Deck.
She rocked up and down, wanting to feel him deep. Deck held her gaze, taking in every nuance of her expression. He was no doubt timing himself to match her next climax. What a lover he was. It was like he was in her head. She was startled to realize she was already close.
She wanted never to stop, never to remember how scared she’d been. She focused on the moment, on the way the golden lamplight slid in pools along the dips and curves of his body, the way his muscles tightened, shivered across his chest and arms as he gripped her hips, then cupped her breasts as she leaned forward. He was so strong and he felt so good inside her.
Her release came closer with each stroke, each lift and drop of her hips. She fought to hold back, to prolong the luxury, but she…just…couldn’t…stop….
“I’m coming,” she gasped.
“I know,” he said, and she felt him go off inside her. They bucked and gasped for glorious seconds until the waves subsided. She fell forward onto his chest, felt his heart pound against her own, his breathing rasp in her ear.
Finally she dropped to his side in the narrow bed.
Deck shifted her to spoon against her back. “You feel good.” He wrapped his arms around her, his hands on her breasts. She looked down at his fingers, then opened a palm. He had a working man’s calluses stained a rainbow of colors. He knew hard labor and delicate art. In some ways he was the whole package. Smart and funny, loyal and kind. He’d be so devoted to the woman he chose.
She had come to him because of their history, the bone-deep healing power of their sex. It wasn’t forever. Or for very long. Was that unfair to Deck? He’d said he’d be whatever she needed, but she didn’t want to hurt such a good and tender man.
“Stop thinking, Callie,” Deck said in a husky voice. “Sleep now. Think tomorrow.”
“I can’t help it.” She turned her body to see his face. “What are we doing?”
“We’re sleeping. Close your eyes.” He closed his, then opened one. Seeing her still staring at him, he opened the other. “We’re spending time together. How’s that?”
“And that’s enough for you?”
“It’s plenty.”
“You mean that?”
“When have I ever said something I didn’t mean?”
“Never,” she breathed. “I love that I can count on you. Right now I need someone dependable and steady and—”
“Boring as hell. I get it. I’m the Wiley of your world.”
“But I love Wiley.”
“With his tired old body and white whiskers?”
“That’s where the comparison ends. You’re tireless and your body is gorgeous.”
“Good to hear. Now go to sleep.” He turned her around and settled her tighter against him. His erection pressed between her cheeks, his legs twined with hers.
Feeling wicked, she said, “But I’m not sleepy.” She rubbed her backside against his penis. “And neither are you.”
“Mmmm,” he said into her hair, rocking against her.
She was on fire again as if she hadn’t just had two orgasms. She moved onto her stomach, pulling him over her body.
He reached under her to hold her stomach, while he slid his cock slowly up and down her crack.
“Yessss,” she breathed, pushing back, inviting him where she was hot and wet and slick for him.
He entered her like a deep breath, stroking deep, sliding his hands onto her thighs, then pressing her clit with greedy fingers. “You feel so good. Slippery and hot and wet.”
They rocked slowly. Her muscles clenched and released over and over, feeling so good. She wanted more, so she lifted herself onto her hands and knees, pushing herself up, presenting to him like a female animal in heat.
He pulled out slowly, his entire length, like he was denying her. “Tell me what you want,” he said.
“Go deep,” she said. “I want to feel you all the way through me.” The pressure of this angle, the intensity of the pressure made everything tight and vivid.
He did what she’d asked and she gasped. His fingers stroked her clit, while he moved in and out, tracing her, pushing her closer and closer to orgasm. She loved the slap of her butt against his groin. They were liquid and juicy and moving like one body. She felt helpless, pinned there by his hands, by the relentless strokes, by him taking her, making her his.
“Come for me, baby. Come,” he coaxed.
The words were like the trigger to an explosion and she went off. Her knees went liquid and gave way and she dropped flat to the mattress.
Deck stayed wrapped around her and inside her while she climaxed. When she finished, she felt him come within her, groaning, overcome.
Afterward, he fell back, holding her against his chest. She turned toward him so they lay face-to-face. “That was incredible.”
He nodded, breathing hard.
“Can we do this while I’m here? Be together this way?”
“Is that what you want?”
“It can’t be just me.”
What could he safely say? Deck thought for a long moment before he spoke. “It’s what I want,” he said finally, lying to Callie for the first time.
He wanted more. Way more. Deck wrapped his arms around Callie and felt her heart flutter against his chest. Could he handle this?
He’d have to. He’d lock his fingers into her mane while she tore through his life, jumped all his fences and trampled his grass. Maybe he’d burn out, be done with her before she took off again. She wanted the clatter and crowds and distraction of New York. She could no more sit still, so sunset could gather around her shoulders with its soft peace, than she could leap the Rio Feliz.
Except, she’d said she sometimes felt overwhelmed, hadn’t she? She clearly loved being back on the ranch. Pain had made her previous trips hard. Now that was passing. She’d never taken the time to experience the pleasures of life out here.
If he showed her all that was here, maybe she’d change her mind. Daily routines and free-time activities weren’t that different no matter where you lived. With someone you cared about at your side, the ordinary could seem extraordinary.
It might be crazy, but he was going to give it a try. He smiled into Callie’s hair and felt her fall asleep on his chest.
10
IN THE MORNING Callie awoke to the smell of coffee and a note on Deck’s pillow:
C: I’m off to work. No rest for the sexually whipped. The coffee is Starbucks. Even in the boonies we get the good stuff. Call me if you want company picking up your father.
She smiled, feeling good in Deck’s bed, her body tired from all the sex. She liked the cozy familiarity of leaving each other notes and offering compan
y for errands. She hoped Deck really was okay with this. The scare over her father had pushed her into his arms, but she felt better than she’d felt in a long time.
This was for now, for a little while. That was why it could be so magical. There was a time limit, a clear end in sight. Even too much dessert got old.
Reaching to the floor for her purse, she fished out her phone and called the hospital, where the nurse told her that her father would be released later in the day. She would go to see him and stay to take him home.
She sat up in Deck’s bed, rubbing her back from where she’d been wedged against the trailer wall and looked around the room that was so small it barely held the bed and a small bureau. The open closet contained a few clothes, a couple pairs of boots, running shoes and dress loafers. One of everything, nothing extra.
She padded down the short hall into what passed for a living area and kitchen. Everything was neat and tidy and spare.
The walls held two paintings. Realizing they must be Deck’s work, she stopped dead to study them. One was a horse running through a pasture. The animal seemed to pop from the canvas. The other showed a pair of coyotes at the river at dawn. They looked so alive she expected to see movement. Deck used thick layers of paint that managed to be delicate, too, making the fur seem feathery, the eyes wise. They were so good they made her shiver.
She had to see the rest of his work—and soon.
Walking on, she saw that the small table held photos of his parents, his mom with her new husband, and Ranger. The shelf over the kitchen sink held an aloe vera plant, some round creek stones and a long brown feather—Deck’s treasures, no doubt.
The man lived like a monk. Maybe he had few needs and wants. Or maybe he didn’t allow himself to desire more. He claimed he was happy here. Maybe he was. They saw life so differently. Deck stayed put and she kept moving. She heard his voice from that long-ago night. Stay with me.
