Venus in Blue Jeans

by Meg Benjamin

  “Besides, I’ve missed him.” Margaret reached for a Kleenex, dabbing at nonexistent tears. “And he’s probably missed me too. We were very close, the two of us.”

  Cal stared at her, helplessly. He’d been as fair as he knew how to be. He’d exhausted every legitimate, honest argument he could think of.

  Time to turn to illegitimate and dirty.

  “As I said, I found Pep in the alley behind Docia’s store the day after Brody attacked you.” He leaned back in his chair, careful not to look directly at Margaret. “He got out through the back gate that I accidentally left unlocked. I meant to put out the trash bags we’d filled before we left, but I didn’t get around to it. Funny about that. We had five or six full bags of trash Docia and I and some other people had picked up after the reception, all ready for the garbage truck. But the next day we found somebody had ripped all the bags open and thrown the trash around the yard.”

  Margaret became very still. She sat with her head up, eyes staring straight ahead. He studied the view from her window.

  “I guess we all figured the burglar must have thrown the trash around the yard for some reason, but since we know now the burglar was Brody, that doesn’t make any sense, does it? I mean, Brody was there to look for the map, not to mess up Docia’s backyard. He wouldn’t want to waste time with petty vandalism, would he?”

  He turned to watch Margaret directly now. She looked down at her hands, clasped against the sheet in front of her. Her face had turned almost the same color as the sheet.

  “Whoever vandalized Docia’s yard had time to really strew that trash around.” Cal took a deep breath and stared at her bowed head. “Brody didn’t. You were right there when he walked out the back door, weren’t you?”

  Margaret swallowed, the muscles of her throat moving visibly.

  For a moment, Cal felt mildly guilty—she looked so frightened. Pep. Remember Pep.

  “Yes,” she muttered, “I was there.”

  “Maybe you heard someone tearing up Docia’s yard and came to check it out. Was that how it happened, Margaret?” He smiled winningly, his most reassuring smile, the one he used with cats who were about to get a rabies shot.

  “Yes!” Margaret nodded so quickly he was afraid she might hurt her head again. “That’s exactly what happened. I was out walking Señor Pepe, and I heard someone in her yard. And I knew no one was supposed to be there because, after all, her big party was all over and the yard was dark. So I went to check, and the gate was open, and…”

  She caught herself then, a moment too late.

  “So then you must have seen who did it, didn’t you? I mean if you heard them and came over to investigate, they must still have been throwing trash around.” Cal smiled again. Much less reassuringly.

  “They…” She stopped, lips tight, then began again. “They ran out before I got there.”

  “Out the gate?” He raised his eyebrows. “But you’d have to have been very close to hear them. Nobody else did. The police checked with the neighbors.”

  “I was…” Margaret swallowed. “Yes, I was close by. I came up the alley. Walking my dog.”

  “So they came out the gate and saw you and then ran away? But then, like I said, you must have seen them, seen who it was, I mean. Did you tell the police? Or anyone else? The vandals could be witnesses against Brody, once they catch him, that is.” He spread his lips, but it wasn’t really a smile anymore.

  Margaret paused, pleating the sheet beneath her fingertips. “I don’t remember,” she whispered. “I had a head injury. All my memories are fuzzy.”

  Cal nodded. “I can understand that. But, well, nobody else saw or heard anyone running down the alley that night or doing anything in Docia’s backyard. And I’m sure Brody would have checked. Just to make sure nobody else saw him besides you. I mean, he knew he hadn’t vandalized the yard himself.”

  She raised her gaze to his, finally, her brown eyes wide with misery.

  “Look, Margaret,” he said gently. “We both know what happened that night. When people start to think about this, they may well figure out it was you. It’s a logical deduction. Right now, of course, everyone’s concerned about you, worried about your health. So nobody remembers the vandalism. But that might change.”

  Time to go in for the kill, tell her he’d start the rumors going himself, or get Wonder and Allie to do it. Cal studied Margaret’s face for a moment. Her lower lip trembled slightly. Her fingers scratched nervously against the sheet.

  Docia wouldn’t hesitate. Docia would be ruthless—she’d save Pep. Cal took a deep breath, feeling his chest constrict.

  Margaret looked up at him, tears beginning to glaze her eyes. “What is it you want from me?” she whispered.

  He closed his eyes. He’d never been good at ruthless. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I like your dog, Margaret. He’s got a lot of spirit—we get along really well. And he does take a lot of care.”

  Margaret nodded, her fingers still scratching at the sheet. “Yes. I know he does.”

  “A cat might be better for you, you know.” He paused, trying not to think about what he might be wishing on some poor, unsuspecting kitten. “They’re more…independent. A cat wouldn’t need so much attention.”

  She nodded again. Her hands stilled. “That’s true.”

  “And a cat would probably be happier in your shop. Sometimes they seem to settle into enclosed spaces better than dogs.” Cal started to mention Nico and how well he liked the bookstore, then caught himself just in time. No more Docia references.

  Margaret looked up at him, her lips moving into a tentative smile. “Eunice Grimsby’s Persian is having kittens, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “One of them—she’s got several. Within the next month or so.”

  “Maybe I’ll talk to her about it.” Margaret swallowed. “A Persian cat would look nice in the shop. Thank you for suggesting it.”

  “No problem.” Cal got slowly to his feet. “Just remember to bring it in for its shots.”

  Margaret’s smile thinned slightly. “I might look into the vet in Johnson City. You understand, Cal, nothing personal.”

  Cal nodded again. “Probably best. Take care now.” He walked out the door, resisting the temptation to whistle as he ambled down the hall.

  —

  Cal drove home singing “Ace in the Hole”. Fortunately, no one was around to hear his voice—he was better at dancing than singing.

  “Docia?” he called, hearing the emptiness of the barn. Then he saw a sheet of bright pink construction paper pinned to the refrigerator.

  A note. His gut clenched. Never a good thing. What couldn’t she tell him in person?

  Slowly, he removed the magnet and took the sheet to the window.

  Calthorpe—

  If you want your prize, come to the apartment. Pep’s in protective custody.

  D.

  A key that Cal recognized as the one to the outside door of the apartment was taped to the bottom of the sheet.

  Cal exhaled a quick breath. Okay. Prizes always got his attention.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The bookstore was dark when Cal arrived. Janie had gone home for the evening. With any luck, he figured she might have taken Nico with her.

  His chest tightened briefly as he unlocked the outer door and climbed the stairs to the apartment. He wasn’t sure whether it was excitement or apprehension, but he was willing to take either one.

  No sign of Docia in the living room. Nico, snoozing on the couch, gave him a disinterested blink.

  Cal checked in the kitchen—nothing. “Babe?”

  “I’m in here.” Her muffled voice came from behind a closed door.

  Cal checked the dining room entryway. No lights there. Then he saw a line of soft light under the bedroom door.

  Oh, good sign.

  “Docia?” He turned the knob and stepped into the room.

  Candles burned on top of the dresser and the mantle, warming the room with a honey-co
lored glow and sending up a faintly spicy scent. Docia sat cross-legged in the middle of her blue bedspread, a glass of red wine in one hand. She wore her Sweet Betsy black satin top and a pair of black lace bikini panties.

  Cal’s groin tightened painfully. He wondered if he’d survive the night.

  Docia grinned. “What’s the word? Do we grab Pep and head for the border?”

  “Pep is a free puppy.” Cal sat on the edge of the bed and reached down to pull off his boots. “We can bring him back from whatever exotic port of call you sent him to.”

  “Mama and Daddy have him at the Woodrose.” She smiled. “You might have to fight Daddy over who gets to keep him, but I’ll bet he won’t be as scary as Margaret.”

  Cal sighed. “Not by half.”

  He pulled off his other boot and lay back on the bed beside her, feeling the mattress dip beneath him. “Let the prize begin.”

  “No.” Docia turned away, facing the end of the bed again. She took a sip of wine.

  Cal rose up on his elbow, watching her. “No?”

  “The deal, if you recall, is that you tell me what you want and I give it to you. So—” she peeked at him over her shoulder, “—what do you want?”

  A loaded question if ever he’d heard one. Cal pushed himself back up beside her, sliding the sheet aside, and ran through a mental list of options. He could play it safe and ask for sex. They’d both like it, and it probably wouldn’t make her run off again. He could duck the question and ask her what she wanted, which would probably piss her off.

  Or he could tell her what he wanted.

  He took a breath. He had a feeling the next few seconds were going to have a lot of effect on his future. “I want you. For as long as I can get you. If you’ll marry me, I’ll be a happy man. But if you just want to live together, okay. The main thing is, I want you to agree to stick around for the duration. No running off. No backing out. If something happens to make you unhappy with me or scared, you tell me and give us a chance to work it out.” He took a deep breath. “And you never assume that just because somebody else did something to you, I’m going to do it too.”

  He stared at her beautiful back, where the edge of the Sweet Betsy top curved down below her shoulder blades. Just above the line of her panties, he could see two dimples dipping in at the top of her behind. Why had he never noticed how spectacular women’s backs were before? Probably because he’d never studied hers.

  “Like I said, I love you, babe,” he murmured.

  “Okay,” Docia said.

  Cal sat very still. “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I’ll do it.” She turned around to face him, her lips curving up in a faint smile. “Live together for now. Get married in a while. Trust you. Love you. Stay with you. Okay by me.” She swallowed hard.

  Cal felt like the room tilted beneath him. Had he heard right? “It can’t be that easy, can it?”

  Docia smiled, her face illuminated by glowing candlelight. “Sure it can. My mama told me you were Wesson Oil. I figure that’s good enough for me.”

  Wesson Oil. Cal slid his hands over her lovely shoulder blades, feeling the silky texture of her skin beneath his fingers. “I assume that will make sense some day.”

  “Maybe.” Docia shrugged. “Or maybe it’ll just be one of those mysteries of life. Learn to live with it, Calthorpe.”

  “Okay, Docia Mae.” He turned her again, his fingers loosening the laces of the top, resisting the urge to rip them, caveman style. Docia’s head fell forward, and he stopped long enough to brush his lips across the nape of her neck. She smelled of dewberry and red wine.

  With a sigh, she turned back to him and began to unbutton his shirt, running her fingers across his pecs. “I love your chest,” she murmured. “I love the hair. The way it feels when I run my fingers through it. Why do they always shave men’s chest hair in the movies? Don’t they know how sexy it is?”

  Her Sweet Betsy top slid down her breasts, showing a dull red line where the edge had pressed against them. Cal leaned to run the tip of his tongue along it. His voice was slightly hoarse. “Does it hurt when you wear this?”

  She grimaced. “A little. It’s got to be tight to stay up, and it’s not a great place for something to be tight.”

  His tongue reached the end of the line. He dipped back to brush his lips across her breastbone. “You wore it all night at the Liddy Festival.”

  Docia grinned, her lids drooping. “I thought you liked it at the time.”

  “I did.” He pulled the top lower to expose more lily-white skin. “I didn’t know it hurt, though. Maybe we can compromise.” He raised his gaze to hers. “Just promise me to wear it every year on my birthday.”

  Docia began to laugh.

  —

  Docia wasn’t sure why she was laughing exactly. She felt as if she were drunk, although she’d only had one glass of wine, and she hadn’t even finished that yet. Light-headed. Giddy.

  Free.

  The moment the word popped into her mind she knew it was right. Free from fear. Free from worry. Free from all the stupid walls she’d built up inside herself that didn’t even need to be there. Free from Donnie Branscombe and all he’d ever meant and never meant. Free to trust Cal.

  To love Cal.

  Cal pushed her back against the bed, pulling the top loose and throwing it over the side. The pillow sank beneath her head, the sheets bunching around her hips.

  His hands cupped her breasts as his tongue slid into the warmth of her mouth. She rasped her tongue along his, jousting, playing.

  Her hands dropped to the waistband of his jeans, unsnapping them so that she could push them down across the smooth curve of his behind.

  Cal raised his head. “Docia, do you like these panties?”

  “Do I…” Had she missed a step? “What do you mean?”

  His brow furrowed. “I mean are they your favorite or something?”

  It took her a moment to remember what panties she had on—or that she had on any at all. “Nope, not really.”

  “Good.” He gathered the sides of her panties into his fists and ripped, then threw the result over the side of the bed along with the top. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

  Docia began to giggle again, until his mouth returned to the place between her breasts.

  And then begin to drift lower.

  His lips whispered a line from her ribs to her abdomen, lighting sparks of warmth along her torso. His hands skimmed along her thighs, moving them apart gently.

  Docia felt a moan sighing from her lungs.

  “I haven’t even gotten there yet,” Cal murmured.

  “I know.” Docia gasped as anticipation made her giddy. “Maybe you could move it along?”

  “Never rush a good thing, babe.” His fingers moved to her folds, sliding inside, opening her. Then his tongue moved across her clit.

  Docia screamed, her body arching above the bed.

  Cal raised his gaze to hers. “Good thing Pep isn’t here. He’d race in to rescue you about now.”

  “Just keep going!” she gasped, closing her eyes.

  “Pushy broad.” Cal lowered his head again, running his tongue over the tip of her clit and lower, plunging inside her opening in quick thrusts, while his thumb rubbed against her.

  Docia began to whimper, feeling the heat building, liquefying in her center. She buried her fingers in his hair, feeling the softness of his curls.

  His tongue rasped across her clit again, and she felt one finger, then two, move inside her. Her heels dug into the sheet, rasping against the fabric.

  Warmth pooled in her belly, and spiraled through her body. Her breasts, her abdomen, her knees. Her knees? She’d never really had an orgasm in her knees before. She started to giggle again, then gasp as the force of the climax caught her full on. “Oh, Cal,” she cried out. “Oh, Christ!”

  Moments later his lips brushed the side of her throat and covered her mouth again, salty with her own taste. She took him into her mouth deeply, sucking
on his tongue and raising her knees to the sides of his hips to take him in again lower.

  He thrust deep inside and the waves of pleasure hit her again, rippling through her as she sheathed herself around him. She heard him groan against her ear, and then plunge over and over.

  Docia arched off the bed again, rubbing herself against him desperately. “Please,” she whispered. “Now, please.” He thrust once again, more deeply, touching that place that made her shout. He moved jaggedly, without rhythm, plunging deep within her.

  The room spun around her for a moment as she closed her eyes, wrapping her legs over his waist, feeling him sink even deeper. The mattress dipped beneath them as she brushed her lips along his temple—quieting, soothing, holding him until his breath became regular again and he moved his weight to the side.

  Docia lay wrapped around him, listening to him breathe, watching his mouth turn up in a smile as he lay beside her. One of her favorite things to do. Lying there, watching him. And that thought didn’t even send her into a panic attack anymore.

  He rose up slightly, resting his head on his hand. “I had a speech all worked out.” His voice sounded drowsy.

  “You did?” She ran her finger along the line of his arm, down to his armpit. She even liked the hair there. Maybe it was some kind of hair fetish. Or a Cal fetish. “What about?”

  “About why you should stay with me. I thought about it all the way back from the hospital. It was pretty good too.” He collapsed onto his back, folding his arms behind his head.

  “Sorry to disappoint.” Docia grinned. “Would you like to give it to me now?”

  “Not particularly.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a wide, easy smile. The picture of male satisfaction. “I just wanted you to know I had one. So when do you want to get married?”

  Docia checked her mental thermometer. Nothing. No panic, no stress. “I don’t know—a few months, maybe. You do know Mama will want to run everything?”

  “Does that mean San Antonio?” Cal raised an eyebrow. “Society stuff?”