Strong Loving

by Niobia Bryant

  “Or no one?” Neema asked, the softness revealing her hesitance to do so.

  Kaleb’s jaw tightened. He took offense to that. “No one. Never. I’m surprised you have to ask that,” he said, his tone clipped.

  Neema reached to squeeze his hand. “We love our Dad but their breakup—”

  “No. Call a thing a thing. He cheated,” Meena said flatly.

  “Right. When our Dad cheated it really broke her heart and I don’t want—”

  “We don’t want,” Meena interrupted, her eyes steady and intense.

  Neema glanced over at her twin and then back at Kaleb. “Right. We don’t want that for her ever again.”

  “Neither do I,” he assured them.

  They both offered him smiles that reminded him of their mother. His annoyance with them dissolved. “Drive careful,” he said, ever protective of them as he was his own children.

  “Think big,” Neema called out the window as they pulled off with one last blow of the vehicle’s horn.

  He pulled a hand towel from the back pocket of his Dickie pants and wiped the dust and sweat from the top of his head.

  Did Zaria voice concerns to them?

  He frowned to think his wife held doubt in him.

  Tell her, Kaleb. Tell her the truth.

  Could he really blame her if she did? He knew things between them were different. He just couldn’t seem to find a way to fix them.

  Kaleb made his way back over to enter the store as Greyson handed Minnie her debit card. He glanced down in her straw basket with KJ Dairy stamped on the side to find milk, cheese, and homemade peach ice cream. “Thank you for that,” he said, opening the door for her to exit.

  “Have a good day, Mr. Strong,” Minnie said.

  He gave her a wave before he left the building as well.

  “That’s what it's all about, supporting the farmer,” Greyson said with a warm smile. “My father farms in the Upstate so I get it.”

  “I might know him. Where in the Upstate?” he asked.

  “Willie Locke? Spartanburg? He has a small livestock farm,” she said.

  “No, I don’t know him,” he said. “Maybe my father does.”

  Greyson chuckled. “It’s nowhere near the size of this and definitely not your father’s spread,” she said.

  He climbed up onto the saddle with well-practiced ease and strength. “That’s even more impressive for a small farm to survive today,” he said, waiting for her to ease her purchases into the saddlebag before she mounted her horse as well.

  “He works at a plant full time though,” she said. “I go home every weekend to help out.”

  Kaleb had to admit it was nice to have someone to talk to about his work. Farming was in his blood and was as big a part of who he was as anything. To know him—truly know him—was to know about his love and dedication to his ranch.

  “Let’s head back. I need to get some work done,” he said.

  They continued discussing the plight of the dairy farmer and ate up the brief time to make it back to the barn in ease.

  “Listen, I’d have to run it by my editor, but what if we extended this beyond one interview to a series where I’d maybe shadow you and your staff and get some insight on the effect of the current economy on farming?” she asked as she handed one of the younger ranch hands the reigns to the horse she borrowed.

  Kaleb frowned, still atop Danger who shifted back and forth as if he was reckless. He was feeling much of the same. “I don’t know. I’m pretty busy with the farm. Let me think about it,” he requested, his mind already drifting to riding to catch up with Lordan and the others.

  “Okay, I’ll check to see if that’s even possible,” Greyson said, extending her hand up to him. “Thank you, Mr. Strong.”

  “Kaleb,” he offered as he took her hand.

  “Okay, Kaleb.”

  With one final nod of his head, he steered Danger in the opposite direction and lightly kicked his sides to take off at a run towards the north line.

  ∞

  Zaria leaned in to smell the large bouquet of two dozen blooming roses Kaleb gifted her for her birthday. They were having dinner in a private room of her favorite restaurant in downtown Charleston. The space was large enough for twelve people, but he reserved it just for them. The candlelight and colorful summer flora with creamy tablecloths and gleaming cutlery gave it the perfect romantic ambiance.

  She felt beautiful in her deep purple strapless jumpsuit and dramatic makeup with her weaved tresses in soft waves that framed her face and flowed down her back. She sparkled from wearing every piece of jewelry Kaleb had given her over the last eight years.

  Their four-course meal consisted of seafood delicacies fresh from the Lowcountry waters and prepared in French and Southern fusion. For dessert they enjoyed mini pineapple upside-down cakes served warm with caramel sauce and homemade vanilla ice cream.

  Outside their private room, the sounds of a delicate jazz tune began to play.

  Kaleb took another swig of his brandy straight on the rocks before rising to extend his hand to her. She looked up at him with a soft smile, loving his sexy silver good looks in his all-black attire. She accepted his hand, anxious for the night to end in her undressing him.

  “You look beautiful, Zaria,” he whispered in her ear once he had pulled her body close to his.

  She shivered at the feel of his hand tucked just inside the deep vee of her jumpsuit as she settled her chin on his shoulder and played with his nape. “I haven’t heard that from you in a minute,” she said, hating the insecurity she felt.

  She was celebrating her fiftieth rotation in life and the last thing she needed was to be affirmed by a man. Any man. But she also knew she loved this man with whom she danced—and shared life—and above all, she was just a woman trying her best to save her marriage.

  He leaned back a bit.

  Zaria did the same.

  “You are and will always be the most beautiful person in the world to me,” he whispered down to her, his voice deep as coffee and just as stimulating.

  “Same here, my love,” she said before tasting his mouth.

  She fought not to frown at the slight taste of alcohol. Instead, she tucked her face against his neck. He had imbibed during their dinner. In fact, she had lost count of the number of drinks he ordered.

  And when he stumbled during their dance, she didn’t try to hide the annoyed look from her face.

  “What?” he asked.

  His eyes were not the same.

  She knew that because she stared into them.

  Zaria released a breath as her shoulders slumped.

  In every life, as time goes by, there’s a moment when shit just needs to be said. Questioned. Investigated. Of course, Zaria would prefer it wasn’t the night of her birthday in a beautiful restaurant but she had been silent for too long.

  “Kaleb, I don’t know what is going on with you. I don’t know what the drinking is about—”

  “Drinking?” he balked.

  His eyes shifted from hers for just one moment, but it was very telling.

  Although they were alone, she kept her voice low. “It’s my birthday, and you’re driving, so why in the hell are you drunker than me?”

  “Zaria, please,” he implored, turning from her to walk to his chair.

  He reached for his unfinished drink but knocked it over instead. It dinged against the crystal vase of her flowers before hitting the table with a thud. “Shit,” he swore, looking over at her.

  Zaria cringed, not recognizing the man before her.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, wiping his face with both of his strong hands. “Too much celebrating.”

  “Celebrating? Everyday? Because you can’t see to keep beer in the fridge at home or in your office,” she said, revealing a truth she noticed over the weeks but didn’t speak on until that moment.

  “You watching me?” he asked, his voice incredulous.

  The glass door to the room opened and their se
rver, a tall white man with a blonde ponytail entered.

  “Can I get you anything?” he asked, his eyes briefly taking in the wet table cloth and overturned glass.

  He immediately moved to wipe up the excess.

  “Some black coffee and maybe another basket of your honey-glazed croissants,” she said, giving him a polite smile before she reclaimed her seat.

  Zaria remained silent until they were alone again. “I’m not watching you. I watch my kids not my husband,” she shot back.

  “Is that a jab at my age? I take damn good care of my family,” he said, his voice cold.

  She looked away for him for a moment, accepting the sting of hurt that the night had gone so wrong. “Is it a jab at my age that I have to damn near rape my husband?” she asked, thinking of the night they shared beneath the blanket on the living room sofa.

  She’d been too horny and craving his loving to care that he smelled of the farm and tasted of dust and sweat.

  “Is there another woman, Kaleb?” she asked, feeling her eyes go soft with the emotion causing her heart to pound and her gut to clench.

  Fear. Pure and simple.

  Kaleb shifted forward in his seat, his brows furrowed into a frown. “Is that why the twins asked me that? Did you tell them I’m cheating on you?”

  “The twins?” she asked. “I don’t talk my personal business with my children and you know that ...but when did you talk to them?”

  He settled back against his seat and shrugged. “They came by the farm earlier this week. Why?”

  Zaria arched a brow as she picked up her clutch and removed her phone. She dialed the more sensible of her twin daughters.

  “Happy birthday again, Momma!” Meena said with a lot of enthusiasm.

  She put her on speaker and placed the phone on the table. “Did you and Neema remind Kaleb about my birthday?” she asked with her eyes locked on his face.

  “Ma’am?” she asked, sounding more like she was twelve than in her twenties.

  “You know I don’t repeat myself. Nothing has changed since you lived under my roof,” Zaria said, her voice brooking no argument. She was in full mommy mode. “That why I called you and not Neema because I don’t have time to play, Meena.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we did.”

  Zaria took the emotional gut-punch with a downturn of her lips. “Even though I asked you not to?” she asked, her eyes not wavering from his.

  Meena sighed. “Momma—”

  She ended the call and gave the phone a nasty little shove to slide it away from her a bit. She didn’t fight to hide her disappointment. “It wouldn’t be a big deal if you haven’t been so different lately. It's just like one more straw on the camel’s back, Kaleb. Like damn, really?” she asked.

  The waiter entered the room but paused as if he could feel the tension spinning around them.

  Kaleb cleared his throat and motioned for him to enter. “Thank you,” he said as the man set the coffee and the basket of bread on the table before silently exiting.

  “First, there is no other woman,” he assured her, reaching across the table for her hand.

  She eased it out of his grasp.

  “Second, I’m sorry I almost forgot about your birthday. I have just been really busy with the farm. There’s a lot going on,” he admitted.

  Zaria continued to study him, remaining quiet because she so badly wanted him to talk to her. Explain things to her. Make it right with her.

  “Third. This is your birthday night. Forget the thirty-minute drive home. Let’s get a room and I’ll prove to you, my sexy ass wife, that you don’t have to rape me,” he said.

  “I don’t do drunk dick,” she countered.

  He chuckled. “Drunk dick or sober dick it's still hard dick. Believe that,” he promised with his deep-set eyes locked on hers with purpose. “I’ll have you scratching the sheets. Trust.”

  She hated that she squirmed in her seat as her clit throbbed to life. She ignored that sudden pulse. “Nah, I’m good,” she said.

  They eyed each other across the table. Even with the addition of alcohol and anger plus disappointment, the air around them—their vibe—was still electric. At times it was also their vice. It cackled in the air like silent thunder. It pulsed between them. Fiery. Hot. Explosive.

  Their bodies were traitors to their hurt feelings.

  “I love you,” he mouthed, patting his lap.

  She was reluctant. How many more times could their issues be placated with sex? The issues remained far after the climax was enjoyed.

  “Tell me,” she implored, rising to come around the table to settle down on his lap.

  “Tell you what, Zaria?” Kaleb asked, placing his warm grasp on her buttock with one hand and the knee with the other.

  She reached for a soft mint from the tiny glass bowl on the table and offered it to him.

  With a slight smile, he opened his mouth.

  “What are you sorry for?” she asked, drawing from that night once again as she remembered his plea as he had clung to her.

  His handsome face filled with confusion before he shook his head.

  “Talk to me, Kaleb. Tell me something. Clue me in because I’m so damn confused but trying my best—please believe my very best—to trust things will autocorrect. But let me be clear,” she stressed, ignoring the feel of his dick getting hard beneath the cushion of her soft buttocks. “There’s not too many more straws the camel’s back can take.”

  His deep-set obsidian eyes studied hers for the longest time. “Have faith in me, Z. Don’t give up on me and don’t stop believing in me,” he implored. “I am not him.”

  Ned. Her ex-husband.

  The stain of his betrayal was forever the baggage she fought to leave out of their marriage.

  Kaleb brought his hand up to cup her nape as he drew her face closer to receives his minty kisses. They both moaned when she lightly drew the tip of his tongue into her mouth to suckle.

  Everything seemed to flutter. Her lashes. The pit of her belly. Her clit.

  “Hotel or home?” she asked into the space between their lips.

  He thrust his hips upward sending his dick gliding across her bottom. “The car,” he boldly said.

  “Deal.”

  They rose.

  Her anticipation of the heated long strokes and slow grinds to come had her trembling in her heels. She felt lightheaded as Kaleb deftly motioned with his hand for the waiter to bring the check.

  CHAPTER THREE

  One month later

  Zaria turned the knob to Kaleb’s office. It was locked. She leaned forward enough to rest her head against the cool black wood. “This is not who I wanted to be. Not again,” she admonished herself in a whisper.

  Then don’t.

  She released the knob and turned with her back to the door.

  The classic ring tone of her cell phone sounded, scaring her a little before she reached for it in the back pocket of her cut-off denim shorts. She checked the screen. Lisha. Kaleb’s mother. “Hello,” she said, placing the call on speaker.

  “Hey, Zaria. You made one or two pans of macaroni and cheese?” Lisha asked.

  Should I pick the lock? Hell, how do you pick a damn lock?

  “I made two. We ran out last year,” she said, sounding distracted.

  “Zaria?” Lisha said.

  She squatted down to eyeball the lock. A hairpin? “Yes?”

  “You okay?”

  No, your son is going crazy and taking me with him.

  She bit her lip to keep from saying that.

  “I have to get the kids dressed and I’ll be there in about an hour to help set up,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound like she was rushing her mother-in-law...because she was.

  “Okay, and bring a couple of serving spoons, too. I know you have extra,” Lisha added.

  Zaria’s thumb was already headed towards the red button to end the call. “Okay. See you soon,” she said in a sing-song fashion she hoped covered her urgency.


  She loved Lisha. She really did. She was the best possible mother-in-law. Right was right and wrong was wrong regardless of whether they were one of her blood children or their spouses whom she had warmly enveloped into her family.

  Zaria just had other things on her mind than the annual Strong family barbeque celebrating yet another successful year of ranching.

  “Alright. Bye.”

  She finally ended the call.

  “What am I doing?” she wailed softly as she lightly knocked her forehead against the door.

  “What are you doin’?”

  Zaria winced and looked over her shoulder at Kasi eating a bag of Cheetos as he watched her. “Uhm...uh...”

  He shook his head and turned to head towards the game room. “The spare key is under the flower pot. Remember?” he drawled over his shoulder before disappearing from the hall.

  Her eyes shifted over to the large ceramic piece in the corner. “It’s more of a vase than a pot, son,” she said, slowly rising to her full height.

  “Have faith in me, Z. Don’t give up on me and don’t stop believing in me. I am not him.”

  “I’ve tried. I’ve really, really tried,” she said, biting her bottom lip as she took the three small steps needed to reach the five-foot-tall vase.

  But his drinking had continued. Even escalated.

  The sex was sporadic.

  His mood swings were bizarre. He seemed on edge.

  And little Miss Greyson Locke with the delicious dimples was now on the farm daily “shadowing” Kaleb for a more in-depth article.

  There was not just one thing going wrong or suspect. There were several.

  Zaria was in the midst of an emotional storm.

  I just want answers.

  She turned and faced the door. It was Kaleb’s sanctuary. The one place in the house where no one else entered. Even his ranch office was open to his staff. If there were secrets to be hidden it would be behind this locked door.

  And why is it locked?

  Something else to suspect.

  In her first marriage, she had been so clueless. So lost to the signs. True ostrich syndrome.

  “Have faith in me, Z. Don’t give up on me and don’t stop believing in me. I am not him.”