by Vivien Vale
“Margot.” Boone’s voice is almost a whisper.
My heart beats a little faster.
“You know…” he starts and stops again. This is a Boone I’ve not seen before. “Earlier…what happened…I mean…” he stops.
I frown.
I know what he wants to talk about. My eyes find Amelia again. She’s edging closer to us.
“I…what I mean…”
This time, I put my finger in front of his lips.
“Not now,” I whisper. “Now is not the time.”
I motion my head in the direction of Amelia and Crockett.
“Ah. Right. Little ears.” He grins in understanding and nods. Then he gets all serious again. “I think we need to be careful in more ways than just that, though. I don’t know what’s going on out here…but things are starting to feel fishy, don’t you think?”
“Careful how?” I ask.
“To be safe, I’m going to stay up all night and make sure nothing happens to you or Amelia.”
My eyes scan the horizon. The world looks so peaceful up here. There’s nothing but mountains, valleys, lakes, and more mountains.
It seems unlikely that someone bad was hiding up here. The more I think about it, the more I lean toward thinking Amelia was making up a story about a bad man for some unknown reason.
“No harm in being extra careful, Margot. Better safe than sorry, don’t you agree?”
The words send a chill down my spine.
I nod and stare at Amelia. I’m reminded how close I came the other day to losing my precious girl. If anything happened to her, I don’t think I’ll survive.
“You’re right,” I mumble and look at Boone. “It pays to be extra careful. Better safe than sorry,” I repeat and take a deep breath.
Chapter 25
Boone
It’s going to be a long night.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I check the fireplace. It’s time to build it again.
Amelia and Margot headed to bed a little over an hour ago.
By the time we got back from berry picking and made dinner, Amelia’s eyes were significantly drooping. Her chatter had slowed down, and she couldn’t hide that she desperately needed to go to bed.
I kept my eyes peeled, constantly looking for anything—footprints, a broken branch, or any mark that would indicate that someone had breached the cabin’s perimeter.
So far, I haven’t found a fucking thing.
Maybe I should listen to Margot who seems to be inclined to believe that it was all a product of Amelia’s vivid imagination.
After all, she does know her better than I do.
Still, it bugs me a lot, even though it makes no sense to dwell in the past.
Haven’t I been applying that principle to so many aspects of my life lately?
It’s bad enough when I accidentally dwell upon my past.
There are triggers, memories that suddenly flood my mind. I fucking hate dealing with it.
I certainly don’t intend to intentionally think about it.
Oh sure, I’ve been told to go to a fucking shrink. But seeing a therapist means talking about your problems in hopes of finding solutions.
I’m not much of a talker.
Needless to say, that obviously won’t work for me.
The period of time when I regularly visited a psychologist was the biggest living hell of my entire life.
That whole therapy experience was worse than when it happened.
It was worse than the weeks after, as I attended all the funerals.
Worse than the months after that, when all the fucking well-intentioned family and friends dropped by to visit.
I knew they were trying to make me feel better, but it only made me feel uncomfortable. And made me remember.
That’s why I really feel that this is the best place for me—outside, with nature and just thinking about what needs to be done right now.
It’s best to focus on the present.
And that’s what I’m going to do.
Margot has always been one of the pleasant, safe memories to dwell on, one of my happiest daydreams.
Now, with her here, I just want to make more pleasant memories.
It would be easy to hold a grudge, to hate her for keeping the secret of my daughter from me.
But I know her family is just as bad as mine.
Again, one of the major reasons I’m out here.
Living under their thumb is really just existing.
I can’t even imagine what she went through—pregnant and alone.
Maybe having another person depending on her has given her that bit of independence needed to pull away, separating herself.
Hearing the floors creaking in the hall, I continue to rake the coals in the fireplace and arrange a couple additional logs strategically between them.
When I turn around, there she is.
My radiant angel.
She looks good enough to eat in another button-down flannel shirt of mine.
“Do you mind if I keep you company for a while?”
As if she needs to ask. As I lean against the warm stones surrounding the fireplace, I enjoy the view of her long legs.
I wonder if she’s wearing panties.
Focus, asshole.
“I would love the company. Are you up for hot chocolate again?”
She does an almost perfect imitation of Amelia. Rolling onto her toes, she clenches her hands as she quickly nods her head and smiles.
If I hadn’t been watching that same look on her daughter, I never would’ve thought twice about it.
But the one thing I’ve learned is to notice all the little things and enjoy them.
I want to notice everything about her.
Smiling, I snag one of her hands as I walk by. Tugging her gently into the kitchen, I pull her to the brighter light.
Releasing her hand, I reach for a pot from the hanging rack over the stove.
Margot immediately starts pulling the mugs from the cabinet, and while I’m lighting the burner, she gets the milk from the fridge.
“How’d you learn to cook so well? All your meals have been fabulous, and I wouldn’t have taken you for a ‘from-scratch-hot-chocolate’ kind of guy.”
Her air quotes are adorable, so I’m not offended by her words as I suppress a smile.
When we first met, we were both starving students who cooked from hot pots in our dorms. Meals were quick and unhealthy. This was brought about by lack of interest and time, not insufficient funds.
There was just too much going on in my life then, no reason to put learning how to cook as the top priority.
“Just necessity. I did take an Asian six-week evening course with a buddy of mine a few years ago.”
The milk is starting to heat up as I stir it slowly.
Margot leans over and starts grating the chocolate into the milk I’m stirring slowly.
Her golden blonde hair falls in gentle waves. The red highlights are glinting under the kitchen light.
With my free hand, I gently stroke her hair away from her face, so I can admire her look of concentration.
“The chocolate already smells so good,” she says.
Her long appreciative inhale over the pot reminds me of my food ideas from earlier in the day.
Stopping the stirring for a moment, I break off a piece of the chocolate and lightly rest it between my lips and teeth, with half hanging out as an invitation.
Going back to stirring, I nudge her with my hip to get her attention.
A smile lights up her face immediately.
She springs on her tip toes as I lean in for her to grasp the other end of the chocolate in her lips.
As the chocolate breaks between us, I can’t resist sweeping my tongue across her lips as I pull away.
“Delicious.”
“Mmm, I agree,” she replies.
Her enthusiastic words and the sensual sweep of her tongue across her lips make my cock hard instantly.
She’s just so damn sexy.
“Do you think that’s enough chocolate?” She’s back to peering into the pot I’m stirring—which I’ve almost forgotten about.
I sweep my free hand up her back to her nape, settling it under her hair to knead her neck lightly.
Giving the pot a cursory look, I shrug casually. “Does it look like it’s enough for you? I’m not that picky.”
“Maybe a little more.”
She immediately starts grating another chunk of chocolate as we watch it slowly deepen in color. “We make a good team, huh?”
Her eyes drop quickly and the double meaning she insinuated dawns on me.
“It’s okay, Margot. I’m sure you did what you thought was best for yourself and Amelia at the time.”
The look of relief on her face is immediate.
Dropping the grater on the countertop next to the stove, she immediately throws her hands around my chest, hugging me tightly.
Pulling her close to me with one hand still on her neck, I inhale the feminine scent of her hair.
Fuck the hot chocolate. I’m sure it’s warm enough.
Reaching to the left, I flick off the burner and wrap both my arms around her, squeezing for a moment.
“Thank you,” her words are muffled in my chest.
Pulling back, she rests her chin on my chest to look up at me. “You have no idea what it means to me to hear you say that. You are such a good man, Boone Masters.”
Her words of admiration have me pulling away and grabbing the pot and spoon for a quick stir.
“Let’s drink this up while it’s still hot, shall we?”
I carefully pour the hot chocolate into our mugs.
Margot immediately cleans up the chocolate and then takes the pot from me to fill it with water.
Watching her making herself at home in my kitchen gives me a warm, satisfied feeling.
We each grab our mugs, and I sit on the couch in front of the now roaring fire.
Margot settles snugly against my right hip, so I throw my arm over her shoulder to clasp on her tightly.
As I sip the hot chocolate—which we did a damn good job with, I must say—I watch the flame’s shadows flickering across Margot’s face.
“Will you tell me why you left the city, Boone?”
I should’ve known the serious look on her face was leading to something like this.
Margot has always been quite pushy.
I don’t really want to talk about this. I never do.
Maybe it’s because I feel so fucking guilty.
I’m not sure what I could’ve done, or what I could do now, but that doesn’t seem to ease my feeling of guilt.
But I also know that Margot has been essentially hiding our daughter from me for years.
Besides the obvious, I need her to open up to me.
I have to understand and change her perception of how things could be between us.
The only way to do that is to start opening up to her.
Tit for tat, I guess.
But opening up to her means talking—talking, and reliving it all.
She’s still taking small, discrete sips of her hot chocolate, looking over the rim at me.
I know that look.
She isn’t going to let this go. I’d rather get this out of the fucking way now.
“Okay, I will. But with some conditions.”
I can tell she’s a bit surprised.
She must not have thought I’d cave so easily.
“What conditions?” She pulls back a little, sitting up straighter with a serious look on her face.
“I don’t want to be interrupted, especially for questions until I’m done.” She’s nodding immediately, before I even finish my words.
“After tonight, I don’t want to talk about this again. I want it to be over. I don’t want to think about it, nor do I ever want you to allude to it. Fair enough?”
She’s nodding again as she reaches out to rest her hand lightly on my thigh. “It’s a deal.”
Chapter 26
Margot
It’s beginning to feel as though nothing has changed. The last five years have almost been erased—as though I never transferred colleges and left him, as though we remained friends despite what our parents wished.
With Amelia softly snoring in Boone’s bed down the hall, it even feels like our family’s whole again. Boone is such a natural at being a father. I suppose it’s because he’s giving Amelia all of the love and affection that he wished his father gave to him.
I haven’t seen Robert Masters in more than five years, but I remember the stories Boone told me throughout college. Boone was raised by the best nannies and caregivers that money could buy…but not by his parents.
I wonder if their relationship has improved since college.
Then I look around the room we’re sitting in now. Boone left Wall Street and the City, preferring to live high in the mountains rather than towering over everyone in a penthouse. But if Robert Masters had his way, Boone would’ve been the head of his own Fortune 500 company by now.
Their visions of the future have never been the same.
I’ve always wanted something different for Amelia. Despite the St. James fortune and my trust fund, I didn’t want to raise her like a spoiled little rich girl—with nannies, a pony, and emotionally distant parents.
I want her to have a normal childhood, as normal as any childhood can be, without the struggle of having more money than common sense.
I want to always support her, too. When the time comes for her to go to college, I won’t force her to take a course that she doesn’t want to take—like what my parents did to me, and what Boone’s parents did to him.
At least, he had his role in the Fire Department. But even that was taken away from him. And now, he’s finally willing—maybe—to talk about how that happened.
Boone sighs, shuts his eyes, and pauses for a second to think of the right words to say.
“It was a real busy night. The whole department was stretched thin across the city.”
Boone’s reliving the memories behind his eyelids, and I can see how much he’s struggling.
I put my hand gently on his forearm, my fingers gently brushing against his golden skin, reminding him that I’m here if he needs me. Boone turns to look at me, and the ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. But then, it’s gone again as he remembers his fallen brothers.
“It was the end of my shift too, but just as I was getting ready to go home a call came through—a warehouse had caught fire and the blaze was spreading rapidly. There had been reports…reports of shouts inside.”
Boone pauses again and takes the hot chocolate that I’d been cradling. He places both cups on the table, and pulls me against his chest, holding me tight against him so that I can’t see his face.
“So, my team and I drove out. There were only two trucks available. When we got there, the whole building was already on fire—and the report was right, there were cries from inside. The other team began to try and douse the flames. We went inside, and mostly what was burning was wood crates and paint tins. There were drums of gasoline…but we didn’t see them at first. Not until the marshal’s report.”
Boone has always been the type of man who carries everyone’s problems but never shares any of his own burdens. He struggles on in silence, never complaining even when I know it’s eating him up inside.
It’s heart breaking to know he’s been holding this in for all these years.
“The shouts came from a night guard. He’d been semi-pinned by a falling beam and was on the brink of passing out after smoke inhalation,” he continues. “My teammate and I managed to free him, and I was carrying him to safety when we started to hear the building creak.”
Boone sighs. I can tell that he’s sad, but that’s not all. There’s a twist to this tale, and I’m horrified but curious.
“I just bolted. I had to get the civilian to safety. I wasn’t thinking about anythi
ng else but saving that guard,” he says, the memory vivid in his eyes. “But…but as I break through the door and escape the flames…the building starts to collapse. The gasoline drums began to ignite and explode, it all happened too quickly.”
I can tell what’s coming next, and I hold Boone as tightly as I can.
“I was the only one who made it out. In the end, even the guard didn’t survive. He died in the ICU due to his injuries because I was too late.”
“Boone, I’m so sorry…”
“No. I’m not yet finished.”
Boone begins to clench his fists, holding it so tightly that his knuckles go white.
I move his hand to my thigh, and Boone takes to gripping my flesh as tightly as I was holding his. His hand quivers somewhat—he’s shaking with rage.
I look up at him, placing my hand on his cheek, holding his gaze. His dark eyes are burning with an intensity that I’ve not seen before.
Boone is usually so controlled, so calm. But now he looks almost primal—there’s a wild rage in him that burns with the memories of that warehouse fire. He’s holding onto me like I’m the last thing keeping him sane.
I want to kiss him, and tell him that everything will be okay. But I don’t dare interrupt him.
His voice is low and deep, like a predator who’s trying to warn away another creature. With his hands on my thighs, he’s all but pinning me on the sofa, and all I can do is listen to what comes next.
“When the Marshal did his report, it was hard to trace the owner of the building, and the contents in the warehouse were perfect for the fire. I bet it was a big company using a shell,” Boone goes on.
“I tried to go to city records to find out who filed for insurance. But there was no record. It was too clean, too planned,” his voice occasionally breaks, as sadness and a tinge of rage mix.
Boone takes a shuddering breath, trying to calm himself, but it doesn’t work.
“But the plan failed. And we were the ones who took the fallout.”
He stands and crosses to the other side of the room, standing in front of the unlit fire. He grips the mantle with one hand, and I watch in the low light as his whole body trembles.
“Good men died. My team—my brothers—died, and it was all for profit.”
For a moment, all I can do is sit in silence.
