Whispers Under a Southern Sky

by Joanne Rock

  He wanted to go right over that edge with her. A primal need to be inside her surged. When the aftershocks of her orgasm slowed, he forced himself to wait. Let her collect herself.

  But she reached blindly to her side, patting until she found the condom and putting it in his hand. He raked off her panties with one hand and ripped open the packet with his teeth.

  In another second he was sheathed and edging his way inside her body. That, he did take slowly. For his own sake as much as hers. He wasn’t missing out on a second of this chance to be with her. She’d starred in all his adolescent fantasies—even after he’d left Heartache behind. And now she was here, in his bed, sexier and sweeter than he’d ever imagined.

  “Sam.” She pushed at his shoulder, and he let her turn him over so she was on top.

  He looked up at her; her copper-colored hair brushed her shoulders as she moved with him. He fought the urge to steer her where he wanted her. To clamp his hands around the gentle curve of her hips and drive them both to completion.

  Instead, he let her take charge of what she wanted. She moved with a sense of purpose and wonder, her expression easy to read as she found what pleased her most. He settled for molding his hands to her sides, palming her breasts, squeezing gently.

  When she started to move faster, however, he lost any focus he might have had. His own need roared hard and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting deep. Once. Twice.

  The third time drove her release even as it ignited his. He gripped her hips, holding her where he had to have her. Sensation slammed through him, knocking him all but senseless until he lay there panting like he’d run a marathon.

  Amy sprawled on top of him, her hair tickling his nose and neck, her body damp and scented with sex and lavender. He wanted to tuck her under his arm and into his bed—into his life? Sleep beside her until he woke her in the middle of the night to be with her all over again.

  Because, damn. He already knew he’d want that. Once was never going to be enough. She was right about that box of condoms. It would serve them well.

  Right up until the time she left Heartache again.

  He didn’t know where the thought came from since he was still drifting on a wave of sexual euphoria. He should be happy just to keep her close for tonight. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to have her stick around. They’d been good together once.

  Maybe now that she was done keeping secrets, there was a chance they could be good together again. Once she gave her statement about what happened ten years ago, she wouldn’t need to run from Heartache anymore. When he put Covington behind bars for good, she would feel safe here again. His decadelong search for justice would finally be over.

  Yet even as he told himself as much, all the while stroking Amy’s tangled hair and kissing her temple, he had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be that simple.

  He still didn’t know who was threatening his son. It couldn’t be Jeremy Covington because the guy was behind bars.

  Some other danger lurked.

  And he needed to be very careful it didn’t steal away any more from him than the past already had.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  HOW MANY PEOPLE know your last boyfriend hit you?

  Bailey’s heart raced as she stared at Dawson in the shadowed lawn off the porch. How could he have figured out her secret?

  Already she could hear her dad getting out of his car in the front yard. Hazel barked like crazy while Dad shushed her.

  “My father—” she stammered. “He’ll come this way to go inside.” She pointed at the door behind her, her movements awkward and wooden. “Please.” She swallowed a lump of panic. “Don’t say anything.”

  Dawson’s jaw went rigid. With anger? Disappointment? She couldn’t tell. But something in his expression indicated he didn’t much care to keep her secret. He nodded stiffly.

  “How did you know?” she whispered, her ears attuned to the sound of her father’s uneven gait. He’d been injured in Afghanistan when she was in grade school, retiring from the military with a lot of honors but—as her mom put it—more ghosts than medals.

  “I’ve seen the signs before when a friend went through it.” Dawson didn’t bother lowering his voice. “With you, though, it was only a guess.”

  A guess she’d just confirmed.

  Heart sinking, she cursed herself for being so easy to read. Although how could this boy who hardly knew her figure her out so fast? Before she could worry that one to bits, her father called to her.

  “Bailey?” His uneven footsteps slowed for a second before picking up pace again. Hazel beat him around the corner, tail wagging, a fluorescent orange ball in her mouth. “You out here?”

  He must have heard their voices.

  “Yes, Dad. My friend Dawson is here.” She kept her eyes on him, hoping he was as good as his word.

  Didn’t he owe her his silence after tricking her?

  “Do I know a Dawson?” Dad asked as he limped around the corner. His prosthetic had never fit him well, but he had gotten tired of having it adjusted.

  Mom said that was because he liked to punish himself. But it occurred to Bailey now that most of what she knew about her father had been filtered through Mom. And how reliable was that information?

  “No.” She took the damp ball from Hazel’s mouth and tossed it across the yard, sending a furry torpedo hurtling into the woods after it. “He’s new to Mrs. Hasting’s house.”

  Everyone in town knew the pizza-shop owners took in a lot of fosters. Mr. Hasting had been on the town council with Mom.

  “Welcome to Heartache, Dawson.” Her dad was still built like a marine with his square shoulders and heavy arms, and when he reached to shake hands with Dawson, she hoped he wouldn’t flex too much muscle. “Cole McCord.”

  “Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for your service.”

  Bailey watched her father’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. But the “First In, Last Out” ball cap he wore must have been what had given him away. Still, she couldn’t remember any of her other friends ever commenting on her father’s veteran status, no matter that half his clothes bore some version of the eagle, globe and anchor.

  “You’re welcome, son. Although all the thanks in the world doesn’t take away the fact that Bailey’s not allowed to have male company unchaperoned.”

  Oh God.

  “Dad.” She spoke on top of Dawson, who’d already blurted something about being there only a minute. “He rode his bike over a minute ago and we didn’t go inside.”

  Her father was already squinting into the screened porch, though, his attention now on something else.

  “What the hell are all those bags?”

  She tensed. As if she hadn’t been tense enough to start with. She stuffed the toe of her gym shoes into the patchy grass.

  “Um. Mom was here. She brought groceries.”

  “You did not let her in that house.” Her father glared at her.

  Bad enough to bully Dawson, but he wasn’t going to bully her, too, damn it.

  “I helped her unload the bags from her car, and then I put them on the porch so my favorite granola did not sit outside on the ground where Hazel could sneak it into the bushes to eat.” She folded her arms around an ache in her heart that hurt 24/7, missing the mother she remembered all the more.

  Mom had been good at standing up to Dad.

  But then, she’d also lied and cheated on him.

  Her heart softened a little as Hazel returned with the ball, nudging her hand insistently to throw it again. Dawson took it from the dog without a word, throwing it for her and making a new friend.

  “Fine.” Dad headed up the steps. “You and your friend can visit while I put away the groceries. But it is a school night.”

  “I saw some beef j
erky in there.” Bailey wished he’d at least be civil to her mother again. No matter who was wrong, it sucked that she was caught in the middle.

  “I’ll buy my own damn groceries,” he grumbled. “These are all for you.”

  “There’s beer, too,” she couldn’t resist adding, winking at Dawson behind her father’s back until she remembered that Dawson wasn’t happy with her, either.

  “No doubt trying to butter me up before I hear from her attorney,” he groused through the screen as he leaned over to pick up the bags. He jostled them both to one arm, reached inside and pulled out a six-pack. He dropped it in the industrial-size trash, and a few of the cans hissed open.

  “Should we help him?” Dawson watched Cole’s awkward movements as he edged around furniture. This time, Dawson did lower his voice so only she could hear.

  “Not unless you want your head bitten off for suggesting he can’t handle it himself.” She’d learned that at the tender age of ten when she’d wanted to attach the straps on his prosthetic for him.

  He’d yelled at her so hard she’d cried the rest of the afternoon. That was one of many times her mother had tried to explain to her about the “ghosts” that had come home with her father after his last tour of duty. There’d been a lot of years since then, but her father had never sought help for the temper, the bitterness or the nightmares that sometimes woke the whole house.

  “Guess I’ll pass.” Dawson shrugged out of his hoodie and handed it to her. “You should put this on. It’s getting cold.”

  She wanted to refuse. Still miffed about the way he’d tricked her into revealing the truth about her relationship with J.D., she had a retort at the ready. But he simply lowered it to her shoulders like a shawl.

  Surrounding her in warmth and boy scent. Not sweat, either. Something good-smelling.

  “Can we sit on the swings next door?” he asked, squatting down to greet Hazel’s triumphant return.

  The dog eyed Dawson sidelong and refused to give him the ball back even though she kept nudging his knee with her head. The flirt.

  “Sure.” She didn’t want her father to overhear this.

  Tromping through the wet grass, she held on to the sweatshirt to make sure it didn’t fall off her shoulders. Then again, maybe she was trying to burrow deeper in it.

  When they reached the old swing set that had belonged to the family that used to live there, Dawson wiped off one of the plastic seats with his palm and indicated she sit before lowering himself into the other.

  Thoughtful.

  “Why haven’t you told anyone?” he asked as he wrestled the ball from Hazel and threw it again.

  Nearby another dog barked from someone else’s backyard. She could see into her kitchen through the back window. Her father had removed his marines cap and was working to unload the groceries.

  Alone.

  “Because it’s over. Done.” She kept telling herself that, anyway.

  “How is it over when you’re still ditching school to avoid him? He still scares you.” He leaned forward, one shoulder pressed to the chain.

  “He caught me off guard today.” Seeing him had triggered a sick feeling in her gut. “I didn’t know until I saw him that he’d gotten out of jail. Or juvenile detention. Or wherever he’s been.”

  Digging her toe through the clumpy old sand beneath her seat, she felt stupid for letting herself crush on Dawson even a little bit. Hadn’t she known from the start that her past with J.D. made her a loser? A stronger girl—like Megan—would not have put up with being talked down to. Being shoved around.

  Worse.

  “But now he’s free to walk around town.” He reached for the chain on her swing, bringing her closer. So close her denim-clad knee brushed his. “You can’t afford to hide the truth anymore.”

  A million thoughts tumbled through her mind. Like how Dawson had guessed the truth in the first place. Why he’d cared enough to come over and talk to her about it. What he thought of her.

  But all of it got overridden by that touch of their knees. By his hand so close to hers on the swing chain. A finger’s width apart, maybe. Her heart pounded wildly.

  “Everyone will think I’m a coward for not standing up to him.” Which she supposed was true.

  Hazel returned, running around them in circles before lying down nearby to gnaw on the orange ball.

  “If you out him for the bastard he is, Bailey, everyone is going to see you’ve got plenty of spine.” Even as the words were kind, his voice was hard.

  His eyes took on a steely challenge.

  She pulled her swing chain from his grip and let the seat straighten itself out again, her feet whirling in the moonlight for a moment before she righted herself.

  “I still don’t understand how you could tell.”

  “The Hastings’ house is my fifth foster home. I’ve been around other kids who’ve been hurt by people they trusted. I know what that looks like.”

  “There are no bruises.” She slanted a glance his way.

  He shook his head. “I’ve survived the foster system this long by being able to read people. And I can spot fear and betrayal almost as fast as I can spot an abuser.”

  She hated to imagine how he’d come by that kind of knowledge.

  “Someone hurt a friend of yours?”

  “Yeah, a girl in my old neighborhood—her boyfriend hit her sometimes. It took me a while to understand why she’d cover for him.” He stared up at the stars for a long moment. “But things were complicated for her. No matter how much shit the boyfriend doled out, I guess she thought he was still a step up from her parents. And maybe he was. But all I know is, when things got rough between them and the guy would show up around school searching for her—she got that same panicked look in her eyes that you had today.”

  Bailey scuffed her toe through the wet grass while the swing twisted, trying to imagine herself as Dawson had seen her today. She wasn’t used to anyone paying such careful attention to her. For a long time, her parents had been too embroiled in their own drama to appreciate the nuances of her life.

  “Did that girl get away from the boy eventually?” She hoped that Dawson’s friend had saved herself.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t keep up with people from that neighborhood anymore. Too many of them wanted to give me updates on my mother’s condition—she’s an addict—and I got to the point where I just couldn’t hear it.” He traced the pattern of the metal chain links on his swing. “That might sound callous, but—”

  “No.” Bailey turned to face him. “It sounds really smart.”

  Nodding, he seemed to weigh that idea before continuing. “But I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came here because I want you to tell someone. Start with your dad.” He pointed to the house, where her father was now wrestling a bag of dog food into an overhead cabinet where it didn’t belong. “Having people know what happened—that’ll keep you safe.”

  Her belly turned to ice at the thought of talking to her dad about J.D. She hadn’t even been able to tell her mom, and they’d been close once. But her dad? Even before he’d been hurt, they’d had a weird relationship—more for show than anything since he’d never been home much.

  But ever since he’d lost half his leg, she and her mom had done whatever they could to make things easier for him without looking like they were. Or, at least, her mom used to do that until she’d cheated on him with J.D.’s father.

  Maybe her mom had gotten tired of tiptoeing around Cole when all he did was bark back.

  “I’ve got to go.” Dawson sprang to his feet, all athletic grace and impatience. Hazel stood with him, tail wagging hopefully. “I told Lorelei I forgot something at the pizza shop, and I don’t like lying to her. Will you be over this week?”

  For a second she thought he was asking her out. Will you be over?
But then she remembered her job babysitting Aiden at the Hastings’.

  “I watch Aiden on Tuesday and Wednesday.” She wasn’t sure about the rest of the week. Standing, she tugged off Dawson’s hoodie and handed it back to him.

  “Good. I’ll see you then.” He made no move to leave. He watched her like he might have more to say.

  “Why would you want to?” The thought drifted from her brain right past her lips even though she didn’t want to know the answer. He was just being nice. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

  A sad smile lifted one side of his mouth.

  “That girl I told you about? The one whose boyfriend hit her? She was older than me, and I got sucked into the foster system before I could figure out how to help her.” He leaned down to pet Hazel’s head. “It sucks to stand by and watch someone else be hurt, Bailey. And I’m not going to do it again.”

  “In other words, I’m some kind of pity project for you.” She peered up at the sky, unable to look him in the eye. A plane flew high over her head, silent but steadily blinking, its destination far from Heartache, Tennessee.

  “But you won’t be. As soon as you tell your dad what happened.” He tugged his bike out from the spot where he’d left it earlier. Then, leaning the frame on his hip, he pulled on the sweatshirt he’d let her borrow.

  “Then you’ll be off the hook.” She was his personal charity case.

  Flattering.

  “Then I don’t have to worry about you.” He straddled the seat and pushed off with his feet. He looked over his shoulder as he pedaled away. “I can just like you.”

  * * *

  BRIGHT SUNLIGHT SLANTED through the blinds overhead. Odd snippets of conversation drifted to Amy’s ears as she pulled herself out of sleep. Had a television been left on somewhere?

  “I drove all this way. Please.” A woman’s voice—vaguely familiar—was pleading in a nearby room.

  Amy’s limbs were pleasantly sore, her hair a rough tangle under one cheek where she lay in sheets that weren’t her own. Dove-gray sheets that smelled good.

  Like Sam.