by Mia Carson
Over the past months, we’d learned just how to please each other, and our love-making had become incredible. Not only that, but as the truth about what happened to her came to light and people started expressing support over what she’d endured, she’d blossomed into the woman she was always destined to become, self-assured, beautiful, and strong. She’d put her past firmly behind her and had embraced her future.
Not everyone in town liked the new Ella, or me, for that matter. Not that we cared. Amanda Calhoun went out of her way to make her displeasure with us clear to all, but nearly everyone ignored her. She and Steve were almost pariahs now. Where Ella had hunkered down, and the town slowly forgave and forgot, Steve and Amanda weren’t helping themselves with their sneering attitudes and Steve’s continued insistence he’d done nothing wrong and it was all Cat Meyer’s fault. Likewise, Janice Meyer refused to accept her daughter had drugged Ella and that she and Steve had engaged in a conspiracy of self-protection. It was the largest scandal in town in decades, and the Meyers and the Calhouns seemed unable to let it die.
As word spread through town that not only had Ella been telling the truth but that I’d kicked the shit out of Steve, the two events fed on each other. For the next few weeks, Steve stayed pretty close to home and wasn’t seen much around town, a change in behavior that hadn’t gone unnoticed. I’d heard from people that had seen him that his face was one big bruise and he couldn’t stand up straight, where I didn’t have a visible mark on me. When his mother had gone to the police and demanded my arrest for assault and battery, that had only further diminished him in the town’s eyes. I made sure the townsfolk didn’t know how much my back hurt for a week afterwards, and the teasing Steve took in his absence had been merciless. Ella and I refused to join in, but we smiled in private. Ella, especially, derived evil pleasure that he was experiencing what she’d had to put up with for years.
Several weeks later, when we announced that Abby wasn’t Steve’s child, but mine, the teasing was even worse. Some variation of Steve Calhoun can’t even get a girl pregnant right, was a common theme. We’d gone to court and asked that I be declared Abby’s legal father. Even though he’d never done a thing for Abby, because I wanted it, Steve contested it. A court ordered paternity test had quickly decided the matter and it was done.
After the matter was settled, he’d come after Ella for back child support. I was prepared to pay it, but he’d wanted ten-thousand dollars, instead of the $5,200 he’d actually paid, as damages for Ella accusing him of being the father when she knew he wasn’t. We’d gone back to court, and our lawyer had argued that the $5,200 that Steve had payed was little enough restitution for the harm he’d caused Ella, he’d signed the papers stating Abigail Michelle Johnson was his child, and Ella was on record at the time stating the sex was non-consensual. In a twist of irony, even though I was willing to refund the money, the judge ruled what Steve had already paid stood, though he was no longer required to pay additional support. Because he’d been an ass and Ella didn’t have to, I withdrew my offer to refund the money. I agreed with the judge: $5,200 wasn’t much considering the hell Ella had gone through.
But all that was behind us now. I had everything I wanted right here in my arms. I slowly ended the kiss and led her to our bedroom. We took our time undressing, our lips exploring each other’s bodies until we tumbled into bed. Ella was in my favorite kind of mood tonight, the kind of mood where our love-making was incendiary but loving at the same time. We rolled and tumbled, gasping in pleasure and effort as we gave and took pleasure in equal measures.
“Come on, baby,” I murmured into her ear as I pounded into her hard and fast, our flesh damp with our sweat as she clung to me.
“Don’t stop,” she gasped.
I forced myself up onto my hands, but she refused to let me go, her arms wrapped tight around me as I pulled her shoulders up from the bed. I loved it when she wrapped me up like this, holding me tight as we moved together as one.
I knew she was as close to her rapture as I was. I pushed against my rising tide of pleasure, trying to time my release with hers. I felt her clamp down on my manhood like a velvet vise as she squeaked softly in my ear and her body tensed.
Her orgasm was my undoing. I snarled softly as I splashed into her, unable to refrain my pleasure another moment. She released me and fell back to the bed, putting her hands against the headboard and pushed as she moaned, writhing slowly, her face a mask of pleasure. I shuddered out of my climax and slowly lowered myself over her, wanting to feel her flesh against mine and taking her lips for my own.
“I love you so much,” I whispered as our lips parted.
“I love you,” she whispered in return, her gentle smile touching and warming me deep inside.
We kissed and touched as we settled into our cuddle. My back was hurting from where her fingers had dug in. She’d finally stopped apologizing for hurting me in the throes of passion, apparently finally believing I gladly traded the occasional battle scars for the pleasure we gave each other.
My exhaustion returned. I’d been working my ass off with Dad, but the last field had been prepped and all it needed was planting. Starting Monday, I was shifting over to helping the Johnsons get their crop in. But tomorrow, I was taking day off. I had something else I had to do. I smiled as I closed my eyes, sleep slowly pulling its veil of slumber over me.
“Levi! You’re late!”
Ella’s voice penetrated the fog. “What time is it?” I mumbled. I wasn’t late, I’d intentionally turned the alarm off.
“Almost seven!”
“Good, we don’t have to get up yet,” I murmured as I pulled her back into my arms.
“Isn’t your dad waiting on you?”
“I finished with Dad yesterday,” I mumbled. “Tomorrow I start helping your dad, but today, you’re going to have to put up with me.”
She sighed as she settled back into my arms. “Oh no, what will I do?”
“Sleep,” I muttered.
We got another hour before the blonde cannonball landed in the bed with us. “I want breakfast!” Abby said, staring down into our faces.
“Later,” I said, my eyes still closed as a tiny smile tugged at my lips.
“Now!”
Ella and I groaned and stretched. “What do you want?”
“Eggs!”
“How about a frog sandwich instead?” I asked.
“Eggs!” she cried again, adding a bounce for emphasis.
“Worms?”
“Eggs!”
“I know,” I sighed. “How about baked porcupine? That’s your favorite. Then we can use his quills as a toothpick.”
“Dad!” she giggled, the sing-song in her voice making me smile. “Get up! I want eggs!”
“Okay, eggs it is. Go get dressed. I have to kiss your mother.”
Abby bailed out of the bed and ran down the hall to her room. We had about a minute before she’d be back. I made good use of the time.
“Good morning,” I whispered after kissing Ella thoroughly.
“Mmmm…” she purred. “I could get used to waking up like this,” she said, groaning as she stretched.
I was rock hard, but this morning was not for love. I didn’t mind, at least not much. We tumbled out of bed and threw on some clothes. It didn’t take long for Ella and me to whip up a breakfast of eggs and ham. Abby bathed at night, and I generally did as well, but I’d hadn’t taken one last night, at least as far as Ella knew. I grabbed a quick shower, and we were off.
It was a perfect Texas spring day. We dropped Abby at my parents so Ella and I could enjoy a little time to ourselves. It didn’t take her long to figure out where we were going, and we reminisced about our time there. She was still smiling as I turned the truck down the rutted path, returning to our secret place. I’d been afraid whoever owned the farm road would be working today and ruin my plans, but the field had already been planted. No one would disturb us.
“We haven’t been here in a long time,” El
la commented as we gently bounced along the road.
“I know. I thought it was time we came back.”
“I’m glad,” she said. “I have a lot of good memories of this place.”
I smiled. “So do I.”
We walked down to the water under the Cottonwoods. Everything was so green, new life abundant all around us. I turned her to me as I surrounded her with my arms and kissed her slowly. This was where the second part of my life began, the place we came to be alone as we fell in love, the place where Ella had made me a man. It was going to be the place where the third phase of my life began.
We’d dropped Abby at my parents because I was afraid Ella would know something was up if she saw her parents this morning. Last night, I’d showered at my parents’, changed into clean clothes, and stopped by the Johnsons. Ken and Helen had been surprised to see me, but that surprise paled to their surprise when I asked Ken for his permission to marry his daughter. It had been gladly given, and now I was going to find out if the woman of my dreams would take me as her husband.
I stepped back from the kiss and pulled the tiny black box from my jacket pocket. As I held it in my hand and opened the lid, Ella’s hand covered her mouth as she stared at first the ring, then my eyes, then back to the ring.
I removed the ring from the box, took her left hand, and carefully slipped the ring on. “Mary Ella Johnson…will you marry me?”
She didn’t actually say yes, but when she nodded, began to cry, and flung herself into my arms, I took that to mean she would. I smiled as I wrapped her in my arms and held her close, my future as bright as the Texas sun.
NANNY WANTED
NANNY WANTED
Chapter 1
Remy stuffed the tissue back into the sleeve of her black dress. The ceremony was beautiful and the overcast day was just what old Mr. Bayard would have wanted at his funeral. The few remaining family members he had—all distant cousins and their children—stood and patted her warmly on the shoulder.
“He always spoke so highly of you,” Emily, Mr. Bayard’s great-niece said, fighting tears as she clutched a handkerchief in her hand. “I’m so glad he had you all these years, to be there for him and take care of him.” A sob cut off her words, and Remy hurried to stand, holding the woman close.
“Me too. He was a good man,” she assured Emily.
“He left a few items for you in his will as well as three months’ salary to keep you going for a while longer. I’m sorry we can’t offer you another job, unless you want to move out of state.”
Remy shook her head, smiling sadly. “It’s all right, really. I don’t think I could ever leave Connecticut.”
“Of course.” Emily squeezed her hand and turned to stare at the shining coffin with flowers draped over it. “It’s going to take us forever to go through that house.”
“Actually, maybe not,” Remy told her.
“What do you mean?”
“Your great uncle had a feeling, I think, that he was close to the end.” Remy sucked in a deep breath as the tears threatened to fall down her cheeks again. “Everything’s organized and sorted out for you. Labeled with little notes attached to the top of what’s to be done with it.”
Emily’s eyes glistened with tears, and she suddenly clung to Remy, sobbing hard against her shoulder. “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough for being there with him.”
Remy held the woman tightly and they cried together. Mr. Bayard was one of three families—though he was alone—that she helped take care of. For him, it was cleaning his house and ensuring he got outside and walked, stayed active as much as possible, and went to his doctor’s appointments. She also made sure the nurse who came to see him three times a week didn’t get shoved out the door because Mr. Bayard wasn’t in a good enough mood to see him. The other two families had children. and she was essentially their nanny when the children were out of school or in the evenings if their parents couldn’t be home in time. Each family touched her life as she now realized how much she touched theirs, and it killed her that all three jobs were ending at the same time. Mr. Bayard’s condition had worsened over the last month, and the other two families were moving out of state. Both offered to give her a full-time job and a room in their new mansion if she wanted to move, but Connecticut was Remy’s home. She was happy there, and another family around who could use her services would appear.
Emily finally drew back, wiping at her eyes and blowing her nose loudly. “You’re coming to the luncheon at the house, right?”
“Of course I will. I’ll head over now to make sure everything’s ready to go.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’ll be my final service to the Bayard family.” Remy squeezed her arm and smiled softly. “See you in a little while.”
She walked through the elaborate gravestones to where her car was parked in the lineup. She slid behind the wheel of the new BMW and glided slowly out of the cemetery towards Mr. Bayard’s home for the final time. Hartford was a beautiful town, but it was the gated communities outside of it where Remy spent so much of her time. Her parents, George and Abbey, warned her she spent far too much time worrying about these other families than she did herself, but she enjoyed her work very much, and it had nothing to do with the pay.
Almost nothing. For a twenty-five-year-old with a four-year degree in hospitality, she hadn’t expected to have a job right out of college until the day she saw the flyer for someone—anyone—willing to play maid to an old man. She needed a job and didn’t want to move back in with her parents after enjoying stretching her legs while living on campus and listen to them nag her about finding a job. She took the flyer and called the number. The second she met Mr. Bayard and saw what he needed around his home, she realized this was her true calling. She could be there for someone who was lonely and needed an almost OCD person to help clean up and keep appointments. Remy admitted there were times she forgot what day it was and wrapped herself up in her art, but when she was with these families, she was perfectly on point. The idea of running a hotel of her own was a far distant dream now. Helping these families, being that extra support, was too rewarding.
She pulled up the long drive to the white stone mansion and sat with her car idling out front. A grin stretched across her face as she remembered her first day with Mr. Bayard. He was stubborn, but so was she, and after a week, he let her in more and more. They would take walks in his expansive gardens, smelling the roses and sitting beneath the shade of a great, tall oak. He’d told her so many stories of his life, and she’d shared some of her art with him, which she rarely even showed her parents.
“Well, old man,” she whispered to the silence in her car, “I guess this really is goodbye.” Steeling her nerves and trying not to lose it again, she turned off her car and walked inside.
A few hours later, she finally pulled herself away from the family laughing loudly and drinking the only thing Mr. Bayard enjoyed: thirty-year-old scotch. Most of them were drunk when Remy reached the front door, but they assured her no one was leaving. She gave Emily a final hug as she told Remy the box of items would be sent to her, along with the money, as soon as everything was cleared by the lawyers. Remy sat in her car and tapped the steering wheel, not wanting to go home right away. She needed a drink herself, but not scotch. Callie, her friend since first grade, lived not too far from Remy’s house, so she drove there first without texting.
When she reached the apartment door, the warm, spring, afternoon sun finally showing its head, Remy knocked four times before her friend finally answered. “Hey! What’s with the black get up?” Callie asked, confused, as she stepped aside so Remy could enter.
“Mr. Bayard’s funeral was today, remember?” she said. “Do you have anything to drink?”
“Do I have anything to drink?” her friend mocked as she walked to a cabinet by the fridge. “Pick your poison, girlie.”
“Anything, as long as it’s not scotch.” Remy slumped into a chair at the tiny, diner-style
table and rested her chin on her arms. “I’m going to miss that old man. He was like my damn grandpa, you know?”
“I know,” Callie said gently and brought over two shot glasses of tequila. “To the grandpa?”
Remy grinned and picked up her shot glass in a toast with Callie. “To the grandpa.”
They shot the liquor back. Remy sucked in a breath and smacked her lips as Callie cringed and gagged. “I don’t know how you drink this shit,” she muttered, giving her head a shake and sending her red hair flying in all directions. “Damn. Now I need scotch to wash out the tequila.”
“I have some free time until I find another job. You up for taking a road trip with me? Go down to New Orleans, maybe?” Remy asked, tapping the glass absently on the table.
Callie didn’t answer right away, and Remy jumped when she heard a very male groan echo from down the short hall leading to the bedroom. Remy looked at her friend with an arched brow and a smirk.
“You forget to tell me something?” she accused with a quiet laugh.
“Babe! Where are you?” the groaning man called out.
Callie’s face turned three shades of red as Remy laughed louder and noticed her half-dressed state and mussed hair, smudged makeup, and lack of bra beneath a t-shirt that was clearly too big for her.
“Why did you let me in here if you have a guy over?” Remy asked through her cackles.
“Because a good friend always opens her door for a friend,” Callie stated. “In the kitchen, baby!”
“Baby,” Remy repeated in a whisper, and Callie shot her a look. “Wow. Just wow.”
Callie chucked the dishtowel at her as the man in question stomped down the hall wearing jeans slung low on his hips and nothing else. He grinned and went straight for Callie as if Remy was not clearly sitting at the kitchen table. Callie giggled as he nuzzled her neck and ran his hands straight up under the shirt to grab her ass. Remy gasped and whipped her head around when she received a nice view of parts of her friend she’d only seen one time by accident when they were in high school. The sounds of them kissing and her quiet moan was all the cue Remy needed to know it was clearly time to leave.
