Till I Kissed You

by Laura Trentham

  He propped his hip against the rail and faced the river. Although he couldn’t see or hear it at this distance, the flow was as unmistakable as the blood through his veins. More flowers were interspersed in beds along the bricks of the house.

  Except in one spot by the French doors leading out of her bedroom. A barren swath of turned soil and nothing else. She’d dug up her own flowers to give to him. He had no idea how it all fit together, but something resembling hope flickered somewhere around his heart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, while Monroe waited to wake up Regan for another dose of medicine, Sawyer pulled off onto the old grassy track to his uncle’s house. Tally’s car was parked next to Cade’s truck.

  As Sawyer was passing by his uncle’s ramshackle house, Tally stuck her head out the door. “Hey. Come here a minute.”

  She disappeared back inside. Cade and Uncle Del’s voices drifted from the river. How much had Cade told her? She and Cade were the same side of the same coin, distrusting and protective by nature. Her dislike of Regan had reached epic proportions after their breakup.

  He trudged up the sagging front steps and found his sister in the narrow galley kitchen. “What’s up?”

  Tally chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I found something last month when you called me to check up on Uncle Del, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  She opened a bottom drawer and pulled out a roll of cash.

  “Ah, hellfire.” He thumbed through the bills. At least five hundred, maybe more.

  “I should have mentioned it earlier, but…” She shrugged.

  He understood. Uncle Del was their only family, besides each other. While he hadn’t been the most reliable of caretakers, he did care. There was never any doubt of that.

  He handed the money over. “Put it back. Does Cade know?”

  She shook her head. “I got here after they were already down at the river. You’d best head down. They’re waiting on you.”

  Sawyer scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d dozed fitfully on her couch between forays to check on Regan. Besides waking her up once to take more medicine, she’d seemed to sleep well. Better than him for sure. He and Tally stepped off the porch.

  “How’s Regan feeling?” The sympathy in her voice surprised him.

  “No clue. She was still asleep when I left. Why do you care?” Although the question sounded harsh, he was more curious than defensive.

  “She was nice to Nash when they were in school.” She scuffed her shoes in the rocks, her eyes downcast. “Not that I’ll ever forgive her for hurting you.”

  “I wasn’t her victim. I hurt her too. Maybe even worse.” It was the first time he’d really admitted the truth. Playing the wronged party had been easier than acknowledging his own weakness and stupidity had led to the ultimate heartbreak.

  She hummed. “You know sometimes the past is just that. The past. The future is what matters.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders for a squeeze. “When did my all-black-wearing, kick-ass sister become an optimist?”

  The smile she aimed at him was lighter and full of a joy he hadn’t seen on her for too long. “Since Nash.”

  She ducked out of his hug and skipped to her car. He waved her off and kicked a rock, wanting to simultaneously delay and get the confrontation with Del over. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, he joined his brother and uncle at the river.

  “There he is. How’s Regan?”

  “Better, I think,” he said shortly, an unasked question in his voice. Cade gave him a small headshake. The boat was loaded, and they set off downriver.

  Cade slowed the boat where the river widened, and Uncle Del pulled out his fishing gear. The dread of the moment pressed on Sawyer.

  “Uncle Del, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  Del shifted his gaze up as he continued to thread a live worm on his hook. “You look like shit, Sawyer. You ain’t sick too, are you?”

  The way his stomach crawled up his throat made him wonder if he wasn’t going to throw up over the side. “Not really. Listen. I saw you last night with Ms. Martha. In the back alley.”

  “We weren’t doing nothing.” The defensiveness in his voice only increased the pressure.

  “She gave you a gas can.”

  “Yep. Kerosene.” His uncle’s shoulders rolled forward, and his voice resumed its normal, easy cadence. “Said it was stinking up her storage area. It’ll be good for my space heater this winter.”

  His uncle threw a cast and hummed a tune. Sawyer and Cade exchanged a glance.

  “I saw you driving over on the Mississippi side the other night. Close to Regan’s neighborhood. What were you doing over there?” Sawyer asked.

  “What were you doing over there?” Amusement flavored his uncle’s voice. “Every time you’re in the same airspace as Regan Lovell you can’t keep your eyes off her.”

  Cade guffawed from the back, but it was obvious by the way he cut his attention back to the engine, he would be no help in navigating the tricky waters with their uncle.

  “What about the wad of money in your kitchen drawer?”

  His uncle muttered a curse and adjusted the collar of his denim button-down.

  “What the heck is going on, Uncle Del?” Sawyer scooted forward and propped his elbows on his knees.

  “Delmar Fournette.” Cade’s voice boomed between them like a scolding teacher. Del winced. “You promised me to use that money to fix the well. The sulfur’s gotten worse. It might not kill you, but you put everyone in mind of Lucifer every time you enter a room.”

  Sawyer sat up and swiveled around. “Wait. That money was from you?”

  Cade’s eye-roll was answer enough.

  “And the kerosene?’

  “Thought Ms. Martha was doing me a favor.” Del tugged on his line.

  “And why were you sneaking around Cottonbloom, Mississippi, so late at night?” Cade asked.

  “I’ve been courting Miss Leora. Not a state secret. If we want to get up to no good in the moonlight, then I think we’ve paid our dues.” A seriousness hid behind their uncle’s smile. “Life’s short, boys. I’ve wasted too many years thinking I wasn’t good enough for my Leora. Don’t go repeating my mistakes.” After aiming the nugget of wisdom in Sawyer’s direction, Del recast his line and hummed the Jeopardy theme song.

  Sawyer tried to shake the image of his ne’er-do-well uncle and the paragon of polite society getting up to no good. “So, just to be clear, you had nothing to do with any of the festival sabotaging?”

  “No, and I’m mighty disappointed in both of you that you would even suspect I was up to something so underhanded and lowdown.”

  Sawyer and Cade’s tripping apologies were cut short when Del hooked a fish and they worked together to bring it in, leaving behind festival business and their various love lives. The talk veered from fishing and hunting to the upcoming football season.

  Once the sun reached its zenith, they headed back. Del trotted up to his house to get the fish on ice, while Sawyer helped Cade secure the boat, their walk back more circumspect.

  “Thank God Uncle Del’s not involved.” Sawyer kept his voice low.

  “How serious do you think things are getting between Delmar and Ms. Leora?”

  “Serious enough that we’ll have to start calling her Aunt Leora.” Sawyer shot a side-eye and grin toward Cade.

  “I’ve always got the impression Fournettes were below pond scum in her eyes.”

  “They were sweethearts. Things went to hell because of the war and she hated him—and us—because of that. Not because we were Louisiana swamp rats.”

  “Were?” Cade gestured between them. Both were covered in mud and fish scales and smelled of river water. But a smile was on Cade’s face.

  The shots of humor and sarcasm had been the biggest shift in Cade’s personality since coming home. It harkened back to their life before their parents had died. Back before the struggle and
responsibility had landed squarely on Cade’s shoulders. Only now could Sawyer understand and appreciate how hard he had tried to keep Sawyer from following his path.

  Sawyer threw an arm around Cade’s shoulders, much as he had done to Tally earlier. “Things were hard for a long time, but we made out all right, didn’t we? Thanks to you.”

  “Not because of me. You worked hard.”

  “You worked harder.” Sawyer gave him one last squeeze.

  As if of the same mind, they stopped at the line of pines and looked toward their old home.

  “I want to bring a backhoe in here and bury that piece of shit,” Cade said.

  The trailer had never haunted Sawyer like it had haunted Cade and Tally. It had been a place to sleep and study and eat and even laugh on occasion. In his heart and in his dreams, his home had been on a quiet street with a swing set in the backyard and his mother making cookies after school.

  “Burying it won’t help. It’s a pile of metal and wood. It’s not evil. It hasn’t hoarded our bad memories. Anyway, I have lots of good memories from there.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the night we ran out of kerosene and had to huddle together to stay warm.”

  “How is that a good memory? It was so cold we couldn’t even sleep.”

  “I know.” Sawyer smiled. “We stayed up all night talking and playing word games and laughing. Don’t you remember?”

  “That’s right,” Cade said on a soft chuckle. “And the time the chipmunk got loose.”

  “I’ll never forget Tally jumping on the bed with that old tennis racket and screaming like a banshee.” Sawyer’s laugh faded into the stillness of the afternoon, and he whispered Tally’s words from earlier, “The future is all that matters.”

  Cade clapped him on the shoulder and turned his back on the trailer. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work, bro.”

  With Tally’s words on repeat in his head, Sawyer stopped by his house to shower and change before heading to the grocery for the vegetable soup fixings. Pulling to the curb in front of Regan’s house, he cut the engine but didn’t move. Monroe’s SUV was gone.

  If only the future mattered, he needed to man up, get his head out of his ass, and own his part in their demise. Shifting the bag of groceries on his hip, he knocked. And waited. And waited. Cupping a hand over his eyes, he looked through the wavy glass on the side of the door.

  Maybe she’d seen him and decided not to answer. Or maybe she had passed out somewhere and needed help. He tried the door. Unlocked. Of course it was. The woman had no sense of personal safety. He eased inside, the only sound the crinkle of the brown paper bag in his arms.

  “Regan? You okay?”

  Nothing. He tiptoed farther into her house and set the bag on the big, granite-covered island in her kitchen. He could see the den and up to the second-floor landing. She wasn’t lying in a heap anywhere visible. Her bedroom door was halfway open. He approached on soft hunting feet and toed the door open, expecting to find her asleep in bed.

  The sheets were rumpled and the pillows still in disarray on the floor. A noise came from his right. He swung around as the bathroom door opened and a glistening, completely naked Regan walked out.

  Their gazes clashed. For what felt like an eternity, he was frozen, taking her in. From the top of her damp, wavy hair down past the beauty of her breasts and through the sexy dip from waist to hip, all the way down her long, slender legs to her bare feet.

  Her scream and scramble to grab the corner of a sheet off her bed for covering prompted him to emit some stuttering grunts and word fragments. The corner of the sheet barely covered her breasts and the juncture of her legs, amping the sexy factor up past a hundred—on a scale to one from ten.

  “Ohmigod, get out!”

  He turned on his heel and retreated to the kitchen. He closed his eyes, but all he saw was her body. Her naked, delicious body. His memories and their quick coupling the other night hadn’t done her justice. She’d only ripened over the years.

  Not thirty seconds later she was stalking out of her room in shorts and a loose Ole Miss T-shirt. “How did you get in here?” Her voice was sharp with surprise and fear.

  “Your door was unlocked. If you actually had an operational security system, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Yeah, sure. Make this my fault too.”

  Her jab was subtle, but he felt it like an electric shock straight to his heart. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was worried.”

  “About me?” Her suspicion transmitted through her scrunched-up face and tone.

  “You were feverish and ready to pass out last night.” He let some of his exasperation show as he leaned against the island and crossed his arms and ankles.

  “Yeah, that. I feel better. Fever’s all gone. Headache too. You don’t need to stay.”

  Although she did look better than she had last night, no color flushed her cheeks and her brown eyes were flat. He didn’t move.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Arsenic,” he deadpanned.

  Her gaze startled back to his. The animosity that crackled around them lost its potency with the small laugh that snuck out of her. She sauntered closer, her movements more relaxed. “You wouldn’t poison me. You’d dump me kicking and screaming in the swamps with a bunch of gators.”

  He made a scoffing sound. “You’d stumble out weeks later wearing alligator boots. You’re a survivor.”

  She laughed a full-bellied laugh this time and came close enough to brush his arm as she pulled the bag closer. “Chicken, broth, vegetables. Am I making soup?”

  He tugged the bag back toward him. “No. I’m making soup. Go lay down.”

  “But—”

  “Woman, let me do this. I feel bad enough already.”

  “Why do you feel bad?”

  For a multitude of reasons he couldn’t admit to her. Not yet, anyway. “I think the Saints are playing a preseason exhibition game.”

  Her gaze probed deeper, but he resisted. “I’m a Cowboys fan, I’m afraid,” she said with faked regret and flopped on the couch.

  He sucked in a breath. “So do you want me to go heavy or light on the arsenic?”

  Her giggles echoed over the back of the couch, and he smiled as he pulled down a stockpot hanging from the ceiling and found a cutting board and knife.

  The TV transmitted the sounds of football as the smell of chicken noodle soup filled the air. He left it simmering. She was lying on the long side of the L-shaped couch under a blanket. He pressed the back of his hand against her cool forehead. Before she could protest or bat it away, he moved to the short end of the couch.

  “Diagnosis, doctor?”

  “You’ll live.”

  They watched the game progress in companionable silence. Her feet stuck out of the blanket close to his hip. “How’s your foot? All healed up?”

  Before he could consider his action or she could protest, he scooted closer and pulled her feet onto his lap. He examined the bottom, the place where the thorn had pierced—still visible but healing. Her toes were painted a mint green today.

  He rubbed both thumbs down the sole of her foot and massaged the ball. She flipped to her back, a soft whimper coming from her throat. He looked up, but her eyes were closed, an arm thrown over her head.

  He worked his thumbs down her foot again, watching her face. A sigh accompanied a slight smile. Her enjoyment was obvious so he continued, moving back and forth between her feet. The sexy, little sounds and her squirms drove him on. What kind of sounds would she make if he had access to her entire body?

  His mind went back to the moment she stepped out of the bathroom. That image spurred him on and with his gaze on her face, he slid his hands up her legs, taking the blanket with him. They were smooth and soft. Her arm had moved to cover her eyes, her breaths coming faster between her parted lips.

  He leaned in to kiss the side of her knee as his fingers caressed the delicate skin underneath. Color flushed her cheeks. H
e stayed attuned to her body’s reaction and moved closer, her knees shifting apart as if they were partners in a dance.

  He pulled the blanket off and dropped it to the floor at the same time he levered himself on top of her, between her legs, his arms on either side of her head.

  “Regan,” he whispered. “Can I kiss you?” After the last time, he needed to ask, not wanting to push himself on her.

  Her lashes fluttered open, her eyes as dazed as they’d been the night before in the throes of her fever. “Yes.”

  His lips met hers in a gentle caress. The blistering need for her simmered in the background, overtaken by the desire to take care of her, but when her tongue touched his bottom lip, he caved to his baser instincts, slanting his mouth over hers, pressing her into the cushions with his weight.

  Her legs wrapped around his hips, and he rocked against her. Their tongues sparred, aggressive yet playful. One of her hands slipped under his T-shirt to graze the skin of his side, inciting a raspy moan from his chest.

  He shifted to run his hand up her leg from knee to hip, slipping his fingers under the hem of her shorts to the lacey edge of her panties. Her shirt was already bunched around her torso, exposing a line of skin above her shorts. He pushed it upward, exposing her bare breast.

  He stared like a teenager getting his first glimpse of the female mystery. He’d been crazed the other night. Now, he would go slow, savor and explore and appreciate.

  He cupped her breast and cursed the calluses along his palm. She didn’t seem to mind his rough hands, arching her back. The weight and fullness drew his mouth closer. Her small nipple was peaked and begged for attention. He flicked his thumb over the tip before soothing it with his tongue.

  She speared a hand through his hair, her pelvis bucking into his erection. Need superheated his body. He squeezed her breast, shifting so he could pull her shirt up and off.

  She grabbed his wrist after he’d exposed her other breast. He stared at the pert nipple, wanting to give it the same attention he’d applied to the first.

  “Stop.”

  The single whispered word froze him. Confusion was overtaking the desperate need on her face. He waited for her move.