by Miles, Ava
When Daddy turned the papers toward Sterling, he approached the desk. “I’ll sign this, but I want half the money now.”
Rye pulled out his cell phone. “You know your bank account number?”
Sterling nodded.
Rye talked to Georgia, whom she’d met briefly when she’d flown to his concert stop. After a brief chat, he repeated the bank account number Sterling clicked off. It was one she didn’t know about, which made her wonder what other secrets he’d kept from her.
She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. It was hard to take everything in. “How could you do this?” she asked Sterling.
“Let’s not lie to each other,” he said. “I never loved you, and you never loved me. This was an arrangement between your mama and mine, wanting the Hollins and Morrisons to come together. Now that any advantages I received from being in this family are gone, I’m going to cut my losses.”
“And the children?” she whispered.
“You’re right. They’re nice enough, but I’ve never liked kids. Only had them because it was expected.”
Since she had no rebuttal, she said nothing in response.
Sterling drew out his phone, ostensibly checking his bank account. “Okay, I have an email saying the money’s in the process of being transferred into my account. I’ll just see myself out.”
Rye stepped forward, touching his boot tips to Sterling’s loafers. God, she’d always hated those shoes.
“You’re a fucking prick,” Rye growled.
“And you’re a bastard. Nice doing business with you.” Sterling sauntered out the room after tapping his finger to his temple in a mocking wave.
In the silence, the cold hard reality crested over her. “What have we done?” she cried. How could her reality have altered so significantly so fast?
Rye knelt by her chair. “We just got rid of a no–account asshole who treated you like trash and didn’t even ask to say goodbye to his kids.”
He was right. “Oh God.” She leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her queasy stomach. “What am I going to do? What am I going to tell everyone? I won’t be able to keep my head up in this town.”
Rye awkwardly patted her back as Daddy circled his desk to face her.
“Then you need to leave this town,” Rye said.
Leave? It was the only place she knew. “But I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Rye took a deep breath, like he was preparing to dive underwater. “Yes, you do. You can come to Nashville with Amelia Ann. You and the kids can live with me.”
With him?
Daddy’s mouth gaped open for a moment, and it was clear he was as shocked as she was. Then he smiled. “That’s an excellent idea, Rye.”
Her hands clenched. “Are you serious?”
His eyes had a glassy look, but he said, “Sure. I have lots of room.”
Suddenly the future seemed too opaque, with her present so new and raw. Pain spread across her body, making her feel like Sterling had bruised her all over. Tammy bent forward, rocking herself. “I tried so hard to be a good wife. Oh, God.”
Rye pulled her from the chair and pressed her head into his shoulder. “I know you did.”
His words and his touch brought tears to her eyes. She wasn’t used to being comforted by men. Actually by anyone. “The kids. What am I going to tell them?”
“We’ll tell them as much of the truth as appropriate,” Daddy said, running a hand down her hair like she was a child. “And then we’ll tell them they’re going to live with their Uncle Rye.”
Rye’s face looked pale when she pressed back to look at him, and it wasn’t hard to imagine this was as shocking to him as it was to her. He’d gone from being the black sheep of the family to being their champion in a matter of days.
Still, he said, “It’ll be all right, you’ll see.”
She couldn’t imagine this ever being all right. The whole world she knew was gone. Forever. “But the money…Rye, I can never pay you back.”
“Stop. It’s just money. Hell, I have more than I can ever use. Don’t think about it.”
Not think about it? How could she not? “What will I tell Mama?”
“You leave that to me,” Daddy said, his voice stern. “She should not have called Sterling tonight.” When his eyes locked with Rye’s, he smiled. “But I guess it all worked out. We showed him that we take care of our own.”
When Daddy extended his hand, Rye took it.
She watched them shake with a sense of disbelief. It seemed they’d also carved out their own deal. Her two protectors, united in helping her.
But where did that leave her now?
***
After untangling herself from a sleeping Rory, Tory went in search of Rye, rubbing the crick in her neck. Rory had stared at the wall silently, holding her hand, as she read him The Stinky Cheese Man.
Amelia Ann caught her at the top of the stairs and filled her in on what had happened downstairs. From start to finish, it was a shock. She’d be hard pressed to say who was more surprised by Rye’s suggestion that Tammy and the kids move in with him—her or Amelia Ann. Tory wondered how Tammy was feeling. Tonight had changed the course of her life and the lives of those sweet precious children.
When she asked where everyone was, Amelia Ann told her Rye was in the gazebo, and Tammy and Daddy had retired, the latter joining Mrs. Hollins, who had not emerged from her room. Amelia Ann declared that she was going to head to bed as well, but she gave Tory a spontaneous hug before she left.
The house was silent as Tory let herself out and walked across the back lawn, past the point where the glow of the porch lights stopped. The white gazebo was luminous in the distance, reminding her of the Moonlight Garden. She could make out the shape of a man holding something with a red tip.
When she reached the structure, she leaned against the doorway.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the cigar.
Rye took another drag and blew out a slow stream of blue smoke. “I started when I quit law school and launched my career. Gave it up pretty quick. Bad for my voice.”
And his voice seemed none too steady tonight.
“This just seemed like a good time to revisit the habit,” he said, tapping it on the railing, scattering ashes. “Daddy keeps some nice cigars around.”
“You want to talk about it?” she said.
“Who told you?”
“Amelia Ann. She was waiting for me when I came out of Rory’s room.”
A lone bat streaked across the sky, flying recklessly and madly, and the crickets sang in time with the cicadas.
“The boy’s taken a right shine to you,” Rye drawled, turning his back to her. “I guess that’s a good thing. Little tyke will need lots of support now.”
Something about his tone—the vulnerability, the need—made her wrap her arms around his middle and pull him close. She rubbed her face into his back. The cigar fell, and he stomped the glowing embers before grabbing her hands.
“I didn’t expect any of this when I came here,” he whispered.
Of course, he hadn’t. The man from the hot tub would never have come if he’d known the responsibility for his broken family would fall on his shoulders. As she caressed his forearms, the repeated shrill of a nearby frog could be heard.
“Life’s funny that way.”
He sighed. “Yeah, she’s a prize bitch.”
“It’s not all bad though, is it Rye?” she asked, needing to know how he felt about her. Sinking into quicksand alone was too scary.
He turned slowly. The moonlight was stark on his hard jaw, dark eyes, and strong chin.
“No, it’s not all bad. One of the best parts is standing in front of me.”
The quicksand feeling went away.
When he lowered his mouth to hers, she tasted the spiciness of nicotine and unfulfilled need. Rising to her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
“I need you.” He pressed his fa
ce to her neck, and his raw emotion called to her. “Right now.”
She framed his face in her hands and met his eyes. “I’m here.”
He pressed his mouth to hers again, and demand and desire dueled as they took the kiss deeper. Rye pulled Tory across the railing to press her against one of the posts of the gazebo. His fingers shook as they jerked up her T–shirt. She wrapped her legs around him to keep from falling and lifted her arms. Then he pulled the shirt off and threw it behind him, his fingers tugging her bra off an instant later until her breasts filled his hands.
Between the humidity and the heat spiking through her body, beads of moisture formed on Tory’s skin. She moaned as Rye lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking deeply, making guttural sounds in the back of his throat. She pulled at his shirt, and he drew it above his head and pressed his bare chest against hers, their moist skin rubbing and sliding, their breathing ragged. Tory reached out a hand and rubbed his defined pectoral muscles. He swallowed thickly as her hand trailed to his belt buckle, and he helped her unhook it and then open his jeans. When she slid her hand into his briefs and caressed him, he leaned into her and reached for the post, groaning in time with the evening sounds around them.
He took her mouth again and pulled her off the railing, holding her against him while he unfastened her pants and tossed them aside, quickly rolling on a condom. Steadying her against the post again, he fitted her legs around his body. Her muscles tensed as she waited for him to enter her. She’d never wanted anything more.
“I won’t let you fall,” he whispered. “Trust me.”
She grabbed his shoulders and pressed her head back against the wood as his fingers trailed between her legs. When he touched her, sweat beaded and fell between her breasts, and she opened her legs wider.
“Rye, please.”
Her ears were ringing when he slid inside, pressing deep. Tory felt the imprint of the beam against her back and strained against his thrusting body. She tilted her body to take more of him, and he reached a hand down to rub where they were joined together. Her body revved and then exploded, quaking over and over again.
He pulled her legs more tightly around him. “More, dammit. I need more.”
She took the pounding. Tried to find an anchor, her hands sliding off his sweaty shoulders. She grabbed his butt, her hands tingling against the rough material of his jeans. He pulled her off the post and worked her over him. She bit his shoulder, feeling her body tighten again. The next climax hit her hard and had her gripping him with clenched thighs.
He pushed her against the post again and thrust deep one more time, finding his own release. When he disposed of the condom, he pulled her against him again. Tory took deep breaths, her body pulsing, and she leaned her head away from his sweaty chest to draw in fresh air. The humidity made it almost hard to breathe, so thick and suffocating. She closed her eyes, awash in sensation. When sweat trickled down her neck, she reached up to brush it away. Her fingers encountered something large and hairy instead. She screamed, her hand slapping madly.
Rye stumbled, holding onto her. “What?”
She wiggled in his arms, continuing to slap the hairy insect creeping across her shoulder. “There’s a spider on me,” she shrieked.
He knocked something black and menacing to the floor. It raced across the moonlit steps.
“Kill it, kill it,” Tory cried.
Rye stomped his boot on the spot. The spider jumped.
Her squeal was deafening, even to her, and her heart rapped hard against her ribs. “Oh, God. It jumped. What is that?”
Rye followed it, stomping hard like a flamenco dancer. “A camel cricket.”
His boot came down like a sledgehammer, and Tory heard the creepy crawly squish underneath it.
“God, I hate those things,” he said with a shudder.
Tory leaned weakly against the railing. If her pulse were any indication, she’d need CPR soon. Her heart was going to explode.
“That was a cricket?”
“Yeah. It looks like a spider, jumps like a cricket.”
Tory gave another wiggle, unable to escape the feeling that there was still something crawling on her. “What the hell kind of bugs do you have down here?”
“You should see your face.” Rye barked out a laugh. “Mutant bugs are a hallmark down here. You look good, dancing around buck naked.”
She slapped a hand to his chest when he grabbed her again. “We’re done here, buster. I am never having sex with you outside again.” Gathering up her clothes, she yanked them on while he made himself presentable as well.
Rye chuckled. “Well, it was damn fine up until then, but I can understand your position.”
“Yeah, it was great, but it’s hell on afterglow.”
Rye crossed over to her and raised her hands to his lips. She jerked, as surprised by the romantic gesture as she was by his sudden touch.
“You still jumpy?”
She only nodded, and even in the moonlight, there was something in his eyes. Something she’d never seen before.
He tugged on her fingers, breaking the spell. “Well, let’s get back to the house and take a shower. Then, I’ll see to your afterglow. I like holding you after we make love.” Then he ducked his head. “Course I like the other stuff more,” he added, almost like he was saving face.
And the way he said make love made all the love she felt for him rise up inside her. She rubbed her throat to squeak through a response. “Of course. You’re a guy.”
Before she could think better of it—after all, they were leaving tomorrow, and hadn’t they said that would be it?—she linked her arms around his neck. “I’d feel a lot better if you check the bed for bugs.” Her tone was playful, even if her embrace wasn’t. “Seeing how you’re about as scared of them as I am.”
His mouth twitched. “Honey, you think what you like, but fear of camel crickets is akin to fearing werewolves. Some things just aren’t natural. Besides, you remember who killed it.” He planted a quick kiss on her mouth. Snaked a finger down her neck.
She swatted it away. His shoulders were shaking with laughter now, so she punched him in the arm.
“Very funny. You’ll pay for that.”
As he turned away, she leaped onto his back. He laughed and then darted out of the gazebo, making erratic circles, forcing her to hang onto him. They were laughing like loons by the time he stopped, weaving in place. He tumbled to the ground, taking her with him. Tory sat on his chest. She was so not lying on the ground. The last thing she wanted was another up close and personal encounter with a camel cricket.
Their laughter echoed in the dark, and then she heard a mechanical whine. When the black sprinklers rose from the ground, she tried to push away, but Rye held her fast, his laughter demented now. Jets of water slapped across her body, and the mass of sprinklers pumped water like crystal arcs across the yard.
“See, someone got punished,” Rye drawled.
She attacked him. They rolled in the grass like excited children, forgetting for the briefest of moments the suffering that lay in the shadowed house behind them.
I don’t know what it is about breakfast, but starting off the day right with a good one gives me a better attitude. Granted, my grandma raised me to never leave the house without breakfast. Eggs, pancakes, and waffles were routinely on the table when I came downstairs before leaving for school. I once commented that I wished we could have gingerbread more often one Christmas since I loved my grandma’s Gingerbread men, so she found this recipe. These waffles always make me happy. They’re a special treat—like unwrapping presents on Christmas morning.
Gingerbread Waffles
½ cup molasses
6 tbsp. oil
1 cup milk
2 beaten eggs
Mix together and add the following dry ingredients together in a separate bowl and then add to the liquid ingredients:
2 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. ginger (fresh is
best)
½ tsp. cinnamon
4 tbsp. sugar
2 cups flour
Cook in a waffle iron for 4–6 minutes until golden brown. Serve with a lemon sauce or maple syrup.
Tory Simmons’ Simmering Family Cookbook
Chapter 16
Morning came way too early for Tory after a night of passion and playfulness that lasted until nearly dawn. Rye had certainly seen to her afterglow. If he’d been able to see her heart, it would have glowed like a well–tended camp fire. He’d fallen asleep with his body tangled around hers.
Rye was still fast asleep, and she didn’t want to wake him up yet since they hadn’t slept much. The drive to Oklahoma City was only eight hours away after all. She’d promised to play with Rory before they left, so she made breakfast and stored bacon and her favorite Gingerbread waffles in the warm oven with a note on the table for Rye. He deserved something extra special after the way he’d made her feel last night.
She decided to walk to the main house, and a smile spread across her face as she did, particularly when she remembered the sprinklers. Rory was largely quiet, but they read books together and played checkers. An hour later, she heard a guitar and Rye’s husky singing voice, so she pushed herself off the floor and moved toward the sound, Rory following. Amelia Ann and Annabelle met them in the hallway, and they all headed toward Hampton’s room. When they cracked the door open, Rye was sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to them. While Annabelle jumped up beside him, Amelia Ann and Rory walked ahead and leaned against the bed, snuggling up close to Hampton.
Rye’s voice was so deep and filled with emotion that it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. He hadn’t sung like this at the aborted concert she’d attended. No, not like this at all.
She decided to stay just outside the room, not wanting to intrude on this family moment. Likely their first in a long while. Her eyes were burning when she felt a presence behind her.
“I’d like to speak with you, Miss Simmons.”
Even whispering, Mama Terminator inspired fear. Tory took a breath and turned around. “Yes, Mrs. Hollins?”
