Tell Me a Story

by Dallas Schulze

  Rafferty and Flynn slid out of the booth, both of them with the same thought in mind. To slip quietly and unobtrusively out of the bar. Unfortunately, things were not destined to work out quite that neatly. The fighting in the middle of the room seemed to have a ripple effect. Every man in the place remembered a grudge against the man next to him. Before they'd gone more than three steps from their booth, they were involved in a full-fledged brawl.

  Flynn ducked under a punch thrown at him by a man in a cowboy hat and buried his left fist in the man's overfed belly, coming up with his right fist against the cowboy's chin. The man staggered back and Flynn spun to check Rafferty's progress. Rafferty was holding his own, using his sheer bulk to force his way toward the door and using his fists when he had to.

  A journey that had taken a matter of seconds earlier in the day took closer to ten minutes in the midst of the brawl. Flynn could feel the adrenaline pounding in his temples as he ducked flying fists and flying bottles, always keeping the door in sight. He jumped forward, pulling a man off Rafferty's back and spinning him into the melee around them. Rafferty turned.

  "Thanks."

  "Don't mention it." Rafferty's eyes went past him, widening. Flynn spun around. He caught only a glimpse of a stop-sign red shirt, a black beard and an upraised hand. He threw up his arm. The bottle that would have landed on his head and removed half his face, shattered against his forearm instead. He was aware of pain but there was no time to worry about it now. Rafferty came around him like a freight train. Red-shirt didn't have time to react and Flynn saw the startled look on his face as Rafferty's fist connected with his chin, rocking him back on his heels. A second blow sent him crashing to the floor.

  Rafferty turned, his eyes bright. "You okay?" He had to shout to be heard. Flynn nodded. "Let's get the hell out of here."

  They were only a few feet from the door, and seconds later they ducked through into the relative quiet of the street. Both men collapsed back against the building. Inside the battle raged on, shouts and obscenities mixing with the shatter of breaking glass.

  Flynn rolled his head to look at Rafferty, their eyes meeting in the dusky light. They were both disheveled. Rafferty's lip was split and oozing blood sullenly. His jacket had been left behind in the bar, his shirt was torn and his jeans were covered with beer. Flynn knew he looked at least as bad. He could feel blood soaking the fabric of his shirt. He had no idea how bad the cut was. He only hoped he wasn't bleeding to death. Every muscle in his body ached.

  He grinned, feeling more alive than he'd felt in years. "Hell of a fight."

  Rafferty grinned back, wincing as the gesture tugged at his split lip. "Hell of a fight." He dabbed at the blood on his chin. "How bad is your arm?"

  Flynn shrugged, still grinning. "I have no idea."

  "Ought to check it out." The wail of sirens punctuated his remark and their eyes met again. "We'll check it out later."

  Flynn nodded. "I can't imagine Ann's reaction if I had to call and ask her to bail us out of jail."

  "Think we can make it to the car before the cops get here?"

  "We can try." Flynn pushed himself away from the wall and sprinted the half block to the Ferrari, aware of Rafferty right behind him.They arrived at the car just as the first squad cars came around the corner ahead of them. Flynn skidded to a halt by the passenger door, tossing the keys to Rafferty.

  "You drive. I don't think my arm is up to it."

  Rafferty walked around the end of the car, glancing up as if mildly curious when the police cars hurried by, lights and sirens going. He opened the car door and slid inside, flicking open the lock for Flynn. Flynn slipped into the dark interior and shut the door.

  "Wonder where they're going."

  "I have no idea." Their eyes met and they both grinned like a couple of teenagers. Their friendship was cemented in those moments.

  An hour later, Flynn turned the key in the apartment door. "Ann's not going to be happy."

  "We could lie and tell her we were rescuing someone from a fate worse than death."

  "Just what is a fate worse than death?"

  Rafferty shrugged his huge shoulders. "I don't know."

  Flynn hesitated, the key still in the lock. "She'd never believe it."

  He withdrew the key and opened the door. Inside, a peculiar acrid smell assaulted their noses, and Flynn stopped dead just inside the hall.

  "Becky's cooking again."

  Rafferty had had some experience with his daughter's cooking and he winced, both at the smell and at the thought of what might have caused it. "I wonder what's she's made."

  "I don't want to know."

  "Me neither. Let's go back to the bar. It's probably safer."

  Flynn grinned at Rafferty's suggestion. He pushed the door shut behind them but he didn't take off his coat. The black leather served to conceal the blood that soaked his arm. With luck, he could get into the bathroom and deal with the wound without Becky or Ann being any the wiser. If it needed medical attention, he could call on Rafferty's expertise.

  "Hi, Mr. Flynn. Hi, Rafferty. I'm making a cake." Becky greeted them as they stepped into the living room. Her small form was swathed in an apron, but it hadn't prevented flour from coating every exposed surface. "Did you have fun?"

  "We had a lot of fun, pumpkin." Rafferty came around Flynn and scooped Becky, dropping a kiss on her flour-dusted hair. "What kind of cake are you making?"

  "Spice. Ann says she thinks I may have added too much cinnamon."

  Flynn inhaled, finally identifying the acrid scent as burning spices. He had the feeling that Ann was right. Ann came out of the kitchen, also apron-wrapped. She had flour in her hair and a slightly harried expression on her face, and Flynn thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

  "How was your..." Her eyes, more critical than Becky's, went over the two of them, seeing the bruise starting to show on Rafferty's cheekbone, his swollen lip and torn shirt, Flynn's disheveled hair and clothes and the careful way he held his left arm.

  "What happened?"

  "Nothing. We stopped and had a drink after the game."

  "A drink? That's all?"

  Rafferty looked from Ann to Flynn and took hold of Becky's hand. "How would you like to go to a movie?"

  "Yeah!"

  "Coward." He shrugged without apology in answer to Flynn's quiet accusation.

  "Sorry. I don't think it's good for Becky to see bloodshed and I have a feeling that's what's about to occur."

  "Who's going to blood?"

  "Bleed, sweetheart. Nobody's going to bleed. I was just kidding. Why don't you come help me find a new shirt and we'll go out to the movies."

  "Is Mr. Flynn and Ann going to come, too?"

  Becky's ungrammatical question was the last sentence spoken until she and Rafferty returned a moment later. Rafferty was shrugging into a clean shirt. Becky was carrying a jacket.

  "Okay if I borrow a car?"

  "If it wasn't for Becky, I'd make you walk to the theater. Take the Ferrari. I just hope you can sleep tonight after abandoning a friend in need."

  Rafferty grinned, not in the least disturbed by Flynn's dark warning. "Ann's too nice to do more than minor damage." He looked at Ann's set face. "It really wasn't our fault."

  The door shut, leaving Ann and Flynn in the quiet apartment.

  "What happened?"

  Flynn shrugged, wincing as the gesture shifted his arm. "Nothing much. A little fight broke out in the bar and we got involved in the edges of it while we were trying to get to the door."

  "How badly are you hurt?"

  "Not bad. A few scrapes and bruises. It really wasn't that bad a fight."

  "Then why are you favoring your arm?" She was wearing a pink apron that clashed with the fiery red of her hair, her feet were encased in bright blue socks and he knew exactly how her jeans molded her firm body. She looked absolutely feminine, except for the stern line of her mouth.

  Flynn didn't want to talk about his arm, or the fight. He didn't wa
nt to talk about Rafferty or Becky or the fact that soon they'd be going away and he'd be alone again. He wanted to pull Ann into his arms and kiss the stern expression from her face. He wanted to feel her soften against him.

  "Do you realize this is the first time we've been alone in a month?"

  Awareness flickered through her eyes for a moment before being sternly pushed aside. "Let me see your arm."

  "It's really not that big a deal."

  "Then you won't mind me taking a look at it, will you?"

  To tell the truth, his arm was beginning to throb like the devil. Besides, if he wanted to seduce Ann, it would be nice if he weren't bleeding all over her.

  "All right. I would appreciate it if you took a look at it. To tell the truth, I haven't looked at it since it happened."

  If she was suspicious of his abrupt capitulation, he couldn't tell it from her expression. He led the way into the huge bathroom off his bedroom and then stood there, looking as helpless as possible. All was fair in love and war. He wasn't quite ready to call this one or the other. All he knew was that he wanted Ann in his bed again and, if he could accomplish that by playing on her sympathies, then he wasn't above doing that.

  Ann pulled a wicker stool over next to the sink. "Sit down and we'll see if we can get that coat off."

  He sat down and shrugged the coat off his uninjured arm, letting Ann ease it off the other arm. He didn't have to pretend to a pained silence when the fabric stuck to the wound. In fact, by the time Ann was through fixing him up, he felt worse than he had before she started.

  She took one look at the cut and announced that it would require stitches. Flynn's protests were ignored as she fetched her medical bag and proceeded to scrub the wound with what he would have sworn was pure lye. She stitched the arm without local anesthetic, announcing that he was big enough to handle the pain. Flynn thought of suggesting that he might prefer not to handle the pain, but her disapproval was so palpable that he decided not to risk her ire any further.

  As it turned out, she wielded the needle so carefully that he barely felt the four stitches she put in his arm. He watched her as she worked, her head bent over him, her attention on the job at hand.

  "There. That should do it." She picked up a roll of gauze and began to wind it around his arm. "If you can just stay out of barroom brawls for a while and give it a chance to heal."

  "I'll see what I can do." He lifted his free hand and tugged loose the pins holding her hair.

  "Don't." But her protest came too late. His nimble fingers found the last pin and her hair tumbled onto her shoulders. She tried to ignore him, concentrating on taping the gauze bandage shut. But it was hard to ignore the way his fingers burrowed into her hair, finding the tense muscles at the back of her neck.

  "You're too tense. You should relax more."

  "Flynn..." She tried to back away but his hand tightened, pulling her closer. Seated on the wicker stool, his eyes were just level with hers, but she didn't want to meet his eyes. "Let me go."

  "Look at me." He was so close that his breath stirred the hair that curled against her temples. Slowly, her eyes came up to meet his and she felt her knees weaken. It wasn't fair. How could his eyes be so blue, so full of need?

  "Flynn..." He stilled her whispered protest with a quick kiss, stealing away her voice.

  "Stay with me tonight."

  "I can't. I..." He kissed her again and she forgot what she'd planned to say.

  "Stay with me. I just want to hold you."

  She started to shake her head but his mouth stopped the movement. The kiss was longer this time. His mouth molded hers, stealing not only her breath, but the ability to think.

  "Please, Ann. I want you with me tonight."

  "Flynn..." She wasn't quite sure how they'd gotten from the bathroom to the bedroom. Sometime during that drugging kiss, he must have eased her in here. She didn't remember walking but he certainly hadn't carried her. He kissed her again, his fingers untying the frilly apron.

  "We can just sleep. I won't push you into anything more." He tugged the apron off and his attention moved to the buttons on her cotton shirt. For a man with full use of only one hand, he didn't seem to be having any trouble getting her clothes off.

  Before Ann could marshall her thoughts, she was standing in front of him clad in a lacy camisole and tap pants, not quite sure how she'd come to be there. He reached around her to turn down the covers on the bed.

  She hesitated, aware that this was a crossroads in some way that she couldn't quite define. Once in that bed, she would have taken a step toward... Toward what? She wasn't sure, but she knew it would change her life.

  Flynn unsnapped his jeans and then waited. He could feel Ann's hesitation and he held his breath. He wouldn't pressure her but, if she walked away now, he felt as if something inside him would die. She looked up at him, her eyes bright green with questions he couldn't read, and then she turned and slid onto the bed.

  He released his breath in a rush, unzipping his jeans and slipping them off. He left his briefs on as he climbed into bed beside her. He'd said that he just wanted to hold her and that was all he'd ask of her.

  He reached out, pulling her close. Ann snuggled against his side, her small body seeming made to fit his, her head resting on his shoulder. Flynn reached up to shut out the light, plunging the room into darkness.

  He rested his cheek against her hair, feeling complete for the first time in a very long time.

  Chapter 11

  Flynn came awake slowly, aware of feeling completely rested. He'd slept heavily but he didn't feel groggy. He didn't have to open his eyes to know the source of his contentment. Ann was snuggled against his side, one arm thrown over his chest, one leg nestled intimately across his thighs.

  He kissed her forehead, brushing aside a bright curl to find the soft skin beneath. She stirred, tipping her head back. He didn't know if the invitation was deliberate or not, but he wasn't going to turn it down. He kissed his way down her face, planting soft kisses at the corners of her eyes, on the tip of her nose, on the delicate skin just under her jaw.

  She stirred again and he knew she was awake. His lips teased the corners of her mouth and her lips parted, inviting him. His mouth settled over hers. It was a sleepy kiss, warm with passion that didn't need to be rushed.

  Flynn's hand slid up her side, beneath the hem of her camisole, finding sleep-warmed skin that heated to his touch. Ann moaned against his mouth as his hand cupped her breast, testing its weight, finding the soft peak that hardened with the stroke of his thumb.

  Still without speaking, Flynn shifted her until she lay on top of him, her breasts pressed against his chest with only the thin silk between them, her thighs lying between his. He brought his knees up, cradling her.

  His hands burrowed into the thickness of her hair, pulling her face to his. The sleepy passion took on an edge of urgency. The kiss was a little harder, a little more demanding, and Ann met him with demands of her own.

  His hands tugged impatiently at the camisole and she lifted herself so that he could tug the garment over her head. His hands caught her around the rib cage, lifting her higher, sliding her up his body. He heard her pleasure as his mouth closed around her nipple, stroking the pale pink tip to hardness. He held her helpless, suspended in his hands while he took his pleasure of her. He took his time, painting each breast with tongue strokes, covering every inch of soft flesh, feeling her desire in his hands.

  He lowered her slowly, reluctant to give up the tender territory he'd conquered but needing the taste of her mouth. The kiss was explosive, the impact of it rolling through both of them. Suddenly, all the patience was gone. His hands fought the silk tap pants, hearing the fine silk tear but not caring. All that mattered was that her skin be bare to his touch. He couldn't stand anything that kept him away from her.

  She struggled with the stretchy fabric of his briefs, her breath leaving her in a frustrated sigh when her hands couldn't master the task. Flynn brushed her hands
aside and suddenly there was nothing between them. He rolled, putting her beneath him. Her legs parted, cradling him. His mouth caught hers, his tongue plunged inside at the same moment that he sheathed his aching hardness in the damp warmth of her body.

  Flynn swallowed the keening moan that left her throat. The emptiness was filled, but the hunger was still there. He moved, feeling her body shift to accommodate his, tasting the response she gave so willingly.

  He wanted to drag the moment out forever. But the need was too strong, the hunger too long denied. Ann shivered beneath him, her body contracting around him, and Flynn groaned, following her to the culmination of their passionate love.

  Not a word had been spoken, but they communicated as fully as was humanly possible.

  ❧

  Rafferty woke suddenly, aware that he was no longer alone. He was lying on his stomach, his face near the edge of the bed. He opened his eyes to find Becky seated on the floor next to the bed. She was still in her pajamas. Clutched in her arms was the tattered brown giraffe he'd given her for her second birthday. Her eyes were wide and solemn on his face.

  "Good morning." He blinked, clearing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes. He rolled onto his back and pulled himself up until he could lean against the headboard. A glance at the clock told him it was barely six o'clock.

  "You're up early. Did you have a bad dream?"

  "No." She continued to stare at him and Rafferty's eyes narrowed, studying the intent expression on her face.

  "What is it, Becky? Is something bothering you?"

  "Are you my daddy?" The question was so totally unexpected that Rafferty had a moment of wondering if he was still asleep and dreaming this confrontation. But, looking at Becky's serious little face, he knew this was no dream.

  "Would you like it if I was your daddy?"

  She shrugged, her eyes dropping from his face. Her fingers twisted an ear on the battered stuffed toy. "I don't know. I guess it would be okay." She stopped but Rafferty didn't say anything. He knew there was more.