Sunset Hearts [The American Heroes Collection: Florida] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Macy Largo

  “Why are you helping me? I mean, I really appreciate it, but I can leave,” she quietly said.

  His expression grew serious, the playful look gone. “Listen,” he quietly said as he sat next to her, “do you honestly have anywhere else to go? Any family? Friends? Anyone?”

  He reached out and gently turned her face to his, his fingers firm on her chin. She felt lost in his big brown eyes. “No,” she whispered.

  She felt like a pitiful loser having to admit that. She had no family. When her best friend, Deanna, put two and two together and realized who Paulie was, she begged Daphne to leave him. When she wouldn’t, Deanna distanced herself.

  “Then why not stay here with me, at least for a while? Unless that asshole is a psychic, he has no way of finding you here.”

  She didn’t have an adequate comeback that wouldn’t force her to tell the truth. “Can I pay you rent or something?”

  “Not right now. When you can get around again, you can do chores, help me with my paperwork, stuff like that.”

  “I won’t stay long, I promise.”

  He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I hope you don’t mean that.”

  He stood to make them breakfast, leaving her wondering what he meant.

  * * * *

  Alan thought about Daphne while he took his shower. After breakfast, he’d helped her to the living room couch and made her comfortable there. She could watch TV all day on the couch, chill out and not have as far to go to the kitchen. She broke down crying again, and even though he knew it would put him at a rush for time, he sat with her, holding her, soothing her until she calmed herself.

  Why was he helping her?

  What man in his right mind, straight or gay, could resist helping a pretty damsel so obviously in distress? He didn’t get a scam vibe from her. He felt a literally scared to death vibe.

  He thought about his youngest little sister, Laurie. His mom and dad had adopted her when she was twelve.

  Okay, color me psychoanalyzed. Laurie had worn the same desperate, terrified look on her face when she first came to live with them at the age of six. He was fourteen then. They’d had several foster children, boys and girls, cycle in and out of their home over the years. The caseworker, Mrs. Calgary, had knocked on their door at ten that night with Laurie in her arms, the little girl desperately clutching the woman, refusing to let go.

  Alan’s father had been a deputy in the small north Florida town Alan grew up in. A shortage of emergency foster homes in their area prompted his parents to sign up for the program. Laurie’s father had gotten very drunk one late May evening and beaten her mother to death before her eyes. She managed to lock herself in the bathroom of their small trailer and climb out the window to escape to a neighbor’s house. She had no other family.

  Mrs. Calgary tried to hand her over to Alan’s mom and dad, but the little girl screamed, terrified to let go.

  Alan had walked around behind Mrs. Calgary and smiled at the little girl without reaching for her. Then he talked to her for a couple of minutes, offered her a Twinkie and showed her one of his other sister’s stuffed animals. To her, he must have seemed a strangely safe version of an adult. Older than her but not threatening. She finally let him take her from Mrs. Calgary, but she clung to him, terrified to let go, holding on as tightly and desperately as she had to Mrs. Calgary. He carried her up to his parents’ bedroom where he and his mom stayed with her all night while his dad slept in Alan’s room. Laurie tightly clung to Alan, even in sleep.

  His mom looked at him in the dim light, a sad smile on her face. “You’ve always had that special touch, Alan,” she’d whispered. “You’re a gentle soul. You’re always good with the kids. Don’t ever lose that.”

  Over the next days and weeks, Laurie shadowed Alan, even waiting for him outside the bathroom, wanting to sleep in his room with him, not even wanting anything to do with his other two younger sisters. She insisted Alan stay with her when she talked to the caseworker and the counselors. Fortunately, by the time school started that fall, she had bonded to his parents and other siblings and wasn’t terrified to go to school.

  To this day she still felt closer to him than anyone else in his family.

  Daphne wore the same look when he found her out there in the sawgrass flats. Those same terrified hazel eyes. That same fear.

  She’d looked death in the face, literally, and believed with all her heart and soul she’d die next.

  He’d never told Jerald about the circumstances of Laurie’s adoption. They didn’t talk about it in their family. It wasn’t a secret, but Laurie had no desire to revisit that dark time in her life. It had taken her years to stop having nightmares. Alan couldn’t begin to count how many times he’d awoken to find Laurie had crawled into bed with him in the middle of the night when she had yet another night terror.

  Alan knew no matter what, no way could he ever turn his back on Daphne if she would let him help. Standing by and doing nothing was absolutely not an option.

  * * * *

  Alan found her dozing when he returned to the kitchen after his shower, but she awoke at the sound of him getting ready. He wrote his cell and the neighbor’s numbers on a notepad and brought it and the house phone to the living room, where he laid them on the coffee table so she could reach them.

  “Lucky thing I haven’t canceled the land line yet. I thought about doing it last month. That’s my cell number. Call me if you need me. If you get my voice mail, leave a message in case I didn’t hear it go off. If there’s an emergency, call my next door neighbor, Sharon. She’s usually home during the day and she’s got a key to get in. I already talked to her last night.”

  He watched Daphne’s eyes haze over in fear. “Who did you tell her I was?”

  “My cousin from out of town.” He smiled and gently chucked her under the chin. “I have a freaking huge family. Eight aunts and uncles, with literally dozens of cousins. Trust me, no one will ask questions or suspect anything unusual.” He watched as she marginally relaxed, but he could almost taste her fear. “I’ve got a morning charter. I’ll be back by one at the latest. Can I bring you anything?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  He sat on the coffee table and gentled his voice. “Will you please talk to Jerald this afternoon? For me? I promise he won’t bite.” He smiled. “Unless, of course, you like being bitten. But if that’s the case, sweetie, I would be more than happy to help you out there.” He winked.

  She laughed. Finally, he’d pulled a non-fearful emotion out of her. “Okay. If you think I should talk to him.”

  “I think you should.” He couldn’t help it. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. She looked so lost, so terrified. “I’ll see you later. I’ll lock the door, but you can unlock it from the inside. Do not leave this house, and stay off those feet.”

  She nodded. When he left, he locked the door behind him. A moment later his truck started and she heard him pull out.

  He was so sweet. So cute. A little flirty, but probably just trying to make her feel better, hello, gay with a boyfriend. It’d worked, though. He’d totally put her at ease.

  Paulie’s goons would…

  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and willed away that memory. She couldn’t live with herself if Alan got hurt because he helped her. He’d taken her under his wing without pushing her for the truth.

  Then again, if she did tell him the truth he might make her leave. She certainly wouldn’t blame him for that, either.

  As far as she was concerned, the truth could stay at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico with that poor bastard Paulie killed.

  * * * *

  When Alan returned from his charter at noon, Jerald stood waiting for him on the dock at Alan’s slip. Alan tossed him the mooring lines. Jerald caught them and wound them around the dock cleats.

  “Have a good morning?” Jerald asked.

  One of the tourists, a fat middle-aged man with a loud Boston accent, launched into an excited recol
lection of the morning. Alan caught Jerald’s eye and winked.

  Jerald winked back.

  He gave their catch a cursory glance and waited until Alan had finished helping them unload their gear. Once they left, Alan grabbed a hose from the dock and started washing down the deck. “Oh. My. Gawd,” he said, imitating the man’s Boston accent. “They tawked my freakin’ ears awf,” Alan said.

  Jerald smirked, amused. “That’ll make you appreciate me even more.”

  “Dude, you have nooo clue. Your stonewall act is a relief compared to that. I had no idea how lucky I am.”

  Alan finished cleaning up, secured his boat, and followed Jerald up the dock. He pulled into his driveway first, Jerald following in his official truck. They found Daphne lying on the couch, dozing, the TV turned to a cable news channel. Alan walked over and sat on the coffee table. When he reached out and touched her shoulder, she jumped, screaming, before she recognized Alan.

  “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I dozed off again.”

  “That’s okay. Daphne, this is Jerald Carter.”

  Alan watched as the fear from her startling wake-up never fully left her face. Jerald put on a smile warm enough to melt an iceberg as he knelt down next to the couch so he didn’t tower over her.

  “Nice to meet you, Daphne,” he said.

  She nodded. “Same here.” Alan didn’t miss the way she pressed back into the couch, trying to put as much distance between herself and Jerald as possible.

  Laurie all over again.

  “Would you mind if I talked with you for a few minutes?” Jerald asked her. “Alan told me the basics.”

  “Okay.” Her voice dropped nearly to a whisper.

  Jerald went through the events that led her to jumping overboard, basically the same story she’d told Alan. When Jerald suggested she file charges against Scorsini, she flat-out refused.

  It still didn’t make sense to Alan. She said she worried Scorsini would beat her up, referenced a fight earlier that day, but still nothing he could put his finger on that would cause the reaction he’d witnessed.

  She nervously twisted her hands in her lap, constantly glancing at him as she talked with Jerald.

  Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Jerald’s questions had become repetitive as his tone hardened in frustration. Alan reached out and patted her hands, squeezed them to calm her. “That’s okay, you did good. You want lunch?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He stood and pulled Jerald to his feet and led him to the kitchen, behind the divider where she couldn’t see them.

  “Enough, Jer,” he whispered. “She’s done.”

  He frowned. “I’m not even getting started. Her story doesn’t add up.”

  “She’s said all she’s going to say. Don’t harass her. You said she doesn’t have a record.”

  “I said her license came back clean in whatever name she used to obtain it. I need prints to be sure.”

  “You are not running her fucking prints! She hasn’t done anything except fight to save her life.”

  Jerald leaned against the counter, arms crossed, his expression dark. Alan knew that look. Jerald felt far from happy. “This doesn’t add up.”

  “Has she broken any laws?”

  “Not that I know of, but—”

  “Then you leave her the hell alone.”

  * * * *

  Jerald stared at Alan, studying him. He’d never seen this reaction in Alan, the blatant challenge in his expression, daring Jerald to argue with him.

  “What’s going on with you?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Why are you adopting her like this?”

  Alan turned to the fridge. “She needs help. We can help her.”

  “What’s this ‘we’ stuff? You volunteered to help her.” He sensed that was the absolute wrong damn thing to say from the sudden, tense set of Alan’s body.

  “Fine. I’ll help her then. Happy? Sorry I fucking bothered you.”

  Jerald put a hand out to still Alan’s agitated movements. “No, I’m not happy. You fish her out of the Gulf and she tells you her boyfriend is a fucking mobster who beat the crap out of her, and you’re just going to move her in with you?” Without even asking me first.

  Alan shrugged his hand off his arm. “I’m not moving her in. I’m giving her a place to stay. She doesn’t have anyone she can turn to.” He dropped his voice again as he realized their volume had crept up the scale. “You staying for lunch or not?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Are you coming back for dinner?”

  Jerald knew that could lead to nothing but a fight under the present circumstances. “I don’t know.” He headed for the door.

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “What about it?”

  “We’re still moving your stuff, aren’t we?”

  Holy crap. He’d forgotten. He turned. “That should probably wait for now, don’t you think?” He hated the hurt look that flashed in Alan’s eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to cross the room and go back to him, to wrap his arms around him and hold him, not with Alan now standing in the opening to the kitchen where she could see them if he did.

  Alan’s jaw tightened. Jerald hated the way the other man’s voice now sounded hurt and quiet. “Okay. Fine. See you around the marina, then,” Alan said. He turned to get something else out of the fridge.

  Jerald walked out, forcing himself not to slam the door behind him. All the way back to the marina he ripped himself a new one.

  Could have handled that a lot fucking better.

  He wasn’t good at this kind of stuff. Especially not with Alan. Normally, their relationship cruised along without him having to deal with hurt feelings or arguments. They never argued. They rarely disagreed. Perfectly matched as far as temperament, no friction or tension usually existed between them. Except for the pleasant sexual kind, of course. Alan was his calm, his rock, his eye in the storm, and this alien emotional territory made him uncomfortable. Everything had been going fine until Alan found her. They’d been happy, and now it had gone to shit.

  And it’s all her fault.

  Chapter Five

  From the tense hunch in Jerald’s shoulders, Daphne was surprised he didn’t slam the door as he left. “Is everything okay?” she nervously asked Alan. Duh, she’d just witnessed a fight over something.

  She had a feeling that something was her. She didn’t have to be a psychic to see that hot and hunkalicious Joe Friday, Fish Cop, couldn’t be less thrilled about her presence if he tried.

  Not that she blamed him. If their positions were reversed, she wouldn’t want some mobster’s ex-girlfriend moving in with her boyfriend either. At least he didn’t have to worry about them sleeping together in a wild monkey-sex kind of way.

  Le sigh.

  “He had to get back to the marina.”

  She eased herself off the sofa and into the office chair. Carefully, she rolled over to the kitchen table. “Dirty Harry doesn’t like me, huh?”

  He smirked. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “That’s because you’re a nice guy. You don’t have to spare my feelings. I’m sorry I’ve caused you problems with him.”

  He made them both sandwiches and dished out potato salad before he sat down at the table with her. “He’s protective.”

  “If you were my boyfriend, I’d be protective too. Territorial even. He’s a lucky guy.”

  Alan laughed. “You’re good for my ego, girl.”

  After lunch she returned to her bedroom to lie down and take a nap. Her feet throbbed if she kept them down too long. He helped her prop them up on extra pillows.

  “Did you take your medicine?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Yes.”

  “You don’t mind I’m overprotective, do you? I’m big brother to three younger sisters. Old habits die hard.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s nice having someone taking care of me.”

  “You ever have that?”

  She fe
lt heat fill her face. “No,” she quietly admitted. “Not for a long time.”

  Daphne tried to sleep after he closed the bedroom door and left her alone. Only a moron could miss the blatant emotions in Jerald Carter’s face when he looked at Alan. That man felt head over heels in love with Alan.

  He also didn’t like the fact that Alan had taken her in.

  Maybe if she tried super hard to be nice to him, he might friendly up a little. Alan was right, she couldn’t leave yet. She damn sure didn’t need Major Carter poking around and asking her more questions. She also didn’t want to cause Alan any problems with him.

  * * * *

  Jerald slammed his fist against the steering wheel before he started his truck and pulled out of the marina a little after five that afternoon.

  Goddammit.

  He’d felt like shit all afternoon, probably pissed off half the guides at the marina in the process, and wanted to beat the living daylights out of something.

  He had to apologize to Alan. He would also have to sit back and let this situation run its course on Alan’s time, not his. Legally, there wasn’t anything else he could do, unless he wanted to file a report and piss Alan off and drive him away in the process. Alan’s protective big brother streak had gone into steroidal overdrive. Any attempts on his part to make Alan see reason would only cause more problems. Alan would take her side, not see the sense in his arguments.

  He went home, showered, changed, and picked up his personal truck. He took a detour by Wal-Mart before heading back to Aripeka. He couldn’t show up at Alan’s empty-handed. He needed to bring an “I’m sorry” gift.

  Jerald happily noted that Alan looked pleasantly surprised when he walked in his front door a little after seven. Despite that, Alan still didn’t cross the kitchen to kiss him hello.

  “Hey,” Alan simply said.

  Jerald nodded and set the plastic bag on the table. “Hey.” He glanced over and noticed Daphne struggling to get off the couch and into the office chair. He dove for her, catching her as she lost her balance when the chair skittered out from under her.