"You forgot to add terrorizing a hapless realtor and running off a Children's Aid worker."
"Don't you sass me, young lady! I raised you better than that."
"Did you? Hmm.” Lily set her cup down. “All right, let's get to it, shall we? Ryan Kincaid, the man I am in love with, does ride a motorcycle. He is not, however, a member of any biker gang, outlaw or otherwise. I did not threaten my children. I challenged them. Not that they are children, just acting like them from time to time, no thanks to you. As for Reginald—well, he's a big boy and can take care of himself."
Then she set her tea down, not even irritated that her mother appeared to be reading the paper and ignoring her.
"I know you were adopted, Mother. I found your diary, and Grandmother's journal. I know about your birth family. I realize that must have been very upsetting for you, to learn that. And to think—"
"You know nothing! Nothing!"
Oh, she had her mother's attention now, all right. Eloise had thrown down the paper and surged to her feet.
"I had to live with dirt farmers! Dirt farmers, as if I had been just a common whore's cast-off mistake. I deserved better things than growing up poor. My birthright should have been a mansion in Rosedale, not a dilapidated shack out in the sticks! If that woman hadn't been so desperate for a child, for a daughter, my life would have been one of status and privilege!"
Shocked at the depth of her mother's bitterness, Lily couldn't speak for a long moment. She watched as her mother turned her back, looked out the window toward the lake.
"I went there. To that house on Bayview Avenue. When I finally put that farm behind me, I went to my family. My real family. They denied me. A picture hung over the mantel, a picture of my mother. My real mother. And she looked just like me. But they said it wasn't true. “You're no relation of ours,” they said. And I knew who to blame. She took me, and it was her fault they didn't want me anymore."
In those words, Lily heard the pain of a disillusioned child. All the hurt she herself had felt all these years paled in comparison.
"You have to know that's not true. Nowadays, single women have children, and there's no taint, no scandal. But in those days, Mother, for a young woman to get pregnant outside of marriage—especially for a young woman of society to do so—meant a terrible scandal. The Westerlys never would have kept you. Never. And it had nothing at all to do with you, and everything to do with their own priorities. If Grandmother hadn't adopted you, either someone else would have, or most likely, you would have been placed in an orphanage. You would have grown up bearing the label ‘illegitimate.’ That's just the way things happened in those days. You have to know that's the truth."
Her mother didn't say a word, but the sound of her ragged breathing said it all. Lily knew she listened, but had no idea if her words would make any difference.
"You married my father. He gave you a good life."
Her mother whirled around, her face and tone filled with contempt. “He was a foolish man, content to be Vice President of his uncle's company. He could have been President. He could have worked harder—worked smarter. But he wanted to be a family man, not a company man. He thought spending time with you more important than raising our status in the community."
Lily felt as if her heart would pound out of her chest. Epiphanies, she thought almost absently, were funny things. She'd experienced a few in her life, and always before they had been during quiet moments of introspection and reflection. This was the first time she'd had one in the middle of an emotional confrontation with her mother. She'd come here this morning, she realized suddenly, still hoping for an apology, some words from her mother that would heal old wounds. And that, she understood at last, wasn't going to happen. Not now, and likely, not ever. Only she could perform the magic of healing her own wounds.
As a sense of peace descended on her, she turned her attention back to her mother. “He was right. Mother ... I don't know what to say to you. For as long as I can remember, you have accused me, over and over, of being selfish, and of blaming everyone else for my own failings. And now I finally see the truth. That's not me. It has never been me. It's you."
"How dare you!"
Her mother's contempt had morphed to fury. Lily couldn't stop now. “Oh, I dare. Not to hurt you, Mother. Despite everything, I don't want to hurt you. But the truth is, it's you who've been selfish, seeing only what you wanted for yourself out of life, never looking to the needs of your husband, or your child. Spurning and hurting your parents and your brother, because they'd dared to love you. You blame your unhappiness on Grandmother, for adopting you, on Father for not being rich enough. But your unhappiness is only your fault. I feel so sorry for you. Because you could have chosen to be happy, if you had wanted to. All those years spent in bitterness and anger, when they could have been years overflowing with blessings and joy. Nobody else's fault, Mother, and no one to blame, but yourself."
* * * *
"You look good."
"I feel good."
He'd been a little worried that morning when Lily had kissed him goodbye and headed off on her own to see her mother. He didn't care if waiting for her right here in her driveway showed how worried he had been. But looking at her now, he could see a lightness of spirit that hadn't been there just a few hours before.
"So ... what happened?” When she began to walk toward the grassy backyard and the pool, he walked beside her.
"I let it go. It was never my mother who had to change. Well—she does, but only if she wants to be happy, and a part of my family. I had to change. I had to accept that she is as she is, and that how she behaved all those years had nothing to do with me. And I had to forgive her, and let it go."
Ryan looked at her for a long moment, his heart so full of love and pride that he couldn't speak at first. Finally, he managed, “You're one hell of a woman, Lily Martin."
"Yes, I am, aren't I?"
When she turned to him, he opened his arms, snuggled her close. “I love you, Lily."
"Your love is my miracle."
Ryan felt his face coloring, and in sheer defense, swooped in and stole a kiss. “You're going to make me blush."
"I am making you blush. But it's the truth. Before you rode into my life on that monster Harley, I was a self-involved wimp. I had no spine, no goals, and no self-respect. You took off your helmet and took me off guard. You helped me find my feminine power. And because you did, because you loved me, everything changed for me. That's what you are to me. Everything."
"There's that word again."
Ryan loved Lily's laughter. He loved it even more when she rose up and touched her lips to his. Her kiss, warm and a little timid, intoxicated him. He took the kiss deeper, his arms holding her close, his hands roaming her back, hungry to touch her.
"No. This time let me. Let me show you,” she whispered the plea breathlessly. Ryan submitted.
Women had undressed him before, but never with the reverence Lily put in her touch. Each button opened revealed more flesh that she kissed and caressed. The tenderness, the love she poured over him nearly brought him to his knees. Her nails scraped lightly over his nipples and he shivered. His penis hardened in response to the promise of her lips, tongue, and hands. His shirt fell to the grass, and hers followed, cast off with an impatient gesture. She ditched her bra and then rubbed those wonderful breasts of hers against his chest.
"Darling ... we're outside and it's the middle of the morning,” he felt compelled to remind her. All the other times he'd taken her outside, she'd been careful to be discreet, just in case. She showed no discretion this time. They stood, unsheltered, for all to see.
"I don't care. I'm having you, here and now."
* * * *
Lily didn't care that they stood outside in broad daylight. She didn't care if anyone saw them, or not. She needed to show this wonderful man how much she loved him, how much she loved making love with him.
His chest and shoulders and arms, muscled and strong, never
failed to entice her. She felt powerful that she could make him shiver, that her mouth on his nipple, the nip of her teeth could weaken him. Needing more than anything to give, she opened his pants and dropped to her knees.
His cock was magnificent, hard, quivering at the touch of her hand. She craved the essence of him. In this act of love, he had been the first, and she rejoiced in the sheer joy of that. She'd become addicted so quickly to the taste of him, so that when she took him into her mouth, her arousal climbed, every part of her melted in pleasure. The feel of his hands in her hair as he bent into her, as he accepted her gift, thrilled her. And when she had driven him to lose control, when he pushed her onto the grass, shoved her skirt and panties out of the way and plunged into her, she knew her power to be complete.
His mouth plundered hers, and she gave, rising up, reversing their positions. With impatient hands, she pulled off the rest of her clothes, and straddled him, initiating a slow, delicious ride. She arched her back, arms spread out. She couldn't hold back, couldn't stop the waves of orgasm from overwhelming her, and her hands, reaching skyward, grasped at air, proclaiming her victory. Never again would she feel inadequate, never again would she doubt herself, or her appeal.
She was woman, powerful, complete. She had bloomed.
Epilogue
Fifteen months later
On the breeze she could smell something rich and fragrant, as if someone had sprayed a cloud of perfume nearby. The hum of voices seemed a blur in the distance, and with her eyes closed, floating in that half-asleep state, an anchor to reality. Over and above and around everything else, the constant pulse of the ocean lulled and soothed.
This, Lily's first trip to the Caribbean, wouldn't be her last. Movement beside her had her turning her head. Firm masculine lips met hers, and Lily lost herself in the kiss.
"Miss me?"
Lily smiled. She didn't think he'd been gone from the chaise next to hers for more than a few minutes. Affecting a blasé tone, she said, “Oh, did you go somewhere?"
"Smart ass."
"I am. Where did you go, by the way?” She asked the question, but had a sneaking suspicion she knew where he had been and what he had been doing.
"Just went back to the room for a moment. Wanted to see if we had any phone messages."
Lily opened her eyes, and sat up in the chaise. Picking up the fresh piña colada Ryan had brought her, she took a long, appreciative sip. Directly in front of her just off the coast, a catamaran raced with the wind. They'd taken a sail on one the day before. Another first for her that belonged to the man beside her. To the left, the resort's enormous pool beckoned her. Her bathing suit had dried. Time to get it wet again.
"I'm sure everything is fine back home. I never knew you could be such a worrier."
"How much do we know about this guy that Alice is moving in with? Not very much. Okay, they've been dating for nearly a year, but still. I don't like him."
"You liked him fine last month."
"Last month, they weren't living together."
"He's a good guy, Ryan. You know it. I know it. Besides, you know Sheila and John will keep an eye out. But Alice is old enough to make her own choices."
"I know. It's good that Alice and Sheila are so close. Gives me some peace of mind. That Sheila's got a damn good head on her shoulders."
Lily's life was full.
She volunteered with the Literacy Council and spent a couple of evenings a week helping to teach adults to read. Encouraged by Ryan, she had also enrolled in some university courses. She had a love of history, and though she felt no burning need to pursue a degree, the courses she took fascinated her. Afraid she'd be the oldest person in her class, Lily discovered one of her classmates was a seventy-five-year-old grandmother with ten grandchildren. She'd also begun touring yard sales and flea markets, looking for pieces of furniture she could make over. One piece, a beautiful cherry coffee table, now sat in her living room along with the secretary desk.
But Lily's greatest pleasure—aside from her relationship with Ryan—had become her relationships with her children.
John had finally come around, and accepted Lily's challenge. When he'd been working part time for two months and moved into his own apartment, he'd begun seeing Sheila again.
Lily's relationship with both her children had improved dramatically over the last year. That relationship had expanded to include Ryan. Interesting, she mused, how protective he'd become of Alice, and how supportive he was of John. Ryan proved a good influence on her son. Several times, she'd seen the two of them alone together, in deep conversation.
If any sadness clouded her life, it was that her mother had not yet softened her attitude. Lily called the woman at least once a month, keeping the lines of communication open. Those conversations, stilted and difficult, challenged Lily's optimism. But with her grandchildren, Eloise remained more open and receptive.
Lily had come to accept the painful truth that she and her mother would likely never be close. But she knew she'd done all she could in that regard, and felt no guilt.
"The phone bills are going to be really expensive if you do this next year when we're in Australia."
She smiled when Ryan chuckled and lay back against the chaise. When he took her hand in his, their fingers laced.
"Well, that will be next year. Maybe by then, she'll have tired of him, and he'll be history."
"Maybe she'll be pregnant."
"Don't say that!"
Lily laughed, and squeezed Ryan's hand when he sighed. “Yeah, I admit it. I never thought that I'd be so ... protective, either."
"I think it's sweet."
"You do?"
"Yes, I do."
"You know what I think would be sweet?"
"No, what?"
"If our trip to Australia in January doubled as our honeymoon. Why don't we get married, sweetheart?"
Lily's gaze locked with his. The love she saw for her in his eyes filled her heart and heated her blood.
"Yeah,” Lily replied, her heart overflowing, “Why don't we?"
LILY IN BLOOM
THE END
WWW.MORGANASHBURY.COM
AUTHOR'S BIO
* * * *
* * * *
Morgan has been a writer since she was first able to pick up a pen. In the beginning, it was a hobby, a way to create a world of her own, and who could resist that? Then as she grew, life got in the way, as life often does. She got married and had children, and worked in the field of accounting, for that was the practical thing to do. And all the time she was being practical, she would squirrel herself away on quiet Sunday afternoons and write.
Most children are raised knowing the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule. Morgan's children also learned the Paper Rule: thou shalt not throw out any paper that hast thy mother's words upon it.
Believing in tradition, Morgan ensured that her children's children learned this rule, too.
Life threw Morgan a curve when, in 2002, she underwent emergency triple by-pass surgery. Second chances are to be cherished, and Morgan decided to use hers to do what she'd always dreamed of doing: writing full time.
Morgan has always loved writing romance. When asked why, she says, “I can't help it. I've lived, I've loved, I've laughed, I've cried. And, I took notes!"
Morgan lives with a cat that has an attitude, a dog that has no dignity, and her husband of thirty-four years.
Come by and visit Morgan at www.morganashbury.com.
Also by Morgan Ashbury
When librarian Lesley Farmer meets builder Charlene McKinley, it's hot at first sight. Pheromones flood common sense despite the fact that each is so obviously not the other's type. He prefers women who are sophisticated, genteel, and ultra-feminine. She prefers men who are buff and don't wear bowties. But when hormones take over, the two ravished and bemused opposites are left to see what they can build together.
Through a series of assumptions and misconceptions, it seems as if the unlikely pair will never ge
t together. Maybe all they really shared was a one-night stand after all. Yet neither can stop thinking about the other. When fate puts them together one more time, they say to hell with dating and head straight to bed.
But can home-and-hearth-seeking Lesley convince commitment-shy Charlie that building a life together is inevitable because they are made for each other?
Sensuality Rating: SCORCHING
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Comedy
Length: Novel (47,000 words)
REVIEWS for Made for Each Other
5 Hearts: “What an addictive story! To say that Lesley Farmer and Charlie McKinley were polar opposites would be like comparing the Grand Canyon to a hole! Dr. Lesley Farmer was a university Director of Library Services; Charlie McKinley was a building contractor with four brothers; she was the only one without a formal higher education, but the family knew she was actually the smartest member. The couple met early one morning when Lesley needed someone to come to his aid after a huge tree which was formerly in his backyard ended up in his upstairs bedroom. Incredibly, that was only part of their problem; their sexual attraction to each other was indescribable and such a shock to them!
That very afternoon, after he showed up at Charlie's office to pick up her quote, Lesley and she engaged in an awesome sexual encounter! Neither was the type to have an affair with someone unknown; they decided they needed to go back, have a couple of dates, and get to know each other. He planned one-to a wrestling match; she planned the other-to an upscale (little food) restaurant! Both dates were catastrophic, but the sex just kept getting better! Where, exactly, could their crazy, contradictory relationship go from here?
Ms. Morgan Ashbury has written a phenomenal story with a unique plot which, I predict, will be an award winner. Her characters are strong: both Lesley and Charlie have strong foundational relationships with others; it is just commitment that is hard to accept! Ms. Ashbury has an extensive ability to bring their likenesses to light without rambling. There is so much substance in this novel that it would be very easy to bog down in wordiness; it would be simple to lose readers. However, after reading this book, I am delighted that she could share so much information in this superb manner.
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