Into the Storm

by Susan Fanetti

  She was still looking stunned, but she went willingly when he led her into the living room. The room was half empty now, but he still had his recliner and an old, red plaid loveseat. He led her there and sat next to her.

  “I need you to hear me out. Let me get it out. If you have questions after, I’ll answer what you ask. But let me get it out.”

  She nodded, and he took her hand in his, running his thumb over the smooth stone of her ring. He was disheartened to discover that he couldn’t get started while he met her eyes, but he looked at their linked hands and found strength and focus there.

  He told her what he’d told Harrie Beck, but for Shannon, he added the details he’d left out in the clubhouse. What he’d been told had really happened to Daisy. What had happened to Holly. Why.

  What had happened between him and Holly after. How he’d given up Rosie and Iris. He stared at his big paw clasping her slender, pale hand, with its perfectly polished nails—a pinkish kind of light brown now—and he told her what he knew. What he felt. What he’d done. What he’d failed to do.

  She made a few slight noises, as if she wanted to interrupt, but she never did. She moved a few times, reacting, he supposed in shock, to what he described, but she did as he asked and waited for him to finish.

  Then, when he’d told her all that, he said, “Holly and me, we always had a rough go. I loved her, and I think she loved me for some of it, but it wasn’t ever easy. The last part of it, since Iris, was barely a marriage at all. She gets mad fast, gets to yelling and throwing shit. She was always like that, even before we got married, but it was worse after Daisy came along. She got real rigid about what was right. She was never comfortable around the club, but after Daisy, she grew to hate it, and she started to hate me because of it.

  “I’m not one to get angry right away. I’m more a slow burn guy. That’s maybe not as true as it used to be, but I don’t like all the yellin’ and drama. I like things quiet. I fight plenty in the rest of my life. I don’t want it at home. So I gave Holly most of what she wanted. Tried to keep her happy. After awhile, I got used to it, didn’t hardly think to fight her. She didn’t want my guns around, so I kept them locked up tight. She didn’t want to learn to shoot, so I didn’t make her. She didn’t want the club, either, but that I couldn’t give her. She hated me for that first.”

  Show got quiet. He didn’t talk this much as a rule, especially not in the last year, and he was feeling drained. But he wanted it all out.

  “I gave her what she wanted, because I didn’t want the fight. I knew it meant I’d lose my family if somebody came into my house. I knew it, but I guess I didn’t believe it. And then it happened. Because of who I am, and because I wasn’t enough of a man to stand up to a five-foot five-inch woman and make her see reason.”

  “Show, no—”

  He cut her off. There was still more to be said. “Yes. That’s the truth of it. No use trying to pretty it up. I got my girl hurt like that. I got her killed. That’s a heavy fucking burden to carry. I was shutting down long before that, but I closed right up after it. Until you.” He met her eyes. “I know what I want. Fuck, I want anything for the first time in more years than I care to count. I want a whole life.”

  He couldn’t read her expression. Even looking deep into her blue eyes, he didn’t know what he was seeing, how anything he’d said made her feel. But he trudged on, intent on getting all of it out, no matter what. Ice ticked against the windows. They were going to have a slow ride back to the B&B.

  “That’s why I brought you here. That’s why I’m telling you this. Because I’m not that man anymore, the one who gave in so he wouldn’t have to deal with a screaming woman. So I need you to know, and make your call. My life gets violent. It gets dangerous. Sometimes I end up on the wrong side of law. We went outlaw because law didn’t have time for us. But that’s what we are. People get hurt. Innocents. It’s quiet now, and maybe it’ll stay that way. But maybe it won’t. You’re with me, you need to know that. You need to be good with who I am, what I do. And I will protect you until I die. Part of that is teaching you to protect yourself. You learn to shoot. Not negotiable. I want to be with you, but only on those terms. I understand if that’s too much.”

  He sat back, so weary it took an effort not to shake. “Okay. That’s what I needed to say.”

  For what felt like hours but was really seconds, Shannon sat quietly, watching the freezing rain coat the windows. Show watched her. Finally, under her breath, she said, “Roads have to be getting bad.”

  “I got studs on the truck. We’ll be fine. You got nothin’ else to say?” The thought that she would choose to turn away made an empty space in his chest, but this was when he’d let her go.

  “It’s a lot to take in, Show. I feel…I don’t know. Like my brain is over capacity.” She turned and looked at him. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I said you could. Go ahead.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you and Holly were much of a fit. I don’t mean to be nosy, but why’d you get married? Why’d you stay?”

  Of all the questions he might have anticipated she’d ask, that was not on the list. He studied her before he answered, not sure why she asked. But he gave it to her straight. No reason he could think not to, not on this night. “We got married because I knocked her up. I stayed because she and the girls were my family. I’m not built to leave. I made a promise.”

  “So did she.”

  He chuckled sadly. “Yeah, well.”

  “You ever think about not getting married? There are other solutions to that problem.”

  Show sat up straight. “Not for me. And not around these parts.” He didn’t add that that “problem” had been Daisy. But shit. They gave her life so he could let her die like that? He pushed the thought aside.

  At what he’d said, Shannon laughed, the tone blade-sharp and almost angry. “Goddamn country people,” she muttered.

  “Hey—I don’t understand why that pisses you off.”

  “Did she want to get married? Or did you force her?”

  “What? Fuck, did you not hear anything I said? I never forced Holly to do anything. Not even the shit I should have. She told me she was pregnant, I told her I’d make it right. She was glad.”

  With a brisk shake of her head, she said, “Sorry, just—sorry. Thanks for telling me so much. I’m glad you did. I need to think a little. Will you let me do that?”

  She was pulling back; he could feel it. Somehow it was the last part of the conversation that had changed something. Not what happened in this house, not the violence, not who he was, not his demand that she accept what he was and learn to defend herself, but the fact that he had married Holly and stayed. It didn’t make any sense.

  “Yeah. You need time, you take it.” Lightning lit up the window then; thunder followed a few seconds later. Lightning and thunder in freezing weather was a bad sign. “I should get you back.”

  ~oOo~

  It took them more than half an hour to go the eight miles between Show’s house and the B&B. The roads were bad, and the wind had really picked up. He didn’t have time to obsess about what Shannon, sitting silently on the far end of the bench seat, was thinking, because he needed all his wits to get them safely back.

  When he parked, as he was turning off the engine, she spoke for the first time.

  “You can’t drive again in this. It’s only getting worse. Come in. Stay the night.”

  The weather really was shit, and as the temperature dropped, it wouldn’t be getting better. He figured for a morning where everything was coated with ice. “Yeah, okay. I’ll pay for one of the rooms.”

  She turned toward him. It was too dark to see her face. “No, Show. Stay with me.”

  He felt confused. But then confusion stepped back and let something good take the center, something not unlike elation, but cautious, low-grade for now. “You sure, hon? You said you needed to think.”

  “I did. I thought, and I’m sure. I want it—you. I
f you do.”

  Show reached out and put his hand on Shannon’s cheek. She leaned into the touch, pressing her lips to the heel of his palm. He knew he needed to be careful. With her, with himself. Take measured steps. Make sure they knew what they were getting into. But this woman had made him take notice again. She’d made him want. And he knew what he wanted.

  “I want you.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Shannon and Show got into the parlor, Marie, Rose, and Beth were strewn over one of the sofas and one of the chairs, looking decidedly drunk and pleased with themselves.

  Beth called out, “Shannon! Boss lady! And Show, you big, manly beast! Where you been, out in that mess? You two been being naughty?” All three women—all of them near or past sixty, all of them of…substantial frame—giggled like schoolgirls.

  Show chuckled behind her. Shannon stepped in toward the women and took off her wet coat. “What’s going on here, ladies? I think you’re the ones being naughty.”

  Beth shook her head. “No, ma’am. My Ernie doesn’t get naughty since the heart attack. But he used to. Whoo-whee!” Again with the giggles. So, yes. Assuming any of these three remembered the evening, Shannon and Show were more grist for the gossip mill. Hopefully, though, this would be a better story.

  But it was half-past eight, and they had a nightcap to put on. “I’m glad you ladies are letting your hairnets down”—they all thought that was hilarious—“but we have to get hors d’oeuvres out for our guests. We’re doing a light meal tonight, remember?”

  Beth shook her head dramatically. “Nope. Not tonight.”

  Shit. Okay. Shit. Okay. She could handle this. Shannon wasn’t a hopeless cause in the kitchen. She just wasn’t very inspired. But Beth had made quite a bit of it before the drunken kaffeeklatsch, so Shannon could probably pick up the slack, assuming Connie was still in the kitchen to help.

  That didn’t seem very likely, though. “Is Connie still around?”

  “Nope. Sent her home before the roads got too bad.”

  Shit! “Beth, we’ve got guests to serve.” Stating the obvious to a woman too drunk to give a shit wasn’t Shannon’s most efficient course of action, but she didn’t actually have an efficient course of action.

  Not to mention that Showdown was still standing near the front door, bringing with him all sorts of intense feelings.

  But then Marie sat up straight from the chair in which she’d been sprawled. “Naw, you don’t. They called—right, Beth?”

  Beth nodded somberly and picked up the slurred story, “All three of the little pussies wanted a ride, but there wasn’t nobody to go haul their precious asses. They’re stuck now. Spending the night at the clubhouse. They’re in for a treat, I expect.” More hilarity from the Three Drunken Fates. “So there’s nobody to eat those damn deviled potatoes and apple squash things. Those people must be regular as all get-out, all the vegetables they eat.”

  Rose piped up. “Nah, they don’t shit. It probably gets all bound up in there until they shoot out little Oscar statues or something.” Past the giggles now, into guffaws.

  Okay. Nothing she could do about the guests, except hope that their night in the clubhouse would not be excessively exciting. She turned back to Show, who was grinning hugely and dialing his phone.

  “I’ll see who’s around, what’s going on with Hollywood.”

  She smiled back, relieved. “Thanks.” Now, to deal with the women. “Okay, ladies. I guess you know you’re not leaving tonight. How about you take rooms upstairs and get comfy?”

  Rose declared, “I’m comfy right here!”

  But Beth sat up. “No—we should go up. Shannon’s room is right through there, and I bet she’s a screamer.”

  Oh, tiny baby Jesus in a handcart. Really? Seriously? Shannon felt her face go hot as she blushed furiously, but she kept her composure. “You need help upstairs?”

  Marie stood, wobbled a bit, and then straightened her sweater proudly. “I do not.”

  Shannon got them set up with keys, then followed them upstairs and made sure they hit the correct doors. When she got back downstairs, Show was leaning on the front desk, his coat and kutte, still wet from the frozen rain, folded next to him.

  “Bart and Len are at the clubhouse. They got it handled. Gettin’ everybody drunk, but they’re watching out.” He nodded toward the stairs. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a damn long time.”

  “Yeah. At my expense.”

  He took her hand and pulled her close. “Aw, no, hon. They were just drunk fools. Probably won’t even remember.” He bent down and kissed her, and she forgot about all of it—that humiliating scene, her stranded guests, Show’s heavy story and the way it had stirred her up, the way he’d said he wanted her—and just felt him. His huge, strong body, his rough hands, the scratch of his beard on her cheeks, his tongue hot and slick in her mouth. Feeling the electric tremor run through her blood and jolt between her legs, she moaned and grabbed fistfuls of his flannel shirt.

  He pulled back a fraction, the hairs of his beard tickling her lips. “If you’re still up for it, though, I aim to prove them right.”

  She led him back to her apartment and straight through to the bedroom, turning lights on as they went. She wanted to be able to see him.

  When they were in the bedroom, he pulled her back to him, so hard that she lost her balance. But he caught her and set her back on her feet. And then he was on her, hard. It shocked her at first, when his hands grabbed her hips and his head came down, his mouth rough and grating against her lips. It wasn’t what she’d come to expect from Show, who’d been aloof with her when they first met, and then reserved, and then desperate. This was power. And desire. For her. Her muscles went to liquid, and she put her hands on his upper arms to steady herself. His biceps were—God, they were practically the size of a normal man’s thighs.

  Breaking the kiss abruptly, he murmured, “Shannon. God.”

  The sound of her name from his lips, in that deep, quiet voice. Every time he said her name, she felt it like a touch—to her heart, her belly, her clit. She whimpered and grabbed his beard, turning him back to her mouth. With a grunt, he obliged, kissing her roughly, his thick fingers digging deep into her ass.

  God, he felt so good. He made her feel so good. This rough edge that was new—new to her entirely, not just to her experience with Show—made her feel…beautiful. So desirable that he was wild with it. This strong, quiet, controlled man, on the verge of losing control. For her.

  He’d laid a lot on her when they were at his house. She’d known the basics of what had happened, but nothing like the horrific details he’d shared with her tonight. He’d thought it would scare her, and it had. Not for the reasons he thought, maybe. Not because it made her feel less safe with him. But because it meant that this tiny little town was as vulnerable to the evil in the world as anywhere else. They were so isolated here, even with a steady influx of daily visitors and overnight guests, that it was easy to forget how screwed up the rest of the world was. Shannon had felt more at ease in her months in Signal Bend than she could remember ever feeling.

  She hadn’t really thought about the MC being dangerous, and she still didn’t. They might actually be offended by that; maybe it would ding their image, but it was true. Yes, she knew the story of the shootout, the whole world probably knew the story of the shootout, but she’d known these guys for almost six months, and they were rough and rowdy, but not, in her estimation, dangerous. Unless somebody deserved it. They were good guys, for the most part. One of them, Vic, made her a little uncomfortable, with a tendency to grin creepily and devour her with his eyes, but as far as Shannon had seen, the others were…well, gentlemen—in the old-fashioned way, where they called women doll and sweetness, things like that, but pulled out chairs and opened doors. They were rough around the edges, but she felt, if anything, safer when they were around. Even that night at Badger’s party, they’d just flirted with her, despite Show’s conviction that she was c
ourting trouble.

  She hadn’t really thought about the fact that they were outlaws. In Signal Bend, they kept order. They took care. People came to them with problems, and they fixed them. They were the town heroes. It wasn’t Show’s fault, what had happened to his family. But that he took the blame on like he did—it touched Shannon more than she could express. He said he was weak, because he hadn’t fought his wife, but she saw strength in his forbearance. A man as strong as he was, who by his own admission lived on the brink of violence so much—Holly was lucky he was who he was. That he hadn’t fought her. That he’d tried to make her happy, at his own expense.

  In Shannon’s eyes, he was a hero.

  His hands were under her sweater, pushing it up, and she raised her arms to help him. He ripped it over her head and tossed it away, then grabbed her by the waist and lifted her straight off her feet, carrying her like that to the bed. He laid her down, following directly to lie on top of her, his mass pressing her down at every point into the mattress. He was all over her, his mouth and beard rough against her neck, her shoulder, his coarse hands rasping against her belly and pulling at her bra. He got it undone on his own and ripped it from her shoulders. It was expensive, and even in this heady moment of ravishing, she wanted not to ruin it, so she arched up and helped him pull it away. That, too, he tossed aside.

  She was topless, and he was still fully clothed, but she loved—loved—the feeling of his flannel shirt and denim jeans on her skin. Something about that was unbearably sexy, and she moaned and arched closer, her hands tangling in his hair.

  He still had his beanie on. She laughed and pulled the damp knit wool off his head and tossed it away. In a viscerally animalistic gesture, he shook his head hard, and his hair flew and then settled wildly around his face. Jesus God, he was sexy.