Evening Hours

by Mary Lynn Baxter

  She gasped.

  He froze.

  “Am I hurting you?” He ground out the words.

  “Only if you stop.”

  In the dim light she watched his eyes glaze over as she continued to slowly slide onto him, all the way. They both let out a long moan before he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips.

  She clung to him while he clamped his hands on her hips and frantically moved her in long, deliberate strokes. She felt her thighs spread farther apart, giving him full access. And he was taking full advantage, too, in a way that made her gasp each time he penetrated higher and deeper.

  Then tightening his muscles, he unloaded in her with one powerful thrust. Was this really happening to her? Was this good-looking, charismatic man making love to her?

  Yes.

  And she was sweating, dissolving under the heat, melting as if she were a wax figure.

  Finally they both cried out and grew still, breathing heavily.

  Holding him tightly with tears rolling down the sides of her face, Kaylee caught a glimpse of the stars through the window and thought they seemed brighter than she could ever remember.

  Twenty-Three

  “Are you sure you should be working?”

  “Now, Trevor, don’t hover.”

  He sighed as he took a seat in front of Mary’s desk in the church office.

  “I’m sorry, my dear, but you just got out of the hospital.”

  “And you’re worried,” Mary said with a limp smile.

  “Of course I’m worried, and you should be, too.”

  Mary picked up on the censure in her husband’s tone even though he spoke with his usual gentleness. Never once during their long marriage had he ever raised his voice to her. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

  “You look deep in thought,” he said.

  “I was thinking about how kind you’ve always been to me.”

  “Maybe too kind.”

  She smiled for real. “You read my mind. Because you never cross me, you gave me the confidence to be stubborn.”

  “As a mule, just like now.”

  Mary’s smile faded. “I don’t mean to cause you worry.”

  He reached across the desk and sought her hand. “You’ve caused me nothing but the greatest of joy.”

  Mary felt tears prick the back of her eyes. She blinked furiously, fearing she would cry, which was not like her. She rarely resorted to tears; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even been tempted.

  But since Cutler’s bombshell, she had wanted to sob her heart out. She’d held herself together, fearing if she opened that valve to her heart, she wouldn’t be able to close it.

  “Mary—” Trevor cleared his throat as if he had trouble finding the right words.

  “It’s okay. I’m okay, really.” She squeezed his hand. “You can’t get bent out of shape every time I have a flare-up with my old ticker.”

  “I don’t find any humor in this, Mary.”

  She gave him a look. “I’m not trying to be humorous. I’m just trying to get you to accept things as they really are.”

  “How about you, my dear?”

  Mary tensed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “When were you going to tell me?”

  She didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. “When the time was right.”

  “I’m sorry about all this.”

  She looked away. “My son has upset me terribly.”

  “And your heart took the brunt of that strain,” he said in that same gentle tone. “Which has upset me.”

  Tears pricked again, but still she refused to let her emotions have free rein.

  “He has a right to know, Mary.”

  “That’s not your decision.” Her tone was much harder than she intended.

  His face flushed with color. “Sorry if I offended you.”

  “Oh, Trevor, you didn’t offend me.”

  A silence followed her words. Finally Mary got up and walked to the window, where she stared out at the flower garden. The sight that greeted her calmed her instantly, and for that she was grateful.

  “I couldn’t tell him,” she said, still facing the window.

  “I know it has to be hard.”

  She swung around, then said flatly, “It’s impossible, actually.”

  Trevor’s face lost its color. “Don’t you think you owe him the truth?”

  “No.”

  Trevor spread his hands, opened his mouth, then shut it.

  “I know you don’t approve of my decision.”

  “You’re right, I don’t. But I’m going to back you, nonetheless.”

  Mary swallowed hard. “At this point, nothing good can come of baring my soul.”

  “Do you think Cutler will leave it alone?”

  “I pray that he will.”

  Trevor sighed deeply. “You know Cutler better than that. He’s so much like you, which means he won’t walk away.”

  “And I shouldn’t expect him to. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s not my call.”

  “I can’t…talk about it. I wish I could, but I just can’t.”

  Trevor got up, walked to her and took her in his arms. She clung to his warmth. “If you can’t, you can’t,” he said. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you. It’s for that reason I’m so fearful. If this thing explodes…”

  Even though he let his voice trail off, Mary knew the rest of that sentence, too.

  “Why did this have to happen now?” she asked, disentangling herself from Trevor’s arms.

  “I’m surprised it’s taken this long.”

  Mary was taken aback and didn’t try to hide it. “But why?”

  “Rarely are secrets taken to the grave.”

  “He…he—” Mary broke off with a shudder. She couldn’t bring herself to even say Drew’s name out loud. The thought of doing so made her fight for her next breath. She turned away so that Trevor wouldn’t pick up on her acute agitation.

  “Are you all right?”

  There was no fooling him. She wasn’t surprised, though. They had been married for so long and he knew her so well.

  “I’m not going to pass out, if that’s what you mean,” she said, facing him once again.

  “That’s reassuring,” he said with rough but obvious relief.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while.”

  Trevor leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll get through this, my dear.”

  “With God’s help.”

  “I’ll see you this evening.” He gave her an anxious look. “Meanwhile, if you need me or you feel the least bit off center, you call 911.”

  “I promise. But I’ll be fine.”

  Trevor caressed one cheek. “You’d better be. I need you, my dear.”

  “I need you, too. And Cutler.” Mary’s voice cracked.

  Frowning, Trevor peered more closely at her. “I’m not at all sure I should leave you.”

  “Please. I need to be alone.”

  “I—”

  She shook her head and smiled. “I’m okay. I’d tell you otherwise.”

  “Since when?”

  She forced a smile, then gave him a shove. “Go dig in the dirt.”

  After giving her another close look, Trevor nodded, then walked out.

  Mary immediately stepped out into the garden, where she took a deep breath, pulling the scent of the roses deep into her lungs. When she released her breath, she felt less shaky. Still, she eased down into the glider, fearing her legs weren’t as steady as the rest of her, and lifted her eyes toward heaven.

  Oh, God, she whispered silently. She wanted so much to break down and sob her heart out. But again she wouldn’t allow herself to lose control.

  She had vowed long ago she would never shed another tear over the traumatic, life-changing incident that had robbed her of so much of herself. It had taken her years to mend her broken heart, her broken spirit and her b
roken pride. She’d thought she had the battle won. And she had.

  Until now.

  Dear God, why? Mary cried from that dark part of her soul where many scars dwelled.

  That was when she heard that still small voice whisper, “You can run, but you can’t hide.” Suddenly her heart almost stopped beating, but for an entirely different reason. Had she run? No, of course she hadn’t.

  She had taken the needed time to heal, to face the pain and deal with it. The only thing she hadn’t done was tell another living soul the truth except Trevor, and he would never betray her.

  But someone had.

  Others had been involved, of course. You couldn’t birth a child alone. Yet she hadn’t worried about the outsiders, because most people didn’t care. They had their own problems, their own crosses to bear. She might have been the gossip flavor of the day, but that was all.

  And again, it had been so long ago. Who would benefit by resurrecting old gossip now? She was certain Trevor knew the answer, but she hadn’t asked him. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to know anything. She just wanted the past to stay buried.

  Unfortunately, life didn’t always work that way. As a minister who dealt with sin and pain on a daily basis, she was more aware of that than most.

  Then why was she so shocked that her secret was no longer a secret?

  Cutler.

  She had protected him like a mother cub nursing a newborn, never suspecting that he would ever learn the truth. In retrospect, how naive was that? How unrealistic?

  Even so, she made no apologies. At the juncture, she had done what she’d thought best for his welfare and her sanity. She had no regrets.

  Or did she?

  Feeling her heart rate quicken and a stab of pain in her chest, Mary reached in her pocket for her medication. If she was going to have to retravel that hard and wounding path, she needed earthly help.

  Once she’d swallowed a tiny pill, she closed her eyes and delved deep in her conscience. Were Cutler and Trevor right? Was it soul-cleansing time?

  Should she confess the truth to her son and let the chips fall where they may? If so, would she be able to glue her own soul back together? Once more?

  Mary couldn’t answer that question, and that was what frightened her the most.

  Cutler finished another beer, his fifth, before tossing the empty bottle into the trash can, flinching when it struck the other ones. He waited for glass to fly, but none did.

  He was at the fridge ready to grab another one when his hand stalled. What the hell was he doing? Getting stinking drunk wasn’t the answer. Even if he hit the sack in a stupor, he’d still have to face his demons when he awakened.

  Hell, maybe he’d get lucky and not wake up.

  Swallowing an expletive, Cutler made his way out onto his balcony, but the stifling heat and humidity that greeted him did little to enhance his mood. But in all fairness to summer, it wasn’t the weather that had him going.

  His nuts were in a vise and he hated that. Until this point in his life, he had been in control of his destiny, but now he no longer felt certain about anything. Except that he couldn’t be responsible for his mother’s death. A cold chill shot through him. He knew what he had to do.

  Marry Kaylee.

  Sweat replaced the chill as he left the deck, walked back inside and made a beeline for the fridge. Only one more beer, he told himself, then he’d make a pot of coffee. Once he’d downed it, he’d shower and go from there.

  He tossed his head back and guzzled half the beer before setting it down on the table beside the sofa. Then burying his head in a soft cushion, he closed his eyes, only to see Kaylee printed on the back of his eyelids.

  Even though the thought of a forced marriage still grated on his last nerve, he could do a lot worse than Kaylee. At least she turned him on. He thought about the other night when they had made love on the sofa, then later in the bedroom. There hadn’t been one inch of her flesh that hadn’t felt his lips and tongue.

  He squirmed deeper into the cushion after peering down and seeing the bulge in his jeans. For someone who wasn’t experienced sexually, she’d either been a fast learner or she simply had innate talent.

  Her lips and tongue had done a number on his flesh that he wouldn’t ever forget. Besides the hot chemistry between them, he liked her. She was smart, savvy and independent.

  It was that independent streak that bothered him.

  When he did ask her to marry him, what if she told him to get lost? Feeling his gut burn, Cutler polished off the remainder of the beer, then wished for another. He refrained, however, as the next thing on his agenda required complete sobriety.

  Instead, he walked into the kitchen and made coffee. He gagged down two strong cups, then headed upstairs to the shower.

  Fifteen minutes later he was dressed and out the door.

  “Mr. Rush will see you shortly.”

  Cutler merely nodded to the housekeeper, who turned and left him alone. He released a pent-up breath, realizing that he was sweating profusely. Nerves. That was the culprit. Even so, he wouldn’t dare let on that he could easily bite a tenpenny nail in two.

  This was his party and he aimed to run the show. While he waited, his eyes scanned the room. Everything in the study was so perfect, it gave him the creeps. For that matter, the entire house gave him the creeps. It was like a mausoleum. Too elaborate. Too cold. Too showy.

  “Ah, sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  Cutler whipped around and faced his nemesis.

  Twenty-Four

  He had to force himself to look at Drew Rush, the man who could or could not be his father.

  “Ah, McFarland, what can I do for you?”

  “We need to talk,” Cutler said without preamble.

  Drew smiled, though it never reached his eyes. “I have no problem with that. Would you care to sit down?”

  “I’ll stand.”

  Drew shrugged. “Fine. How ’bout something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “If this visit’s about your campaign—”

  “It’s not,” Cutler interrupted.

  Drew’s lips quirked. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a drink.”

  While Drew’s back was to him, Cutler said, “I know who you are.”

  Drew’s body visibly tensed. That was the only reaction to Cutler’s terse comment. But that was enough for Cutler to know he’d struck a nerve.

  “I repeat. I know who you are.”

  Drew seemingly took his time turning back around. “What does that mean?”

  “I think you know.”

  “What I know is that your manners need an overhaul, especially when you walk into someone else’s home and behave like a fool.”

  “This isn’t a social visit, Rush.”

  “Go get a life.”

  Cutler smirked. “Just so you’ll know up front, I’m immune to your insults.”

  “You ought to start this conversation over, sonny boy, take a different approach. I don’t think you want me for an enemy.”

  “I don’t give a shit what you think.”

  “It’s only because I’m a gentleman that I’m letting you take your frustrations out on me. So what’s your beef? All I did was contribute to your campaign. Perhaps my donation wasn’t enough, huh?”

  Drew’s attempt at dark humor fell on deaf ears. “I don’t want your money,” Cutler spat out. “In fact, I plan to return it.”

  This time Drew’s lips stretched into a thin line. “You’re trying my patience, boy. If something’s stuck in your gullet, you’d best spit it out before you get thrown out.”

  “I came after the truth.”

  “Ah, imagine a D.A. wanting that.” Drew’s sarcasm deepened.

  “This is not a game, Rush.”

  “You bet it’s not a game, and I’m fast losing patience. I have other things to do besides stand here and listen to your incoherent babbling.”

  “I know the truth about you and
my mother.”

  Dead silence.

  “Ah, so that’s what you meant by your opening statement,” Drew said in a blasé tone, as though Cutler had said something as mundane as it’s dark outside.

  Cutler ignored his second attempt at dark humor and said, “Do you have the guts to tell me?”

  “You’re pushing your luck.”

  “My question stands.”

  “So you think you know the truth.”

  “Yes,” Cutler lied. It was inconceivable to him that Drew would admit that he had fathered him, especially since the truth had been hidden for such a long time.

  Drew’s features suddenly changed, becoming cynical and twisted. “I doubt that. Not if you heard it from that sanctimonious, holier-than-thou bitch, that is.”

  Those denigrating words loaded Cutler’s cannon instantly. His blood pressure shot to stroke level, and his heart pumped overtime. It was all he could do not to rearrange Drew’s smug features. Because he knew how critical this meeting was, he held on to his temper. “I assume you’re referring to my mother.”

  “That I am, and I make no apologies for it.”

  Rage almost choked Cutler. “Okay, let’s hear your version of the truth.”

  Drew shrugged his gym-sculptured shoulders. “We had a one-night stand and she got pregnant. It’s as simple as that.”

  Gritting his teeth, Cutler said, “Doesn’t sound simple to me. Sounds damn complicated.”

  “I’ll admit her getting pregnant definitely muddied the waters.”

  Cutler was getting sicker and sicker by the second. “So you’re not denying you’re my father?”

  “Only by blood,” Drew said with rough fierceness.

  Cutler struggled for his next breath. He had hoped that Edgar Benton had been full of himself. Instead this encounter was proving to be his worst nightmare come true.

  “I begged her to have an abortion, but she wouldn’t even consider it. In fact, she looked at me like I had just crawled out of a sewer.” Drew’s voice and eyes were bitter as quinine. “I won’t ever forget that either.” He paused.

  “I insisted on the termination of rights papers to ensure Mary wouldn’t try to blackmail me later either emotionally or financially.”