by Lexi Whitlow
Outside my window I see a bright flash. A few seconds later the rumble of thunder rolls off the mountains, echoing, reverberating from peak to peak. The depth of it rattles the glass in the window panes.
It’s only April. It feels too early for thunderstorms. Everyone has been talking about how unusually dry and warm it’s been. Another flash lights the night sky, followed by a second loud clap and its after effects.
I dislike thunderstorms. Lightening makes me anxious.
Somewhere out there in the far distance to the north and east of us a storm is blowing up. I know it’s far away and moving off, but the idea of it is unsettling.
I pull my laptop close, positioning my fingers over the keyboard. I dash out a note to Kara, filling her in on everything Camden revealed to me this evening, beginning with Camden’s admission of his rocky marriage well-before Emma was conceived, and ending with his declaration of love.
I hit send, then sit back, listening to the rumbling storm off in the distance.
I’m not sleepy. My mind spins with anxiety. Another rumbling thunder bolt booms over the mountains, echoing, spilling low and threatening into the valley.
I should check on Emma.
I peek in to her room, keeping quiet as a mouse as I tiptoe in for a look. She’s laid out flat on her back, one small arm raised up over her head. The other turned across her chest with a small fist balled up, thumb tucked in. She’s breathing slowly, deeply, her eyelids fluttering, lost in a dreaming sleep. Emma is untroubled by thunderstorms. Good for her. One more thing for me to admire about this bright, tough little girl.
She’s fortunate. Her daddy loves her. He’ll protect her from all the storms that come her way.
He said he loves me too.
When he said it, I didn’t know what to do with it. I still don’t.
At some point, for some reason, he said those same words to Beverly.
Does he even know what those words mean? Do I?
I know what I feel is complicated. I know it’s distracting. I can’t get him out of my head. I look at him and everything else I ever wanted for myself seems trivial by comparison. But I also know that—just like with Camden and Beverly—nothing lasts. Everything breaks. The sweeter it feels at the outset, the more painful it is in getting past it when it’s over. That’s what I’ve seen. I don’t know if I have the capacity to endure the kind of pain I’m sure will inevitably come if I let myself love Camden now.
I’m terrified it will break me.
“Hey, what are you doing?” A whisper from the shadows interrupts my reverie.
I turn. Camden stands in the doorway, then moves forward quietly. He’s wearing only sweatpants, barefoot, and naked from the chest up.
“Just checking on Emma,” I whisper in reply. “I was worried the storm would frighten her.”
He steps close behind me, peering over my shoulder down onto Emma’s peaceful repose.
“She’s okay,” he says softly. “How about you? You okay?”
I look up at him, taking in his features lit only by the soft glow from Emma’s nightlight. Even in shadows he’s beautiful beyond compare. He takes my breath away and makes my heart ache.
I’ve always been a solitary creature. I’ve never been bothered by being alone. Even when I was with Mark, my concerns about being without him were practical ones. It was easier having a boyfriend. But I was always alone in my own head. I never felt lonely.
Now, I feel a keen sense of isolation. The space between Cam and me might as well be a chasm. I’m drawn to him in such a way that I’m certain if I try to close the distance between us, I’ll disappear into him.
“No,” I say. “I’m not okay.”
His expression shifts. His brow furrows. He instinctively slips his arms around me, pulling me close. His embrace feels warm and safe. I could melt into it and give up all my striving; just let him wrap me up in him forever.
“C’mon,” he urges me. “Let’s let her sleep.”
Outside Emma’s room, once the door is shut, Camden hugs me tightly, holding me in the darkness. His body encloses mine and I don’t resist. Instead I lay my head on his chest and breath him in, my cheek pressed flat against his warm skin.
I feel his chest rise and fall with breathing. I hear his heartbeat beneath his breast at my ear. It’s slow and steady, but strong, like him. I have a hard time imagining Camden worn down and broken like the man he described to me earlier tonight. I have a hard time imagining him so angry he wished someone—the mother of his child—dead. The rare flashes of anger I have seen in him pale in comparison to what he described.
After all I know now, I feel as if I know even less than I did before.
“I’m sorry,” Camden whispers into my hair, as if he’s reading my thoughts. “I didn’t want you to know any of that. I was afraid. Ashamed. I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I couldn’t ever hate you, Cam,” I whisper. “I’m just trying to understand you.”
He hugs me a little tighter, a small huff of laughter blows in my hair. “When you figure me out, let me know. I’d like you to enlighten me, ‘cause I don’t understand me either.” He hauls in a deep breath. “I just know I love Emma more than life itself, and would do anything in the world to protect her. And I know I’m starting to feel exactly the same thing for you. That doesn’t make sense to me, but I can’t help it. And I hope, one day, you believe me. And maybe feel something for me too.”
If he only knew what I feel. I have no words for it. Being this close to him physically hurts. Being apart from him hurts worse. Is that love? If it is, it’s perfect and dreadful all at the same time. If it’s love it’s a longing, visceral hunger than can only be sated by proximity; the more intimate, the more fulfilling.
I pull back slightly so we face one another. Then, slipping my hand up past his shoulder, I let my finger caress his jaw and the turn of his chin. His beard is scratchy against my fingertips, his skin is hot and soft. I trace the line of his lips, feeling his body tense to my touch, his breath catch in his chest.
I want to kiss his lips, and so I do, pressing mine to his, surprising him. I open him to me and find his hesitant response even more tempting than usual. He returns my kisses tentatively. I’ve held him at bay for weeks, and now he’s confused. Feeling his firm, muscled chest flex beneath my open palm, I want to clear up the confusion. I let my tongue probe deep, sucking him in, pressing myself into him, eliminating the space between our bodies, closing the chasm between us.
“Jesus,” Cam huffs, coming up for air, pressing me hard against the wall. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
Loving Camden Davis is eventually going to hurt me. The pain may crush me. I know it’s inevitable. I also know I can’t escape it because it already hurts so bad. At least this way, I’ll have earned every regret that will torment me in the future.
“I haven’t even gotten started yet,” I threaten, keeping my voice low, my breath caressing his chest. I run my nails down his belly, gliding over the muscles cutting his abdomen into tightly defined segments. I trace lower, swirling my fingertips through the curl of hair dipping down below the waistband of his sweatpants. Then I firmly press him back, urging him toward his bedroom.
Once in his room, I back him toward his bed, crawling on top when he’s prone, using my mouth and lips to drink him in, sucking and nipping while I work my way from his sweet hungry lips to the tender inner flesh of his upper thighs. I spread his legs wide, using my tongue generously, teasing my way closer and closer to his erect cock and tight balls, letting my hair tickle him as I take my time getting there.
“Fucking hell,” Cam moans, his hands falling to my shoulders. “Oh, fucking hell.”
I gently slip my fingers behind his ball sack, lifting them into my soft grasp, pressing my knuckles into the tight flesh behind.
Cam moans loudly.
I tease him, tenderly caressing them in my hand, while using my tongue to trace the line of his shaft from base to tip. Pr
e-cum spills in glistening drips down the head of his cock. I lick it off, tasting the salty slick evidence of his anticipation. He’s hard as a rock. My panties are soaking wet, slippery with my need.
I take him into my mouth, using my free hand to grip him in small strokes at the base. I go slow, using my tongue to lash the curves and hard lines of him, while drawing my lips tight as I move up and down on his length.
“Oh, fuuuck…” he moans, fingers threading my hair, urging me on.
I keep the rhythm steady and my grasp firm as I pump him with my mouth sealed tight, sucking him into me.
It takes so little time before I feel him about to break. His balls draw tight, pulling up close to his body. His abdomen tenses, muscles lifting him. Then, all at once, the damn breaks. His balls shudder, passing a heavy load up the length of his cock, exploding into my mouth with a flood of hot, flowing cum. I suck him dry, draining the last drop, relishing in his pleasure, the music of his moans filling my ears. I don’t stop working until he quiets, his cock softening against my attentions.
When I sit up wiping my chin, Cam heaves for air, his expression bewildered, eyes glazed.
Good. Maybe now it’ll make sense to him why he’s starting to feel what he feels for me.
Maybe now he’ll start to believe that I feel close to the same thing.
Chapter 18
Camden
My mind is a blank. Somewhere in the back of it I have a vague memory of a very bad day; of rage and helplessness, cruelty, and fear. But that’s just a haze. All I have now is the sensation of floating, every inch of my body bathed in radiant heat and safety.
If only I could breathe.
I gasp for air, sucking in a lung full, feeling Grace’s soft hands flat against the tops of my thighs. I look down. She’s on all fours hanging over me, wearing a self-satisfied grin with slightly swollen lips from doing things to my cock that I have no words for.
Fucking hell.
I think that’s still illegal in six states, and it’s no wonder.
Grace crawls up on me, creeping like a cat, then settles down, straddling me. I feel her dripping heat on my limp dick, slick warmth sliding down onto my balls.
I know what to do with that, but at the moment, I’m useless.
My hands absently move to her hips, fingers circling, touching her soft, pale skin. I reach up to her shoulders, pulling her down to me, close on my chest, cradling her head in the crook of my neck.
“Jesus, baby. What was that?” I ask, lacking any better way of expressing just how fucking good that was.
She says nothing. She just kisses my chest, nipping my chin, tracing my pectorals with her fingertips.
A thousand times, while I endured the worst of life with Beverly Beaufort, I regretted ever meeting her and then marrying her. I wished I never laid eyes on her. But laying here, with Grace in my arms, I realize that without Bev, I wouldn’t have Emma. Without Emma, I would never have met Grace.
My father used to say that everything happens for a reason, and that second-guessing or holding onto regrets is a waste of time. Maybe he was right. I think he probably was.
Grace and I make love into the pre-dawn hours, taking our time, going slow, trying hard to stay quiet, but failing. When we’re spent, I pull her close to me spooning, her small, still body enveloped in mine. Without meaning to, we both drift off to sleep.
When I open my eyes, Grace is no longer with me. The room is bright, filled with streaming sunlight, the house is awake, and the scent of fresh coffee and bacon draws me to full wakefulness.
Saturday. No pre-school. The horses are turned out at dawn and then all but two of the stable crew go home for the weekend. The ranch is quiet on the weekends.
I sit up in bed, getting a whiff of myself. I smell of sweat and sex. I’m glad Emma didn’t decide to join me this morning. That would be awkward.
Slipping into the shower I scrub myself clean, thinking of last night, and how Grace felt, how she made me feel. Last night felt like the wall came down. She’s mine. I smile to myself while I shampoo my hair.
She’s really all mine.
She hasn’t said the words yet, but I know she feels it. She showed me that.
Yesterday was the worst day I’ve had in years. Today, I’m walking on clouds. After breakfast I’m going to take my girls riding. My girls. It looks like a beautiful day for it; clear and warm. We’ll ride high up into the mountains and see what we can see, just because we can.
* * *
The ground beneath the horse’s hooves should be soft with snowmelt, but it’s dry, crackling underfoot. We haven’t had any precipitation since early February. Now, with the winds rising out of the southwest, everything is turning hot and parched. It’s only April. A few more months of this and we’ll be in a full-on drought.
At least we put in the new, deep well three years back. I don’t think it’ll run dry anytime soon; not like the old well. I feel sorry for anyone depending on surface water to keep their livestock hydrated or their crops growing. The reservoir is lower than I’ve ever seen it this time of year, and most of the creeks and rivers are either dry or damn near so.
“Daddy! Look!” Emma calls from up high. She’s crested the ridgeline thirty feet ahead of Grace and me, and she can see for miles.
Jack and Mirabel power up with ease, joining little Stoney on the high path.
I see what Emma see’s and it makes my gut wrench.
Fire. North of us by five or six miles, and one range of ridges east. We can’t see the flames, but a column of black smoke rises high into the air, indicating its heat. It levels out, the prevailing winds spreading a gray cloud over the valley to the east.
We get wildfires in the late summer and early fall. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of them coming so early. I have little doubt that this one was set off by last night’s lightening. It’s too early in the season for those kind of storms, too.
“That looks big—and bad,” Grace observes, casting her gaze toward the smoke. “Shouldn’t they have helicopters or planes or something trying to put it out?”
She’s never seen a real wildfire before.
“It’s not big,” I reassure her. “Hopefully it’ll burn itself out by tonight. They usually do.”
Then again, the forest floor isn’t usually as dry as kindling.
As soon as we get home and I’ve got the weekend grooms attending to the horses, I go to my computer and pull up the Forest Service fire map. What it shows me is shocking. The fire we saw is there, but it’s not alone. There are dots on the map representing fires all over the northwest, with a particularly troubling pattern beginning at the Canadian border, following the Rockies through western Montana all the way to central Colorado. The fires are small and dispersed, but with the conditions in the ground, any of them could blow up, then join up, creating a catastrophic situation for anything in their path.
The good news is that everything seems to be happening east of Mission Valley. There’s nothing that could threaten us, directly. That could change, so I vow to keep my eye on things. For the moment, I’m satisfied that if we just get some rain, we’ll be fine. Storms are in the forecast. A good spring drenching would be welcome.
Chapter 19
Grace
Some days things really don’t go my way. I knew today was going to be rough, but I didn’t start out knowing just how rough. The custody hearing began this morning, and because the judge wants to ask Emma some questions—thankfully not in open court—I’ve had to come along to take care of her while Cam, the Beauforts, and the attorneys, duke it out in the courtroom. Cam’s mom is in court, too, as moral support.
I haven’t been in the courtroom, so I haven’t heard all the details. I have been present for enough of the back and forth between Camden and his attorney to know that they’ve done an excellent job making a case against the Beaufort’s gaining unsupervised visits with Emma. Craig Beaufort has a criminal record involving assault charges, as well multiple counts of pos
session of cocaine and other controlled substances. Beyond that, when Beverly and her sister were children, Child Protective Services was called to the family’s home numerous times.
One at least one of those occasions, Craig Beaufort was suspected of abusing his children, but there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him. The girls were temporarily removed from the home while he was under investigation. The odd thing about that incident is that usually the father is required to leave the home, but in this case, it was the kids who got displaced. Camden’s attorney said that was because Delores Beaufort took her husband’s side when one of the girl’s reported the abuse, and voluntarily surrendered them to CPS. By the time the kids had been in foster care for a few weeks, they recanted the story, saying they made it up.
