Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  “Nick, please. Don’t!” She stopped him, her voice trembling. “I never wanted to leave, you know that. And I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know.” But she had, just the same. And he knew he’d never forget the pain of losing her.

  “I loved you so much, I never would have—”

  “I know that, too,” he said, kissing her gently. “I understand everything now. It’s just taken me awhile to get it straight. Twenty years was too long to be without you.”

  Scout sighed tremulously. “Well, be careful what you wish for, Nick. Maybe you’ll find that the next twenty years with me will end up feeling twice as long.”

  He smiled at her. “I should be so lucky. But forget twenty, sweetheart, I’m counting on spending the next fifty years with you. At least.”

  “Fifty!” She laughed at that and snuggled closer. “My, you’re a greedy man.”

  “Mm-hmm,” he murmured as he kissed her again. “Very.”

  “Must be a cop thing,” she muttered against his lips, and he could feel her smiling, too.

  * * *

  The trip out to the cabin, through the fog and the dark and the cold, was just what Sam needed to regain a little of his equilibrium and sharpen his senses. But the last few hundred yards, when he realized just how difficult it would be for anyone, himself included, to sneak up on whomever might already be out there, waiting, left his senses a little too sharp for comfort. He took the bike back behind the cabin, as he had on the previous night, and once again sat and listened while silence settled around him.

  He couldn’t sense any other presence there, but since it was not something he had ever tried to do before, he couldn’t tell if that meant anything, or not. The night seemed very still. There were no insect sounds at all. Only an occasional rustling within the surrounding woods, the constant percolating sound of the creek, and the faint groaning of the trees as they swayed against the wind interrupted the silence.

  Sam forced himself to move slowly and quietly, until he was safely inside and had checked around the cabin to make certain everything was secure. By then, he was in no mood for sleep.

  He had too much to think about. Like where he could hide the stolen hard drive, because dragging it with him everywhere he went was just not gonna cut it. He opened another bottle of wine, put another CD in the stereo, and settled down on the couch to relax.

  His first choice in music didn’t help. He had not wanted to recreate last night’s too-sensuous mood, but the choice of Melissa Etheridge’s Yes I Am, was a huge mistake. From the very first chords of I’m the Only One, he felt the edginess that had dogged him all day intensify. The raw pain in the singer’s voice resonated a little too well with the longing jangling through his nerves. And recent experience made the possibility of drowning in desire seem all too likely an event. And not such a bad way to go, at that.

  He had to do something about the situation with Marsha. But what? Sex was the last thing he should be thinking about right now, but on the other hand, why the hell not think about it? He had to do something tomorrow, after all. He wasn’t going to be able to rent any of the equipment he needed until Monday. Taking Marsha to bed would at least be a distraction, if nothing else. Something to take his mind off his troubles. And she had been the one to suggest coming out here tomorrow.

  But shit, deep down inside, he knew damn well that wasn’t what she’d been thinking.

  And, even if it was, he had to be out of his mind to even contemplate getting involved with anyone here. Least of all someone as weird and as witchy as she was. Especially when he couldn’t even tell her his real name.

  On the other hand, come Monday, he’d need that van. So he had to stay involved with her until then, didn’t he? Besides, he didn’t know for certain that it wasn’t what she had in mind for tomorrow. She sure hadn’t kissed him like someone who had nothing but packing on her mind.

  And…what was in a name, anyway?

  He contemplated the ethical dilemma of making love under an assumed name, and decided it didn’t matter. Not in this case. This woman hadn’t needed to know his name, or anything else about him, to have gotten his number. You needed to have someone pay attention to you, she’d said. Which was as good as saying he’d needed someone to give him an alibi.

  Which had certainly been true, hadn’t it?

  He got up to change the CD. The ideas which Come To My Window brought to mind were too disruptive. It was a good thing he didn’t know where she lived, or he might just try it. Restlessly, he looked through the stack. The Beatles, A Hard Day’s Night. No. Sarah McLachlan again. Fumbling Toward Ecstasy? Definitely no. Linda Ronstadt, Joan Baez, The Moody Blues. No, no, and oh, hell, no. Led Zeppelin II? Better. But still, anything by Zeppelin was only gonna get him more worked up, and the same went double for The Stones. Van Morrison. Tupelo Honey? Not a chance.

  What kind of sex fiend had put this collection together, anyway?

  Okay, so forget the music for now. He poured himself another glass of wine and wandered into the dining room. He’d buy some CD’s in town on Monday. Something soothing, calming, relaxing. Something that wouldn’t exacerbate the problem he was having just being here.

  Because it had to be the music that was doing it to him. Unless it was something in the wine?

  Best to go easy on it, either way. He needed to keep his wits about him tonight.

  He paused, with one hand clutching the drapes by the dining room window. Deja vu shimmered through him and he was gripped with a feeling of breathless yearning for he knew not what. He had a sense of something ending, and of something else coming just that much closer to being born.

  Damn, he hated when that happened.

  And now it was the silence that was doing it, acting on the tension he’d been dealing with all day. Creating a sense of danger, of destiny creeping close, of doom... or maybe it was just his imagination. He crossed the room again, picked a CD at random, and shoved it into the player. Bobby McFerrin. Simple Pleasures. He had to laugh at the very first notes of the very first song. Don’t Worry, Be Happy. Well, there was a message for you.

  He really did need to get a grip on his imagination. He had to stop this pointless obsessing. It was a cold, cruel truth, but that reporter’s death had left him in a much safer position. One less person knew he was in Oberon. With any luck, he was back to just one now. Himself.

  And the fact that she’d been murdered before their meeting took place – before she’d even shown up for it – had to mean that the two were unrelated, no matter how coincidental the timing.

  Didn’t it?

  It stood to reason that anyone who made a practice of calling people up out of the blue like she had done to him last night, of practically blackmailing them into giving her what she wanted, had probably made herself a lot of enemies. Right?

  Don’t worry, be happy. It sure sounded like a plan. Unfortunately, the singer had moved on now. And, All I want is you, also sounded like the makings of a plan. Just not a very good one.

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  * * * *

  Outside in the garden her rooster was crowing. Lucy listened to the chorus of answering calls from the neighboring yards and snuggled deeper into the sheets, enjoying the warmth, the peace, the blissful luxury of sleeping in. The French doors that led from her bedroom out into the garden opened quietly, and then closed again, and she heard the soft, muffled sounds of someone moving through the room. She felt the bed sag as Dan came to sit beside her and then something cool and firm was brushed lightly, repeatedly, across her lips.

  “Wake up,” he whispered in her ear. “I brought you breakfast.”

  She looked up into a pair of wicked blue eyes and felt desire stir. “Mmm. That’s sweet of you. What is it?” she asked, drowsily hopeful. She didn’t smell coffee, and there was something in his voice, and in his eyes that made her think food wasn’t all he was interested in giving her.

  “Figs.�
� Dan’s voice was low and gravelly. He settled himself more comfortably against the pillows. “I’ve been plundering your garden. See?” He held up a handful of the plump, bluish-purple fruit. “Just like the D H Lawrence poem. There was a flower that flowered inward, wombward: now there is a fruit like a ripe womb. C’mon ... take a bite.”

  He held one out to her as he took another one, himself. Eating slowly, sensuously, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt a delicious warmth steal over her, but she couldn’t help teasing him just a little.

  “Poetry before breakfast, Dan? I don’t know about this. Are they even ripe?”

  “Hell, yes, they’re ripe.” He cocked his head at her and smiled. “Don’t you think I know a ripe fig when I see one? And just what do you have against poetry all of a sudden, woman?” He popped the last of the fig he was eating into his mouth and leaned closer, whispering against her ear as he recited, “The fig is a very secretive fruit... folded upon itself and secret unutterable... And milky sapped... sap that tastes strange on your fingers.” His voice sent shivers running through her.

  “These are very ripe,” he continued, “And you know what the poem had to say about that, right?”

  Lucy snorted. Oh, yeah. Sure I do. She stretched invitingly, and smiled. “You’re such a show off, Cavanaugh. Why don’t you just tell me?”

  “Oh, well, since you asked so nicely.” He put the figs down on the nightstand and stretched out beside her. His hand drifted slowly down the front of her nightgown. “Honey-white figs of the north,” he recited as his fingers grazed across her breasts, she felt her nipples harden.

  “Black figs with scarlet inside, of the south,” His voice sank to the barest of whispers, a tremor ran through her as his hand traveled slowly down her stomach. She swallowed hard to keep from moaning.

  “Ripe figs won’t keep, won’t keep in any clime.” He smiled at her and she caught her breath as his hand slid over her hip, his fingers reaching for the hem of the gown. Then she felt his hand sliding slowly back up her bare thigh, and he pulled her closer to him. “So you see Lucy, we really have to eat these... right now.”

  He reached behind him to pluck one of the figs from the nightstand, and then turned back to press the ripe fruit against her lips. She let her head fall back and her eyes fall closed as she contemplated the thing with her mouth.

  First the skin. Firm and smooth and rounded, almost like the smooth, firm skin of his shoulder. She felt her breathing quicken. It was, just a little, like opening her mouth on the curve of his shoulder as he thrust himself into her. She explored the shape and the firmness of it with her tongue, her teeth just testing the surface. They pressed harder and the fig gave way beneath their pressure. The flesh inside was sweet, but not cloyingly so. Fresh and cool.

  She felt him turn the fruit in his fingers, inviting her to explore more of it. She smiled as his hand lightly grazed her cheek. She delved deeper with her tongue, tasting the sweet juiciness of it. Almost as if she were taking his mouth with hers – but wetter even than that. Like kissing him in the shower. Cool water mingling with the hot wetness of his mouth. Her tongue pressed further into the soft flesh, savoring the feel and the flavor of it. At last, she took the whole fruit with her mouth, eager for all of it, the sweet, juicy succulence of it bursting in her mouth. And when at last her tongue found his fingers, they were sweet with juice, sticky and dripping with it. She licked them slowly, licked them clean of the sticky juice, then let her mouth close around his thumb; sucking at it gently as she opened her eyes and stared into his Lids heavy with desire, flames flickering in their dark depths.

  His finger slid from her mouth. His hand traveled up across her cheek, behind her ear, through her hair to grasp the back of her head. She lifted her face to him at the same time that he bent his to her; their mouths met and she licked into him, searching with her tongue for more of the taste of him and of the fruit they’d been eating.

  The Bible had gotten it all wrong, as usual, she thought, faintly dizzy. What was an apple, anyway?

  Her hands glided up over the broad smoothness of his shoulders and around his neck, and had just buried themselves in his hair when a pounding, approaching cacophony assaulted her ears. The bedroom door burst open as both children, the dog and her mother all but fell into the room, everyone talking and barking and yelling at once.

  Lucy could feel Dan glowering as he reached to pull the blankets up around her. She struggled to sit up and make sense of the confusion.

  “Mom! Why are you still in bed?” Mandy whined. “You know Jessica’s party is today and—”

  “Forget your stupid party, I have to get to practice,” Seth yelled.

  Lucy winced. At fifteen, her son had a voice like a sonic boom.

  “Well, really, Lucy,” her mother didn’t need volume to make herself heard, her tone was enough. “I do think you need to get up and deal with some of – are you eating in bed, dear? Why are you doing that? You know it’ll bring ants.”

  “Mom,” Lucy began. “Please. Now what—”

  “Well, it’s just, your father’s disappeared somewhere, and I really need you to get up and take me—”

  “Mom? The party?”

  “Where do you need to go, Rose?” Dan interrupted. “Wherever it is, I can probably take you there on my way to work.”

  “Dad!” Seth growled. “What are you talking about? I gotta get to practice! You’re supposed to drop me off in half an hour, remember?”

  And, “Oh, thank you, Dan,” Rose answered uncertainly. “But I thought Lucy was going with me and—”

  “I need a ride to Jenny’s party,” Mandy chimed in quickly, “And Mom promised me. And—”

  “All right, all right!” Lucy snapped. “Jeez. Everyone quiet down! I’m getting up! Dan, if you can drop Seth off on your way to the nursery, I’ll take my mother to church, and Mandy to her party. Does that work for everyone?”

  “But aren’t the children going to Mass with us?” Her mother inquired.

  “No, Mom,” Lucy answered shortly, sure she would be hearing more about the matter later. “Not today they aren’t.”

  “But I can’t go anywhere yet,” Mandy wailed. “I haven’t had breakfast. What about—”

  “Okay, everybody.” Dan got up off the bed and started for the door, ushering the rest of the family before him. “Let’s go. Seth, go get your stuff together. Mandy, tell me what you want to eat...”

  Lucy listened to the noise recede. She stared glumly at the dog, who’d been left behind. The figs, now forgotten, lay scattered on the nightstand. She could leave them there for later, she thought hopefully, but most likely both Dan and her mother would be proved right; they wouldn’t keep, and they’d bring ants.

  * * *

  Late. Too late. Too Goddamn late! The words reverberated through Nick’s mind, forcing him from sleep as the old, old anguish seared him anew. He was too late. He wouldn’t get there in time. He’d waited too long. And now he’d lost her. Again. Again. Again.

  He woke from the dream with his heart pounding. The jumbled rush of a remembered landscape flashed vividly past his inner eye for a moment longer, and then faded. The feverish need to get to her – before she was lost to him forever – dissolved as his memory returned and he realized where he was. Still in bed, early Sunday morning, with Scout curled beside him. Exactly where she was supposed to be.

  Safe. Sleeping. Here.

  He let his hand steal across her waist and gently pulled her to him. She didn’t wake, just mumbled incoherently and smiled, as he let his hand rest on her stomach.

  It was just slightly more rounded now than it had been three months previously, when she’d first come back to him. Dan had been right about that. Although, come to think of it, what was he doing observing her that closely for, anyway? And, oh, yeah, like she was really gonna get that fat on his cooking. Nick smiled, barely able to suppress the laugh that rose in his throat. His cooking. Yeah, that was definitely what was doing it, all right.


  He closed his eyes again and blissfully contemplated his future, as his hand stroked absently over her abdomen. He wished he could penetrate the mystery of her. Wished that his eyes could see into her innermost recesses and learn all her secrets. He knew the future would likely hold all sorts of adjustments, and challenges, and responsibilities – things which, it was true, he hadn’t dealt with very well the first time around – but he didn’t care. Whatever compromises had to be worked out, whatever deals had to be made – and irregardless of whatever dark forces he had to make them with – he would do whatever he had to. Just so long as it meant he could continue to wake up with her like this each morning.

  As long as he had her, as long as he could keep her right here beside him, he had everything he wanted.

  His hand tightened on her again, as he thought about how close he had come to losing her; how close that bastard had come to killing her. And there she’d been at the cemetery the other day, making sure the stone had been set properly on his grave. Jesus. He waited for the familiar twist of jealousy in his gut, but it didn’t come. Was he over it now? Or was he just too deeply happy at the moment to care?

  He supposed the reason didn’t really matter. Maybe it was just that he understood too well the guilt that motivated her. He knew she felt responsible for Glenn’s death, knew all about the images that still smoldered in her memory, and stole into her sleep.

  Yep, he knew just what that was like, didn’t he?

  So, if it eased her mind to tend to the bastard’s grave, then let her. Let her set up a dozen stones and a fucking shrine, if it helped. He wasn’t going to give her any flack about it. There’d been enough of that already. She’d had way too much to deal with in far too short a time.

  Concern for her lanced through him, as he thought about how vulnerable she was. It was a damn good thing that she hadn’t known Paige, or known about his relationship with her. Everything that had happened yesterday had stirred up enough bad feelings for both of them as it was. If she had realized then that the body they’d found had belonged to a former girlfriend of his? Shit, it more than likely would have pushed her right over the edge.