by June Gray
CAPTURE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by June Gray. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from either the author or the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote a brief passage in a review.
First Edition. Cover design by June Gray.
DEDICATION
To the children, the innocent little souls.
1 | FIRST DATE
I woke up with a smile. For the first time in a long time, that ache that had taken residence in my chest was absent; instead I was filled with optimism and a healthy sense of curiosity. I had given Henry Logan three dates to make me trust him again and the possibilities left me prickling with excitement. Our first date was not scheduled until this coming Saturday, so I had to suffer through the entire week. The weekend could not here fast enough.
Of course I was impatient. The love of my life had returned and was actively trying to win me back. If that didn’t make me wish for Saturday to arrive sooner then I don’t know what would.
I jumped out of bed, eager to get the day started. After I showered and dressed for work, I found a text message from Henry on my phone.
Can’t stop thinking about you.
Those five simple words stayed with me throughout the day, keeping that candle inside me flickering with a happy little glow.
The feeling did not last long. After lunch, I received a phone call on my cell phone from an out-of-state number.
“Hello?” the female voice said. “May I please speak to Elsie Sherman?”
“This is she,” I said, holding the phone against my shoulder as I continued to work on a web project.
“Hi Elsie, this is Rebecca Holt from Shake Design in Denver.”
I was so stunned I dropped the phone. I’d completely forgotten about the applications I’d sent out in the middle of last year when I was desperate to get out of Oklahoma. It hadn’t mattered where I was going as long as it was out of this state, away from all of the memories. Rebecca was the only one who had called me back. The phone conversation had gone well and even though they weren’t currently hiring, she said she’d keep my resume on file.
I hadn’t thought about that phone call until now.
I forced myself to breathe again. I retrieved the phone. “Hi Rebecca. Sorry about that.”
“No problem,” she said. “I was calling about a position for an art director-slash-senior designer. It’s a hybrid position, created for our last designer but he has since moved on.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. It was exactly the job I’d been trying to convince my boss to create for me but had been unable due to the flagging economy.
Rebecca described the job and said, “We received your resume last year and were really impressed. Now that a position has opened up, we would like to offer you the job.”
I spoke in a low voice so as not to be overheard. “And the salary?” Screw tact, I needed facts. There was too much at stake to beat around the bush.
Rebecca threw out a figure that made my ears burn. Holy crap. It was, needless to say, substantial.
“Thank you, Miss Holt,” I said. “Would I be able to give an answer in a few days?”
“Of course,” Rebecca said. “But I’ll need an answer by Friday at the latest.”
Five days to decide to leave the love of my life for a dream job; it didn’t seem nearly enough time. “Thank you. When would I have to start if I accepted?”
“In three weeks.”
My heart dropped to my feet.
I thanked her again and ended the phone call. Afterward I stared at the computer screen, feeling like the world was moving at light speed.
Thankfully Henry didn’t text or call until that night when I was cooking dinner.
“Hey, what are you making?” he asked.
I put him on speaker and continued to chop vegetables with a vengeance. I almost felt sorry for the poor carrots and peppers. “Beef stir fry,” I said. The wok hissed when I threw in the vegetables.
“Mmm. I can smell it all the way from here.”
“What are you having?”
He snorted. “Ramen noodles.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. I picked out a carrot and munched on it while the rest of the food cooked.
“Please invite me over.”
I laughed aloud at the longing tone in his voice. “I can’t. It might count as a date.”
“No, no,” he said. “You are just one really good Samaritan feeding the hungry.”
His tapes came to mind then and what he’d said about coming home night after night to an empty house with nothing to eat but ramen noodles or frozen burritos. My heart hurt at the thought. “Okay, come over.”
“Really?”
“You’ve got fifteen minutes to get here or else I will eat it all.”
“I’m out the door right now!” he said and I heard the door slamming.
Even though the drive from the house he was renting was at least a seventeen minute drive, I heard the rumble of his motorcycle ten minutes later.
“You shouldn’t speed on that thing,” I said when I opened the door and let him in.
He grabbed me around the waist and held me close. “Man, I’ve been dying to do this all day,” he sighed against my hair.
I couldn’t think in his arms, so I drew away and made my way back into the kitchen. “I hope I made enough.”
He gave me a meaningful look. “Anything you can offer me is enough.”
We sat on the floor, leaning against my couch out of habit, with bowls of stir-fry and rice in our lap. I usually made enough food for at least two meals and thankfully had enough to even feed a sizable hungry man.
When he had finished, Henry placed his bowl on the floor and sighed. He leaned his head back into the couch and gazed at me. He looked so content in that moment that I decided I couldn’t tell him about the job yet, so I just mimicked his pose and tried to bask in this little slice of heaven.
“How was your day?” he asked with a lazy grin. He reached out and held my hand, tracing circles on my palm with his thumb.
“Fine,” I said. “How about you?”
“Well, I heard back from the OKC Police Department today,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “I go in tomorrow for a physical and written test.”
“So you’re really doing it.” He seemed so excited at the prospect of becoming a police officer. Of course, the application along with the rental house agreement he’d just signed meant that he was tied to Oklahoma now.
He grinned. “I’m really doing it.”
“You know, I don’t think that uniform is going to be anywhere near as sexy as your BDUs, but I guess it’ll have to do,” I said because flirting was easier than thinking.
He quirked an eyebrow. “I still have some BDUs somewhere. I’ll wear mine if you wear your Tomb Raider costume.”
“You’re still talking about that,” I said with a chuckle.
“What? It was amazing.” He lifted my hand and kissed it. “You’re amazing.” The expression on his face softened and I suddenly knew exactly where this was headed: we were careening straight into trouble.
I extricated my hand from his grasp and gathered our bowls. “You’re washing the dishes,” I said, handing him the stack.
He jumped to his feet. “Small price to pay.”
Thirty minutes later he had washed, dried and put away all of the dishes and cookware. “Done,” he said, wiping his hands dry and hanging the
towel.
I straightened from the counter where I’d been watching him the entire time.
“I guess it’s time for me to go,” he said, hedging for a rebuttal.
I bit my lip and nodded.
At the front door, he turned and bent to give me a kiss on the forehead. “Thank you for letting me invite myself to dinner.”
“It’s tradition,” I said with shrug. “It wouldn’t seem right if you didn’t invite yourself to dinner with a Sherman.”
A shadow of a smile crossed his mouth. “You listened to all of the tapes?”
“Yes.” So maybe I’d even listened to them more than twice, but he didn’t need to know that I had clung to his words like buoys to keep me from sinking into the depths of hopelessness. Just knowing that he had loved me at all had gotten me through the night on more than one occasion.
“You don’t remember that night at my college graduation party at all?” he asked, his eyes flitting across my face.
I shook my head. “I wish I did.”
He drew me to him with a sigh. “Me too.”
“Do you want the tapes back? I have them in my bedroom.”
“No, you hold onto them. You’re the keeper of my secrets.”
I held my breath then let it all out, letting go the opportunity to tell him about another secret.
As he walked out, I called, “Hey, Henry?”
He spun around. “Yeah?”
“We may need to speed up the three-dates thing.”
“Why?”
I tried a nonchalant shrug. “I just can’t wait that long.”
He thought for a moment then said, “Okay. How about tomorrow night?”
“Looking forward to it.”
“Hey, Elsie?” he called as he walked away, his voice echoing in the hallway.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
~
On Tuesday afternoon after I’d come home from work, Henry knocked on my door wearing workout clothes.
“What are we doing?” I asked. I looked pointedly at my work clothes then at his attire. For a wild moment, I wondered if he was taking me to the gym but quickly dismissed the thought; that would be a stupid date.
“Go get some sweats on. I’m taking you to Krav Maga.”
“What Maga?” I asked. “That sounds painful.”
He walked right by me and into my bedroom. “Krav Maga. It’s an Israeli fighting style.”
I stopped at the door and watched him going through my closet, choosing a pair of running capri pants and a moisture-wicking shirt. “Why?” I asked.
He handed me the clothes. “One, because the class is usually on Tuesday nights and two, because you didn’t give me much time to prepare.”
“So you’re just going to take me to watch you beat up on other people?”
“No,” he said with a grin. “You get to do some beating up of your own.”
I walked into the room and gave him a pointed look. He just leaned against the jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. “A-hem, I’d like to change,” I said.
“Go on. I’ll wait,” he said with a suggestive grin.
“Speaking of beating up people,” I muttered, pushing him out of the room and locking the door. “I’ll Krav Maga all over your butt if you don’t get out.”
He chuckled on the other side of the door as I undressed. “I’ve seen you naked before, Elsie,” he said. “I’ve seen your breasts fit snugly in the palm of my hands. I’ve seen that ass of yours turn red when I spank it.”
My face burned at his words. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror and turned around to look at my butt, curious what shade of red he was talking about.
“And I’ve seen your inner thighs, when I run my tongue along the smooth skin all the way up to…” His words thinned out.
I pressed my head against the door, aching to hear more. But he said nothing. “Henry?” I asked.
“Get dressed, Elsie,” he said with a strained voice. “Or I’m going to break this door down and we’ll never make it to class.”
We made it to class on time. The drive over had been tension-filled, and I might have caught Henry adjusting his pants a few times but he didn’t breathe another word about naked body parts. He seemed to understand that I needed my space and tried to respect my boundaries. Tried being the operative word as the man still took advantage of his uncanny ability to turn me on.
Henry had notified his instructor earlier that he would be bringing a guest and they accommodated me by explaining the principles of the fighting style created in Israel, then performed some basic maneuvers. I practiced some elbow and knee strikes with Henry but I called it quits after a while, feeling guilty that I was keeping him from real training.
I sat on the sidelines, content to watch Henry and the others doing their thing. My eyes were fixed on him as he worked with a partner on punching combos, amazed at his fluidity and speed. He looked in his element as he punched the hand pads, all the while bouncing on his toes. As they changed sides, he looked over to me and flashed me a wide grin that I automatically returned.
After the class he took me back to his place, which was a one-story red brick house with two bedrooms and a one-car garage. He parked the car in the driveway and entered the house through the garage, past the Harley, a lawnmower, and a small collection of tools.
“So thanks for taking me to a stinky gym for the first of three very important dates,” I teased as he led me inside. “There, amongst all of those sweaty men and women, I fell madly in love with you.”
He laughed in surprise. I grinned like a fool beside him, infected with his good mood. “I thought you might like to see what I’ve been working on the past year,” he said. “And like I said, you kind of ruined my first-date plans.”
“What was it?”
“Now you’ll never know,” he said.
“Aw, come on.”
He sighed. “Okay, I was going to take you to a romantic dinner at the new Devon Tower, then maybe a horse-carriage ride through Bricktown. Or maybe a boat ride along the canal.”
I snorted.
“What?”
“Sorry, sorry,” I said quickly. “It’s just… too much.”
“Good thing I went with plan B then,” he said and disappeared down the hall, leaving me to stand in the living room by myself.
I looked around, noting that the interior had clearly not been updated since the eighties with its dark brown carpet and wood paneling. Henry had not decorated yet; picture frames were still leaning against the walls and boxes were still stacked up, unopened.
I ventured down the hallway and peered into his bedroom, which looked very much the same as before, down to the same blue covers. I would have thought the new Henry would have at least bought new sheets to match his new life.
I was about to look into the second bedroom, hoping to see his paintings, when the bathroom door opened and he came out, rubbing his head with a towel.
“Did you just take a shower?” I asked, taking note of his fresh clothes. “While you had a guest waiting?”
He gave an impatient little sigh and beckoned me over. “Just get over here.”
I walked over, pretending I hadn’t just been caught snooping, and looked inside the bathroom. The lights were off, but the room was filled with the soft glow of candles that ran along the sides of the filled bathtub. “Oh,” was all I could say. “But I don’t have a change of clothes.”
“You can borrow some of mine,” he said and motioned to a pile of folded clothes on the counter. “And before you start assuming, no, I won’t be joining you. This is just for you. I’ll be cooking dinner while you take a bath,” he said. He gave me a kiss on the cheek. He smelled so fresh. “Enjoy.”
Okay, I had to admit that the bubble bath was a smooth move. I sighed when I slid into the warm water, not realizing until that moment that my body had been tense all afternoon. The truth was, even though I’d agreed to this challenge, I was still very muc
h afraid. Every time Henry was near, I felt tight with worry that each moment we spent together would be the last, always looking out for signs that he was going to leave me again.
Then again wasn’t that the goal? He was trying to show me that he was trustworthy, that I could believe in him again. If only it were that easy.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head back and tried to think clearly. I could hear Henry moving around in the kitchen, clanging pots and various things around, making it hard to avoid any thoughts of him. He was trying, at least. I had to give him points for that.
True to his word, Henry left me alone during my bath, but several minutes in the noises in the kitchen stopped and I found I could no longer sit still. I jumped out of the tub and dressed in his clothes—a tan shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants—and practically ran out of the bathroom.
Henry, thankfully, was still in the house. He hadn’t run away.
I sat at the dining table just off the kitchen, watching him drain pasta noodles as I silently berated myself for being so silly. Of course he was still here. Did I really believe he was going to just ditch me in his own house?
Did I?
“That was quick,” he said, scooping the spaghetti into bowls. He placed them onto the table with a flourish and said, “Voila! Spaghetti a la Henry.”
I made a big production of sniffing the food. “Mmm. What is the secret ingredient, Chef?”
He winked. “Love.”
I snickered. “And cheese. Plenty of it.”
With a grin he sat down beside me and we began to eat, the atmosphere in the tiny dining room reminding me of much simpler times.
We watched some television after dinner, but inevitably he had to take me back home.
“You can keep the clothes,” he said at my doorstep, giving me that sexy sliding look.
“Oh no, you’re not going to tell me I look good in your clothes, are you?” I asked. “You know, that clichéd thing that guys do?”
“No. I was going to say, keep them until you wash them” he said. He pinched my cheek. “But you really do look cute in my clothes.”
