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

by P. G. Forte

  “No. You’re wrong,” she insisted, trying at last to push him away. “I don’t need you, Ryan. Not for anything. And I don’t want you here, and I def-”

  This kiss was softer. Gentler. Obviously intended to persuade, rather than overwhelm her. But no less compelling for all of that. It took everything she had to keep her own response in check.

  “Stop doing that,” she murmured breathlessly, when at last, with a small sigh of satisfaction, he broke off the kiss.

  “Give me a reason to,” he challenged. “It’s no secret that I find you attractive. Neither of us is involved with anyone, at the moment. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to like it, too. Or have I been imagining the way you respond to me?” His eyes scanned her face; half-closed, dreamy and…hungry. She shivered. Maybe that had not been satisfaction she’d heard in his sigh just now, after all. “Besides,” he murmured, “I’m not all that certain I can stop. I don’t plan it, you know. But when I get around you... somehow, things like this... they just seem to happen.”

  “Well if you’re gonna work here, then you’d damn well better find some way to control your impulses,” she said, frowning as she tried to determine how her arms had come to be clasped around his waist. And why it was that they were not responding to any of her demands that they release him.

  He grinned. “Are you serious? That’s part of the job description? No kissing the boss while she’s working? Man, you sure got a lot of rules around here.”

  She stared at him, surprised. Was that what she’d said? Was that what she meant? “Why are you playing this game, Ryan? You don’t need a job—you have one. You’re a cop!”

  His smile faded. “Not at the moment, I’m not. I told you. I’m on leave until my leg heals.”

  “But I saw you, remember? You were at the station yesterday,” she protested.

  “Nah, I just stopped by to check up on some stuff. They won’t let me back yet.”

  “And they’re probably right, too. Your leg-”

  “My leg is not gonna be a problem here. This is not like police work. There’s nothing you need me to do here that I can’t handle. Besides, I’ve upped my acupuncture treatments to twice a week, now. And if it gets too bad in between, I have pills I could take for it.” He gazed at her bleakly, his eyes no longer warm or amused. “Please, Siobhan. I really do need this. I’m going out of my mind.”

  So was she, apparently. Why else was she about to say yes? But she understood a little too well the need that was riding him. Injury, pain, grief, loss – it was all the same really. You had to keep moving, keep working, give your mind something else to dwell on, or you’d sink into despair and insanity.

  “Okay, I guess,” she said at last, giving in to the inevitable. “How’s nine o’clock sound? I have another class coming down here. Second graders this time.”

  “Perfect.” He smiled, and relaxed, and let her go. She felt instantly bereft. “Thank you,” he said, sounding very sincere as he backed up another couple of paces. “So... I guess... I probably should go now, huh? You’ll lock up after I leave though, right?”

  “Yeah. Sure.” She wrapped her arms around herself and nodded, not looking at him. Lock up? Now? Jesus, why even bother. The enemy was already within the gates.

  * * * *

  The quilt frame was the size of a large table. It all but filled the back room of the book store. Boxes of inventory had been piled along the walls to make room for it. The women seated around it talked quietly as they worked, steadily stitching rainbow colored thread into the lines that had been chalked onto the surface of the quilt.

  Scout, gazing at the quilt in front of her, felt dazzled. There was so much to look at. So much color and shape and texture; the artist in her responded to it on a very visceral, very primitive level. She’d never encountered this particular art form before, but she had no trouble recognizing it for what it was. She sewed slowly, almost reverently. The chalk line she was following spiraled its way up the face of a square that had been pieced together using several different fabrics. The resultant mosaic featured a single branch, just bursting into bud. Blossoms of creamy crepe erupted from gray velvet bud cases. The branch itself was fashioned out of a mottled brownish gray material. Just slightly puckered, it looked uncannily like bark. She was so entranced, she’d almost lost track of the conversation that swirled around her, until Ginny leaned forward, frowning intently.

  “Well, no. That’s just it, Marsha. I don’t understand why you’re upset about this,” Ginny was saying, disagreeing with a little less than her usual gentleness. “I should think you’d be happy. It’s really nice that Sam’s concerned about your boys. He obviously likes them—”

  “Yeah,” Lucy added, plying her needle with a deft efficiency that Scout had somehow not expected. “And what a concept that is. He’s nice. Concerned. Likable. He wants to be involved with your kids. In short, he’s nothing like their father. How is that a problem?”

  “But don’t you see?” Marsha looked up from the neat line of stitches she had just worked through five of the six of cups that filled the square in front of her. “Sam’s not their father. Just like Alex isn’t Jasmine’s father. Which was something he made abundantly clear to her, once he’d left us.”

  “Well, but that’s Alex for you.” Lucy dismissed him with a shrug. “Once an asshole, always an asshole. You got any reason for thinking Sam’s gonna be the same?”

  “Personally, I think you’re over-analyzing the whole thing, Marsh,” Heather said. “They’re boys. They like cars. Quelle surprise! And they like his shiny, new, fast car better than they like your crappy old van. Get over it, girl! Let them enjoy it while they can. Take what you can get, while you can get it. That’s my motto.”

  “Oh, my God. Is this about cars? Again?” Scout fumed with sudden anger. “Has everyone in this town gone psycho on the subject? So he bought himself a car, Marsha. Since when is that a crime? It’s not like he ran someone over with it!”

  Lucy glanced at her, brown eyes brimming with sympathy. “Poor Scout. I still can’t believe Nick freaked out like that. You want me to yell at him for you?”

  “No, Lucy.” Scout sighed. “Please don’t.”

  “What’s the matter, Scout?” Heather asked, “I take it your hubby doesn’t like your new wheels?”

  “Ohhh, Heather, that is such an understatement,” Scout said struggling to keep her stitches from becoming uneven. “I mean, yeah, so okay, I’m not totally thrilled about driving a mom-mobile, either. But it is practical – and it’s kinda cute. You thought it was cute, didn’t you, Lucy?”

  “Yeah, sure. It’s adorable. Very red. Looks sorta like a baby fire truck.”

  Scout glared at her friend. “It does not look like a fire truck, Lucy. Would you quit saying that?”

  Lucy rolled her eyes. Scout watched her for a moment, debating with herself, finally asking the question that had been haunting her for days. “You don’t think maybe he’s having second thoughts about this baby, do you? Or that... maybe I’m just part of some mid-life crisis he’s going through? I mean, the way he’s acting – it almost makes me wonder; if I’d come back to town last year driving a mid-sized sedan, would he have even looked twice at me?”

  “Jesus Christ,” Lucy’s needle stabbed the quilt, repeatedly impaling the figure of a man driving a chariot.

  Scout winced. She wouldn’t want to be on Lucy’s bad side if the woman ever decided to practice voodoo.

  “Could you can the dramatics, Scout?,” Lucy demanded, scowling at her. “The man’s as gaga as he ever was about you. And if you don’t know that by now, you damn well should. He’s probably still just raw over the scene with Joey. Maybe he’s afraid people are going to think it was his idea; that he talked you into spending too much money on a new car. And besides, if you want to talk mid-life crisis, if anyone’s having one, I think it’s gotta be Dan.”

  “Oh, no, not that! Please don’t tell me Dan’s thinking about buying himself a flashy, li
ttle sports car?” Ginny bubbled with sudden laughter. “I’m sorry, Lucy, but I just can’t see Dan cramming himself into some... shiny, convertible thingy. I mean, he’s so big! And besides, he’s never exactly struck me as the sports car type.”

  “No. And, you’re right, he isn’t.” Lucy expression softened into a small smile. Her needle stilled. “Actually... he was driving a truck when I first met him. A pick up. It was even sexier than a sports car, I thought.”

  Heather chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard. How’s that country song go, again? There’s something women like about a pick-up man, or words to that effect?”

  Lucy’s smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. She resumed stitching. “Yeah, that’s kinda what I’m afraid of.”

  “Something wrong, Luce?” Marsha asked softly.

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. Just... well, he’s been spending so much time at work lately and then when he’s home—” She shrugged, “So maybe there’s another woman. He wouldn’t be the first guy to go through something like that, right? He’ll get over it.”

  Dead silence greeted this remark and, for awhile, only Lucy went on sewing.

  “Lucy,” Scout said, at last, breaking the silence. “You can’t be serious. Dan? Now who’s being ridiculous?”

  Lucy looked up, smiling determinedly. “Oh, relax, huh? Jeez, can’t you guys tell when I’m joking? Everything’s fine. Really. Anyway, never mind that. Marsha, tell me again what Siobhan had to say about these dogs? How is this even possible?”

  “Well, it’s like I already told you, Luce,” Marsha said, obediently changing the topic. “According to Siobhan, there’s a pack of wild dogs roaming around in the greenbelt. Apparently they’ve been attacking other animals.”

  Wild dogs? Against her will, Scout found herself diverted, just as Lucy had no doubt intended. She stared from one to the other. “Wild dogs. In the greenbelt. Is she nuts?”

  “I don’t know.” Marsha shrugged. “Maybe. But that’s what she claims.”

  * * * *

  Once again, the man stood beneath the big trees, watching through the window as Siobhan tended to the wounded cat. There ought to be a few possibilities there, he thought. Some chance for a little fun...

  A ripple of motion within the room caught his eye. The dog had wandered closer to the window. Although he knew the little mutt’s eyes were too weak to penetrate the darkness, he moved back into the shadows, just in case. It would not do to be seen. He’d always been so careful up until now.

  The dog stiffened suddenly, as though, against all odds, it had sensed his presence. A nervous keening sound, midway between a whine and a growl, purled out of its throat. The cat shuddered violently in response.

  Siobhan glared at the dog. “Selke! Quit that! Go inside. Now.”

  Something about the tone of her voice – the angry, cold, bitchiness of it – nearly sent him over the edge. God, how he hated her. Hated her, wanted her, wished her dead... No, he thought, getting control of himself again, no he didn’t, either. Not dead. Death was too good for her. Too easy. And not nearly enough fun.

  He deserved to have fun. As much as he could get. She owed him that much.

  “I’ll get you, my pretty,” he whispered, his voice rising in a frail falsetto. He almost laughed aloud at the image of himself as the Wicked Witch of the West. But why not? In Shakespeare’s time, after all, all the roles were played by men, weren’t they? “I’ll get you, my pretty,” he repeated to the night. “And your little dog, too.”

  He stilled, suddenly hearing the words that had just left his mouth. A smile curved his lips. Now, there, at last, was a good idea. He could have a whole lot of fun with that.

  * * * *

  The headlights of Marsha’s van illuminated the wet road. She’d lost track of time while they were quilting. She’d meant to leave earlier, while it was still light. Before Alex had picked the boys up for the weekend. She hated not being there to say good-bye to them.

  Sam’s car was parked on the street in front of the house. She smiled at that. He could have parked his new car in her driveway, but he hadn’t. He’d left the spot for her. Lucy was right, he was nothing at all like Alex.

  She all but sighed in relief as she put the van in park. Friday night. At last! The knowledge which had been humming inside her all day was practically bursting through her pores now. Two whole nights—maybe three, if Alex kept the boys until Monday morning, like he was supposed to but so rarely did – and two full days they’d have together. Just the two of them. And, oh, Lord, she needed that. Especially tonight. She’d felt buffeted by the worry and uncertainty that emanated from both Lucy and Scout this afternoon. Heather’s mind, too, had been racing busily with a thousand different details, mostly related to their upcoming trip, but not all of them. Even Ginny – usually so placid – had been vibrating with an unusual degree of intensity.

  Marsha had the uneasy feeling the energy imbued in the quilt was putting them all on edge; which might make working on it, over the next few weeks, an uncomfortable experience.

  But she wouldn’t think about any of that now. She had other things to think about. Better things. As she got out of the car, she let her mind reach out, felt it find Sam and focus in on him; he was so close, she could sense his impatience as he waited for her. Impatience and…something else, too, she thought in alarm. Annoyance, maybe? Or disappointment? The shadow of doubt that hovered in her heart grew a shade darker. She knew that Jasmine was probably right in what she’d said last month. How long could she expect Sam to stay interested in her – a woman with three kids, and all the attendant problems that went with them? She had told herself she didn’t care about that. She was greedy for every second she could get of their time together, and she’d deal with the future, and the pain it would bring her, when it got here. But that didn’t mean she didn’t still think about it.

  Especially nights like this, when it seemed that she was the only one looking forward to the weekend they would share.

  She pushed her disappointment aside, and headed for the house. She’d given up months ago, on the whole idea of trying to protect her heart. But her children’s hearts were another story. She had a responsibility to them. She’d already failed in that responsibility once – she could not let that happen again.

  “Well, it’s about time!” Jesse greeted her, vaulting up from the couch as she walked through the door. “We thought you’d never get home. Come on, Mom. We’re starving.”

  She stopped in the doorway, frowning in surprise. “Hey, guys... you’re still here?”

  “Don’t take you coat off, Mom,” Frank advised as reached around her to grab his jacket off the coat rack. “Sam’s taking us out to dinner.”

  “Yeah. Chinese food,” Jesse informed her, as he shrugged into his own jacket. “We all voted. You weren’t here, but it was unanimous, so it doesn’t matter, anyway. Hey! Front seat! I call it!” he shouted out the door at Frank, who’d slipped past her.

  “No way!” Frank yelled over his shoulder. “Ask Sam. You had it last time. It’s my turn now.”

  “Wrong,” Sam pronounced the single word with calm authority, as he appeared in the hallway. “And you too, Jesse. Go and tell your brother I said so. It’s your mother’s turn.”

  “Aww, no fair,” Jesse grumbled as he headed after his brother. “You’re no fun.”

  Sam smiled at her, “Hey there, angel. I hope you’re in the mood for mu-shu.”

  “Sam, what’s going on here? We can’t take them to dinner, they’re supposed to go to their father’s tonight.”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. Guess again. Something’s come up.” He cocked his head to the side and studied her curiously. “Are you really surprised by this?”

  She sighed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be. He does this all the time, after all. How come I never see it coming?”

  “It does make me wonder.” He pushed the door shut, holding it closed with his palm flat against it, shielding them from vie
w as he crowded her against the wall and kissed her until she felt her knees begin to weaken. “Because you almost always seem to know what I’m thinking.”

  No, not really, she thought. She frowned at him doubtfully. Had the possibility that she was privy to his thoughts begun to annoy him? Her ability to read minds had been elevated to mythic proportions by the people in her life, way beyond anything she could actually accomplish. Mostly they hated it. It still surprised her that Sam had never seemed bothered by it. But maybe that had changed, now? And maybe it heralded more changes to come. She felt even more of her good mood slip away. She was really going to miss him when he left her.

  “Oh, and by the way,” Sam said, as he opened the door again and gently propelled her out onto her porch. “There was another vote you missed tonight. I’m afraid you lost that one, too. We’re taking my car to dinner.” She started to protest, but he cut her off with a gentle shake of his head, lowering his voice as he continued, “They were disappointed when their dad bailed at the last minute, let them have a little fun, okay? Besides, I know you hate to drive after dark.”

  “Okay,” she said, very quietly. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised, as though surprised at how fast she’d given in. She forced a small smile. Frank and Jesse weren’t the only ones who’d been disappointed tonight, she thought, sadly. She and Sam also had plans. And how much longer could she hope he’d put up with having them thwarted like this?

  Sam was a wonderful man in a lot of ways – generous, considerate, passionate, kind – but he hadn’t gotten where he was by being overly sentimental.

  During the past few months, she’d had a chance to read some of the articles and interviews that had been written on him over the years. When it came to business, it was clear the man could have written a book on being ruthless – and she hadn’t read anything to suggest that his approach to his personal life was all that different. If there was one thing he seemed to have learned how to do, and do very well, it was to cut his losses and walk away.