Mother by Fate

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “I was just thinking about renting a room for the rest of the night. After the day Mari had, I don’t want to risk waking her and having her see me like this. I just need to make sure that I wake up in time to be at the breakfast table in the morning.”

  Mari. The little round-faced girl with dark curls that hung down to her backside and the biggest brown eyes...

  Michael had checked in every two hours—by text—just as he’d said he’d do. But he hadn’t told her if he’d heard back. Or what he’d heard.

  She hadn’t asked. The little girl was not a part of her life.

  And wouldn’t be.

  “It’s crazy to pay for a room at three in the morning,” she said. “Just stay at my place. It’s not as though you haven’t already done so.”

  Maybe he’d think she’d just implied that he could stay as he had before. On her couch. She wasn’t sure she hadn’t.

  He glanced over at her.

  “You’ve already showered there, too,” she said at that look.

  She wasn’t starting something here.

  There was nothing to start.

  But maybe, just maybe, there was something to finish.

  * * *

  MICHAEL BATTLED WITH himself all the way to Sara’s place. He wasn’t going to stay. It wasn’t the decent thing to do.

  Unless he considered the fact that she’d just been through something she’d never even come close to experiencing in her sheltered life. She might not have been shot at specifically, but she’d been shot toward. She’d been in danger.

  She’d seen a side of life few people ever do, and could probably use some company tonight, if just until she fell asleep.

  At least that was what he told himself when he gathered up the cleanest clothes he had, his last change of underwear and followed her up to her front door.

  “I’ll just see you in, shower off and head out,” he told her. Intending to mean the words. He’d hang around long enough for her to shower off the dirt from the night, to throw away the old clothes and feel like herself again. Then he’d get out of her life.

  “You know where the shower is,” she said as she let them in. “There are extra towels under the cupboard.”

  He expected her to continue on through the condo, down the hall he hadn’t been down, to her own room. Her own shower.

  “Should I say good-night now, then?” he asked. What he meant was goodbye. Did he just say goodbye, use her water and get out of her life?

  “That’s up to you. I understand if you need to get home.”

  He’d told her he had to be home by morning. And that he wasn’t going to risk disrupting his household until then.

  “You’re welcome to stay.”

  She’d shed everything but the dress. And that strip of panty he’d seen underneath it.

  And then something else occurred to him. “Should I wait for you to shower before I do?”

  “No.”

  “There’s enough hot water for both of us?”

  “Yes.”

  “And water pressure? There’s enough water pressure for both showers to be going at once?”

  Of course there was. She was rich. It was only in homes like the one he’d grown up with where you couldn’t flush the toilet and run the dishwasher at the same time.

  Or do laundry and the dishes.

  Or shower and flush...

  “Yes.”

  Damn.

  “You’re sure?”

  “My shower has two showerheads,” she said. “Two faucets. The plumbing can definitely handle two showers at once.”

  “Seems kind of a shame to dirty two rooms when one will suffice,” he said, knowing even as he did so that his words made no sense. He’d used her other shower, already dirtied it, less than twenty-four hours before.

  It was past three in the morning. They were standing there, covered in filth and talking about showers when they both desperately needed one.

  “You’re welcome to use whatever bathroom you want to use,” she said. And Michael’s penis sprang to attention.

  “I’ll just use this one, then,” he said, pointing in the direction of the shower he’d used the previous morning. His towel was still hanging in there.

  “Suit yourself.”

  That was it. Without another word, or even a look back, Sara disappeared down a hallway that led to...a place he’d never seen before.

  A place she’d just invited him to share. Hadn’t she?

  She’d offered him her bathroom. When she’d been going to use it herself.

  The invitation had been there.

  Just as it had been there in the hot tub. And earlier that evening when she’d let his fingers climb up her leg.

  He had to think of her now.

  Of a sensitive heart that had been hurt, and still hurt because of a weak and selfish man.

  Maybe they could share something meaningful—a memory they would both carry around with them forever, something to pull out when they needed extra strength, something to bolster them in the years ahead.

  Satisfied with his motivation, Michael followed her down the hall, stripping off clothes as he went.

  * * *

  ADJUSTING THE WATER so that it was hot enough to sting without burning, Sara stepped under the spray of her shower, telling herself that she’d be just fine in the morning. She’d get a few hours’ sleep and then head into work. She had clients to see, a couple who’d canceled today’s sessions in order to wait for her.

  And there was bound to be a follow-up on Nicole, Toby and tonight’s events.

  As she stood there, letting the water tumble over her head and down her body, she made herself think about work, about others, so that she didn’t feel.

  She’d had a hard couple of days. She’d learn from them. As soon as she had enough distance to look back at them realistically.

  In the meantime, she needed to relax. To rest.

  The sensations buffeting her body weren’t real. Her nipples were sensitive because of an overdose of adrenaline brought on by being shot at.

  Her core felt lonely because she’d lived larger than life, hardly sleeping for two days straight, and now was back to normal life.

  She’d drink some chamomile tea. Lie in bed and watch an old movie until she fell asleep. A shadow fell over the travertine tile not far from her feet. She’d been looking down, head bent as she let the water massage the back of her neck, and just happened to notice the shadow.

  And then the feet.

  They were big. Masculine. Rather attractive, she thought.

  There was more, too. Tight calves. Covered in dark hair. Knees. Thighs and...

  A hand, larger than hers. With fingers that were capable of being tender. And of pulling a trigger. She wanted to see his butt.

  And more.

  She didn’t want to stare.

  “You said the choice was mine.”

  She had.

  The feet stepped behind her. Then next to her.

  A water spigot that hadn’t been used since she’d purchased the condo spit. Spurted. Sprayed. And a night’s worth of dirt, hers and his, flowed to the floor where it swirled, mingled and washed down the drain.

  * * *

  HE’D THOUGHT THEY’D make it to the bed. Raging with a desire he’d never known before—a combination of adrenaline, lack of sleep and a beautiful woman in the shower with him—Michael couldn’t help the size of his penis.

  The thought that she might be noticing only made the situation worse.

  He was a guy. Things happened.

  He reached for soap. And found an empty dish.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the bar. “I don’t ever use that one.”

  Her fingers t
ouched his. Soft. Feminine.

  The same fingers that had been splayed across his naked belly half the night. Or what had seemed like it anyway.

  He put the bar of soap where her hand had been. Tried to concentrate on getting himself clean, but seemed to have forgotten how to wash himself.

  Before he could figure out what to do next, her hand was there. Taking the soap. And moving its slick hardness all over him. From his toes to his nose, she worked with patience. Diligence. Avoiding the one place that he most wanted her to be.

  Sliding behind him she soaped his back. His shoulders. His buttocks and below. She didn’t dip in between.

  He’d have welcomed her there.

  She didn’t press herself up against him, either, though he willed her to with every ounce of his being. He needed to feel those breasts, naked and heavy, against his back. To feel her nipples against his skin.

  She turned him around instead. And his jutting desire just...jutted. Right there. Between them. Taking up space.

  He was going to lose it on her. On himself.

  Until the torture increased, and he knew he had to hang on so he could experience sweet agony to its fullest.

  When the bar of soap touched him there, Michael groaned. Put both hands on the tiled shower wall and rested all of his weight there. She washed him with precision. Slowly. Delicately. Covering every inch of him.

  Eyes closed, he wondered if he might just die in that moment. He’d almost be willing. To know this exquisite moment for all of eternity...

  The soap was gone. Her hand was not. Water sluiced over him. Her hand rode down the length of him. Crisp hair rubbed him. And Michael knew.

  Leaning his back against the wall in place of his hands, he let the shower wall take his weight. His hands were now free. So he placed them on her hips. Bent his knees. Lifted.

  And brought her home.

  * * *

  THE THRUST WAS QUICK. Full. Deep. Sara opened to him. Hurt with him. And couldn’t get enough of him. Michael bore her weight and his. He lifted her and he thrust. He left her to do nothing but experience the ride.

  Her body responded to his invitation. She closed around him again and again, taking all of him, holding on. She climbed the cliff with him. Just as he’d taught her to do. Following his lead. Trusting him with her life.

  And when she reached the top, when he cried out that he wanted her to join him, she jumped off that cliff with him.

  Their voices mingled, and Sara had no regrets as she fell through the air.

  * * *

  THE REGRETS CAME LATER. For Michael, they surfaced right about the time Sara turned off the water and handed him a towel.

  Neither of them spoke.

  What was there to say?

  Their lives had joined for them to travel a road together.

  They’d traveled it.

  And now it was time to leave her to her chosen life.

  And for him to get back to his.

  He’d left his change of clothes on her bed. Forgoing the briefs, he pulled on jeans and a shirt. Picked up his dirty clothes off the floor, tattered, too-small shoes on top.

  In a silk robe and nothing else, Sara watched him wordlessly.

  He’d left his real shoes in the SUV.

  “I’ll be going, then.”

  She nodded. All silk to his barn siding.

  Privilege to his pain.

  He wanted to kiss her. Felt awkward, standing there with the night’s trash in his hands.

  Couldn’t tell her goodbye. Wanted to ask if he could call her. Didn’t feel right just saying good-night.

  So he turned and walked out.

  He regretted rutting her in the shower. Regretted lying to her. Using her.

  And even though he knew he was never going to see her again, that he was never going to forget her, that he was going to pay for not treating her better for the rest of his life, he didn’t regret having known her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  LIKE THEIR DAUGHTER, Robert and Nadine Buchannan regretted many of the actions they had taken in their lives. Actions that, while not prosecutable due to the lack of evidence and, in some cases, the statute of limitations, they were going to have to live with forever.

  They were avengers. And they were victims, too. Victims of their upbringings. Of a community that taught righteousness in the wrong way.

  Sara met with all three of them. Separately and together. Nicole had called her first. From the hospital on Tuesday morning. Before she was released.

  Toby had been taken from his father that morning. In the international terminal at LAX, the largest airport in the Los Angeles area. They’d been on their way out of the country. With one-way tickets to Venezuela. Miller had given him up in exchange for his own incarceration to be served under protective custody.

  Trevor was being charged with conspiracy to commit first-degree murder in the contracted death of his wife. For starters.

  It wasn’t clear when Nicole would see her son. Or if she’d get custody of him right away. Nicole didn’t argue the matter.

  “I want to make certain that I’m good for him, that I can raise him to be a healthy contributing member of society,” she told Sara as they sat together in Nicole’s hospital room, waiting for the doctor to release her.

  Sara was taking Nicole back to the Lemonade Stand. Miller had issued a new warrant against her Sunday morning. For robbing a convenience store. A crime a new Ivory Nation recruit had committed. All charges against her had been dropped.

  It would take some time to expunge her record, but she had a relatively clean slate. The future was up to her.

  And what she could make it.

  “I have a shitload of conditioning to undo,” the young woman said, her glance streetwise.

  “By the sound of things, your parents are going to be right there with you, learning the same lessons.”

  “We’re a family,” Nicole said. “That’s what matters, you know?”

  She did know. Her family members were pains in her butt a lot of the time, but she loved them. And knew, no matter what, they’d always have her back.

  “Do you think Toby will be put in foster care until I’m ready for him?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sara hedged. And then, because the half truth made her feel sick to her stomach, said, “I’ve asked Bethany to approach CPS and find out if your parents could be approved as temporary caregivers...” Bethany, the victim’s advocate on the High Risk Team, seemed to think that because the Buchannans had been living quiet lives for so many years, had been upstanding members of Santa Raquel society and were the boy’s biological grandparents, they’d be given at least temporary custody.

  “I don’t want you to think this is going to be easy, though,” Sara said, meeting Nicole’s gaze head-on. “You’ve got a lot of things to work through, and I’m not going to recommend Toby be returned to your care until I feel that you’re ready...”

  “I’m counting on that, Sara,” Nicole said. “You have no idea how much I’m counting on that.”

  * * *

  SARA WAS LEAVING work early one night, almost a month after Nicole moved into the Lemonade Stand, when a small voice called out from behind her. “Excuse me!”

  She was in the secure parking lot on her way to her car. The child had to be a resident.

  She swung around, ready to take charge and get the youngster back to her mother. “Yes?” she said, preparing to be late to the grilled-chicken salad she’d planned for dinner, followed by a glass of wine while she soaked in a hot tub.

  Her own tub filled with hot water.

  She didn’t know if she could ever go back to the pool area at her complex.

  “My daddy told me about your little girl. He said her name was Bessie.” Th
e child came out of the shadows and stood in front of her.

  “Mari! What are you doing here?” Heart pounding, Sara looked around for Michael.

  In the month that had passed since the weekend that had changed her life, she’d come to terms with the things she’d learned. About others. And about herself.

  She’d set up a trust fund for Bessie, to be executed by her father. And told Jason not to send her any more pictures.

  And she’d started dating. Sort of. She’d been out twice. With two different men. And didn’t intend on going out with either of them again.

  They weren’t Michael.

  But she was open to the possibility of someday meeting someone who touched her heart in the same way Michael had.

  As long as he didn’t have kids.

  But wanted them.

  “Aunt Ashleigh brunged me because Daddy’s working and she had to come to a meeting, and I begged her to come because I’d be bored waiting at Aunt Peanut’s dance studio, but really—” the little girl leaned forward “—I wanted to see you.”

  “To see me.”

  “Yeah, and that’s why when I saw you across the grass I comed after you. My daddy’s teaching me about watching out for everything and noticing stuff and I noticed you. Daddy follows people, you know.”

  “I know.” She had to get the child back to her aunt. And had no idea where she would be. She hadn’t known Michael’s sister had business at the Lemonade Stand. And prayed that the young woman hadn’t found herself in an abusive relationship.

  She also hadn’t known Michael was working. She hadn’t heard from him. Not once since he’d turned his back on her in her bedroom and walked out of her life without so much as a goodbye.

  “Let’s go find your aunt,” she said, interrupting her thoughts before they could derail her again as she took the child’s hand.

  “I don’t have to find her,” Mari said. “I know where she is. You were the person I was finding.”

  “We need to get you back to your aunt. She’s going to be worried.”

  “No, she’s not.” Mari folded her arms, planted her feet shoulder length apart and stood there. If it was possible for a six-year-old girl to look exactly like a thirty-three-year-old man, the child had just mastered the feat. “And I can’t go back until I talk to you.”