by Sharon Sala
It was, to Bowie, tragic that she thought she had to ask when the sight of her still made his heart race.
“You will always be beautiful to me,” he said, and swung her up into his arms.
He carried her back through the house and into her room, kicking the door shut behind him. The moment he put her down she began to strip.
He came out of his clothes erect and aching, and took a condom out of his wallet. The last thing she needed was to get pregnant before she got well. Wind was blowing rain against the windows as he slid into bed beside her. He heard her sigh as she put her arms around his neck.
“Oh, Bowie, please, tell me I’m not dreaming.”
He brushed a kiss across her lips, then ran the back of his finger against her cheek.
“Not a dream. Just a beautiful reality for both of us, and I am so damned scared I’m going to hurt you, I can’t think.”
“The pain of the last seven years nearly killed me. I want to feel whole again. I want to remember what it’s like to feel joy.”
He groaned beneath his breath as he took her in his arms. This he could give her, knowing full well it would be just as healing for him.
Thunder rolled above them as he centered his mouth on her lips. Holding her in his arms like this wiped out the pain of believing she didn’t love him, easing the loneliness of the past seven years and giving him something he’d thought he would never have: a family with the only woman he had ever loved.
Their kisses quickly awakened an urgent need for more. Her skin was so smooth and soft, just as he remembered, and when he cupped her breast, the moan that came up her throat vibrated within him.
It was joy.
Talia couldn’t contain her elation. She kept stroking his face, then his arms, across the back of his shoulders, marveling at how wide they’d become. He’d left her as a teenage boy and come back a man. When he slid a knee between her legs, she shifted to let him in, then exhaled slowly as the hard length of him filled her.
Bowie’s blood was racing. He wanted her, all of her—and now—but he paused, giving her time to adjust.
Then she wrapped her legs around his waist and whispered in his ear, “Love me, Bowie. Love me like you used to.”
And so he did.
All the emotional pain they had been suffering slowly turned into passion. The more time that passed, the hotter the heat grew within them. The act became a desperate chase for the climax that stayed just out of reach.
Talia had lost all consciousness of self and was focused on that blood rush with every sense she possessed. When the climax happened, it came between one breath and the next, rolling through her in waves, and leaving her weak and spent for the aftershocks that followed.
The moment Bowie felt her muscles contracting around him, he let go, riding out the shattering spasms of release that followed. Just before he lost the ability to think, he rolled onto his back to keep from crushing her and took her with him. They savored the aftermath in silence, with Talia stretched out on Bowie’s chest and his arms holding her gently in place.
Finally, she rose up enough to look at him and smiled. This was just as she had remembered him. Dark hair framing that strong, beautiful face and a look of love in his eyes.
“Are you okay, baby?” Bowie asked.
“So happy,” she said softly, then frowned as her cell phone rang. She checked the caller ID and rolled off him to answer.
He could tell by her one-sided conversation that she was setting up a time for the hospital bed to be removed from her house. Life had intruded.
He rolled out of bed and went across the hall to the bathroom. When he came out she was already getting dressed. He grabbed his clothes and started putting them back on.
“They’re going to pick the bed up in the morning, around ten,” she said, and then glanced toward the window. Even though the shades and curtains were pulled, she could hear the rain still blowing against the house.
“I told Mama I was staying with you tonight,” Bowie said.
Talia’s heart skipped. It was wonderful news, but she felt guilty for keeping him away from his family in the midst of all their troubles.
“Is it okay? I mean, don’t they need you?”
Bowie smiled, and combed the unruly strands of her hair away from her face,
“My three able brothers and their wives and a bunch of relatives are on hand. Mama said Samuel and Bella are spending the night, so, no, she doesn’t need me tonight. And even in the middle of her grief, like me, she was worried about you. I’ll go home in the morning. I would ask you to go with me, but I know you have things to do here, funeral arrangements to make.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Talia said. “Everything was decided months ago, but I still need to stay here, and your mother doesn’t need guests when she’s grieving.”
“The offer stays open,” Bowie said, as he finger-combed his hair and fastened it back at the nape of his neck. “I’m getting hungry. How about you?” he asked.
“A little,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of groceries in the house, but we could make omelets.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said, then leaned down and kissed the smile on her face. “You’re perfect, too.”
Talia was still smiling as she led the way to the kitchen.
* * *
Dinner at the mansion alternated between sardonic discourse and silence. The storm was making more noise than they were. When a nearby flash of lightning made their lights flicker, Justin cursed.
“Oh, hell, yes. Let’s add to the mood by winding up in total darkness.”
Nita glanced at her younger brother.
“Who tied your tail in a knot today?”
Justin looked up and then at the family seated around the table—everyone except Jack. Acknowledging his presence, even for propriety’s sake, wasn’t happening. He wasn’t going to let go of being bitch-slapped.
“All of you. None of you. One of you. I am so weary of having the police on our ass from sunup to sundown that I can’t think. If my sister wasn’t such a royal bitch, this wouldn’t be happening.”
“No, if your sister’s husband hadn’t lived long enough to point a finger at his killer, this wouldn’t be happening,” Nita snapped. “And that means the killer is the one who fucked up, and I’m tired of hearing you whine. Someone at this table caused this. Not Leigh. Not Stanton. Not the cops. One of us,” Nita said, and then picked up her spoon and tapped it against her water glass until the maid came in. “We’re ready for the dessert course,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said, and hurried out of the dining room.
The whole family stared as one at Nita.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you ever have serious thoughts?” Jack asked.
“I’m serious about dessert,” Nita snapped, and then clinked her spoon against the water glass one more time purely for the sake of aggravating him.
Fiona rolled her eyes.
Blake ignored her.
The lights flickered.
Justin glared up at the chandelier.
The maid returned with the pastry cart.
“Pecan pie with bourbon-infused chantilly cream, sir,” she said, and served Jack first.
Jack nodded.
“Looks good. My compliments to the chef tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, then moved around the table, serving the others. She followed up the pie with a carafe of freshly brewed coffee and filled their cups before leaving the room.
“This is really good,” Charles said, as he dug in with enjoyment.
“Indeed,” Jack said, eyeing their youngest family member. “So how did you feel being questioned by the police this morning?”
Charles glanced up from his pie. “Who? Me?�
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Jack nodded.
“It was strange, for sure,” Charles said.
“Did any of the questions upset you?” Jack asked.
Charles chewed and swallowed. “No, sir.”
Justin slapped the table. “Why don’t you just spit it out, Uncle Jack? You want to know what each of us said, because you’re mad that the cops showed up at the lake house, right?”
Jack glared. Justin was the nephew who always picked at the scabs this family had until they bled. Every damn time. But now that they knew what he was getting at, he asked point-blank, “So how did they know the guns and motorcycle were out there? I didn’t even know we owned a motorcycle.”
Blake sighed.
“They’re the police. They research shit, Uncle Jack. Since nothing was here, they searched the next place we owned. It’s simple.”
Nita poured two scoops of sugar into her coffee and stirred with enough vigor that it sloshed on to her saucer.
Jack’s eyes narrowed when he saw her fingers shaking.
“What did you tell them, Nita?”
She shrugged and took another bite of pie without looking at him.
Now Jack was the one slapping the table, hard enough that the dishes rattled. “It was you who did it, wasn’t it?” he shouted.
“Who did what?” Nita asked. “You told us to play it cool. You told us to comply without anger. I complied.”
Charles was now completely silent, listening as his uncle began harassing his aunt. Finally he stood up and then clinked his spoon against his water glass.
“Excuse me,” he said, as everyone turned to look at him.
“They interviewed me last. I don’t know what everyone else said before they got to me. They already knew we owned them, remember? I assumed since the killer rode a motorcyle and the family owned one, and Youngblood wrote the name Wayne... Obviously the only thing the cops didn’t know was where they were kept.”
Jack’s glare darkened, and the tone of his voice turned ugly, almost threatening, when he asked, “What did you tell them, boy?”
“That there were guns in a gun case at the lake house. I didn’t know about any motorcycle or I would have been riding it.”
Nita shoved her coffee aside and stood up, too.
“I told them about the motorcycle when I was asked where it was, because I don’t want to be a part of this anymore. I am ashamed that Leigh’s husband is dead because of us, and probably because we continue to feel the need to be richer than we already are. And don’t treat me like this again, Mad Jack Wayne. You aren’t lily-white, and we both know it.”
She walked out of the dining room with her head up and her backside swinging.
Fiona sighed. “Excuse me,” she said, and followed her sister.
Charles glanced at his dad.
“Sorry if I did something wrong. This is the first time I’ve gotten enough insight into this family to realize that I should always lie. I thought I was supposed to tell the truth.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Blake said. “Don’t worry about it again, okay?”
Charles shrugged, then left, as well.
Justin picked up his fork and took another bite of dessert.
“Damn good pie,” he said, chewing as he spoke.
Blake ignored his younger brother just as he’d done ever since Justin learned to walk.
“Uncle Jack, you’re only making a bad situation worse. You’re successfully dividing this family in a way no one has ever done before.”
“Except Leigh,” Justin said, and took another bite of pie.
“Shut up, Justin. As a favor to me,” Blake muttered.
Jack glared at both of them.
“Which one of you did it?” he asked.
Blake shook his head and left the room.
Justin just kept eating pie.
Jack knew his nephew would probably never forgive him for the slap-down, and while a part of him didn’t give a damn, he regretted it just the same.
“Look, Justin, we need—”
Justin dropped his fork and walked out, still chewing the last bite of his dessert.
Jack was, for one of the few times in his life, speechless.
* * *
An hour had passed since the dessert fiasco. The killer was tired of the turmoil within the family, but staying under the radar was simple. Just act indignant along with everyone else.
So the cops had the rifle. So they had the motorcycle. So what. No matter what fingerprints or DNA they found, it would never be conclusive evidence against one person. Not when there were multiple owners and easy access.
* * *
Nita was in her favorite pink silk pajamas. Her makeup was off, and she’d already pinned her hair up for the night when her phone rang. She glanced at caller ID and then grabbed it.
“Hello, my darling. How sweet of you to call,” she cooed.
Andrew fell right into his “adoration of Nita” tone.
“I’ve been missing my girl,” he said. “I kind of thought you would call me. Have I hurt your feelings in any way?”
Nita wiggled with delight. Finally someone focusing on her in a special way, and even if it was bought and paid for, he was good at it.
“You have not, you silly thing. It’s just been a day of hell. The county constable was here this morning, interviewing everyone about that nasty murder thing.”
“I can only imagine,” Andrew said. “What you need is a little loving from a good man. I’d readily volunteer—unless you have a better one waiting in the wings?”
Nita moaned beneath her breath.
“No, no, there’s no one in my life but you, and I do need you. I would thoroughly love a session with you and your big, hard dick.”
Andrew chuckled. He did enjoy a satisfied customer.
“Do you want me to pick you up?” he asked.
Nita sighed. “I’m already undressed and in bed,” she said.
Andrew growled softly in her ear.
“Then you’re ready. Turn out the lights and lock your door. I’ll talk you through the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had.”
Nita moaned.
Andrew smiled.
Success, and he didn’t even have to break a sweat.
Twelve
The thunderstorm passed before morning, and Bowie slept all the way through it with Talia in his arms. Although the passion between them had him longing to make love all night, she was fragile in so many ways that all he could bring himself to do was hold her.
Waking up beside her was a wonderful glimpse of their future. He was already planning how to change his job for the oil company so he didn’t have to work the offshore platforms anymore. No way could he stand being on-site for weeks at a time. Whatever it took to be able to go home to her each night would be worth it. They’d lost time, but thank God they hadn’t lost each other.
After a quick breakfast together, he was already regretting he couldn’t stay, but he had to go home and help there, too. Talia followed him out onto the front porch and then shamelessly threw herself into his arms to say goodbye.
Bowie laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you, sweetheart?”
She shook her head.
“Once I let you leave my life without a word. That will never happen again. Come back to me, love, when you can.”
He cupped her cheeks as he brushed a kiss across her lips.
“Oh, I have to come back. I’m leaving my heart with you.” Then gave her one last hug before leaving.
Talia watched him back out of the drive, then went inside to wait for the people to come pick up the hospital bed. While she was waiting, the funeral home call
ed to tell her that her father’s body was ready for a last viewing. Too many things happening at once.
* * *
Justin Wayne was on his way to the helipad, thinking about what Blake had asked him to do. The investors were going to fly over the area one last time to see if they could find a suitable substitute for the resort location. If they couldn’t settle on anything here, they would scrap the resort altogether and take their project to the state that had been their second choice. Justin knew what that would mean to the family. If the developers took the resort out of state, the Waynes would be the proud owners of a whole lot of useless land on a mountain and nothing more.
His mind was on the job until he turned down the street that would take him to the helipad. He noticed a couple kissing on a front porch. When it dawned on him that the man was the same one who’d stood outside their gates challenging him, he nearly hit the brakes. What stopped him was the realization that the man was even bigger than he’d thought. He was suddenly glad Fiona and Nita had stopped him from making a fool of himself. Still, the urge to take the man down was strong, and ways to make that happen floated through the back of his mind all day.
* * *
Once Bowie got home, his job became keeping Jesse busy so that Leigh could work in peace in the garden.
She’d been hoeing these green beans when Stanton was murdered, and now it was time to pick them again. Later they would all sit out on the porch and break the beans so she could can them. Stanton was gone, but they were not, and life’s needs went on. She finished about an hour before noon and left the green beans inside the utility room when she went inside to start the midday meal. It passed in relative quiet once Jesse settled down to eat. They were just finishing when they heard a car coming up the driveway.
“Someone’s here!” Jesse cried, and bolted from the table.
Leigh sighed.
“Go run him down for me, will you, son? I want to gather up the dirty dishes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bowie said, and left the kitchen.
Jesse was already outside on the porch, but when Bowie came out, Jesse backed up against him.
“I don’t know this man,” Jesse said.
