Confessed

by Nicola Rendell

I hand him a dinner plate, and he puts it in the dishwasher.

  “Want to meet Peanut?” I say. I zip the necklace he gave me back and forth. His eyes move down to it and he smiles.

  He wipes his hands on a dishtowel. “Anything you want, beautiful. As long as I’m with you.”

  Hand in hand we walk down the property, through the high grasses, and over the hill to the stables.

  “That’s her, there.” I point at her, over by the wall. She’s watching a bird on the fence and swishing her tail back and forth. I click my tongue, and she swings her head. Her ears perk up, and she starts trotting towards us.

  “She’s beautiful,” he says.

  She’s also a little concerned, clearly, about who this is with me. About ten feet away, she slows down and then stops. “It’s okay,” I say. “This is Vince.”

  Her left ear moves.

  I elbow him.

  “Hello, Peanut,” he says.

  I snicker. I walk to the barn and get a handful of pellet feed for him. I put it in his hand. He flattens his palm and offers it to her.

  Peanut walks over. She eats the pellets, looking semi-disappointed that he didn’t come bearing radishes. “I know,” I tell her. “We’re a little shy on veggies. I’ll go to the store tomorrow.”

  She whinnies and kicks the ground.

  And then she comes right up to Vince and slowly, deliberately, puts her head on his shoulder. I’ve never seen her do anything quite like it. She’s most definitely putting herself between the two of us.

  “That’s a good girl,” I hear Vince say. I can’t even see him behind her head. I take his hand and show him where to give her a pat. That seems to be enough, and she shakes her head, whipping him in the face with her mane.

  Then she goes off to eat some oats. And watches us.

  He turns me in his arms to face him, saying, “You’re sure it’s okay I came?”

  There’s a little bit of horse drool on his shoulder, and I wipe it off. “I was hoping so very much that you would.”

  He guides my face to his and kisses me deeply, hungrily, and I kiss him right back. Neither of us breathes, both of our bodies holding the other in as tight as we can.

  But then a very familiar, very large equine nose parts our faces again. Peanut snorts and moves her lips around.

  “Oh you,” I tell her and take Vince by the hand. “I’ll be back later.”

  Peanut huffs and swings her head away.

  Vince laughs. “That’s exactly what you do when you’re annoyed.”

  I lead him up the hill, to the far field, which is high with new hay. I pull him down onto the ground, and we take cover under the high green stalks.

  “Do I get to keep you?” I ask, climbing on top of him.

  “Yeah, you do,” he says. “As long as you’ll have me.”

  “You’re not leaving,” I say, my tongue sliding up his ear. His thumbs dig into me a little harder, and his lips move down my collarbone.

  “Never leaving.”

  “Not even to go to jail.”

  “Jesus.”

  I giggle a little. “I mean, it’s not a ridiculous question. I want to know. It matters.”

  “No,” he smiles. “Not even to go to jail.”

  I hear the teeth of his fly, and then I feel them sliding metallic and cold against my leg.

  He hitches my skirt up my torso and pulls my panties aside with one hand. He positions himself at my opening and presses into me.

  “I missed you so much,” he says. He holds my hair back from my face, tangling it in his fingers at the nape of my neck.

  I watch him, in between waves of that pure pleasure he gives me, and his eyes never leave mine. Except for when I close them because he gives me no other choice.

  We go, and we go. We get sweaty, and I see grass stains on my knees, on my elbows, on his shoulders.

  “Come with me.”

  I know what he’s saying. I’m right on the edge. But oh, how I love to tease him. “Come with you where?”

  I’m coming already, but he’s hanging on. He’s got me. He’ll always have me.

  He drives into me from below, eyes twinkling in the half-light, and he whispers, “Everywhere.”

  37

  two months later

  Peanut steps out of the horse trailer onto New Mexican soil and looks around. She paws the bare, dusty ground and pricks her ears. She looks a little baffled. No trees. No grass. But then she sees Lucy, lowers her head, and whinnies.

  Mrs. Burchett calls my name from the garage. We’ve gotten her all set up in my aunt’s old house, about two miles from the main house where we’re going to live. “About the BMW,” she says. “I’d like to sell it. Charles bought it. I’d rather not have it here.”

  “No problem,” I say. The first thing that springs to mind is this shady chop shop outside Española, but I push that out of my head. “We can sell it on Craigslist, or I can bring it to that used car place outside Wagon Mound.”

  She makes a short ponytail of her hair. She was inspired by Lucy to cut all her hair off too. “Is that a Harley?” she asks, pointing to the bike under the tarp.

  Lucy leaves Peanut’s side and comes to mine, right where I like her to be. “Mom. You’re kidding…”

  I pull the tarp off. “It’s a Vincent Black Shadow.”

  Mrs. Burchett’s thin lips squeeze up into a satisfied smile. “Before I met your father, I used to date a biker. Bet you didn’t know that, did you, Lucy Loo?”

  Lucy presses her head to my chest. “I think there’s a lot I don’t know about you, Mom.”

  “You know what you’re doing?” I ask. I hand her the helmet.

  “I sure do,” she says, holding the helmet in both hands but not putting it on. “So may I?” “Shit yes!” I say. “I mean. Of course,” I cough.

  “‘Shit yes’ will do just fine, Vince,” she laughs. She slips the helmet over her head and pops open the visor. She looks badass in the way that only menopausal women can look bad ass—been there, done that, and don’t give two shits anymore. She slings her leg over the bike and turns the key in the ignition. “I’ll see you two later.”

  And like a goddamned bridge-playing, linen-wearing Nomad biker, she kicks the pedal, revs the engine, and heads off down the ranch road to her little house.

  Lucy wraps her arms around me. The noise of the bike burns off through the noon air, and the only sound is Peanut eating hay.

  I hear Lucy take a deep breath. “Come inside with me.” She sounds serious and worried. “I need to talk to you.”

  I don’t like the sound of that at all. I trust her enough to listen to her, and I follow her inside. The house is cool and shady, and now has little touches of her here and there. Wildflowers in a vase, some of my drawings up on the walls.

  She turns to me in the kitchen. “So in all the chaos over the last two months…”

  I run my finger down her throat and move the horseshoe charm side to side.

  She takes my hand away and grips it between hers at my waist. I’ve never seen her look so worried. I see her pulse in her neck, hard and fast. “What’s wrong, beautiful?” I raise her chin to me.

  Lucy inhales, as if to steady herself. “In all the chaos, I might have forgotten to take my pill.”

  I pause with my finger on her chin. “You did what…”

  She shuts her eyes. “Maybe a few times. Which was really stupid, I know, but… there was so much going on, and I…” Her swallow catches her words and makes her stop talking. I feel her hands trembling against me.

  “Lucy, are you…?” Without even thinking of what I’m doing, I put my hand flat on her stomach.

  “Please, don’t be mad. Please.”

  “Are you pregnant?”

  “Vince, don’t be mad.”

  Mad.

  Mad? I’m sinking to my knees before I even remember how to say words again. I’m in tears before I even reach the floor.

  Holy fuck alive, the happiness. The joy. I pull her st
omach to my face and press my cheek to her belly button, trying to hear whoever it is in there. Whoever we are. Whoever we’re going to be.

  Lucy holds my head tight to her body. I hear her laughing through her stomach. What fucking magic. What fucking happiness.

  She places a hand on each side of my face. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

  I place my chin softly to her belly button and look up the length of her body until I meet her eyes. Some decisions are hard. Others? They’re as easy as breathing. “Marry me, Lucy.”

  Her eyes sparkle. Her lips part.

  I stand up. I pull her close, and I straighten the bobby pin in her hair as I study her face. She is more beautiful every single time I look at her. “Marry me, Lucy,” I say. “Please.”

  THE END

  * * *

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  Acknowledgments

  As ever, this book would not be possible without my husband. You and your sexy voice have your own fan club now, which doesn’t surprise me a bit. Thank you for helping me be who I am becoming. I love you so damned much it hurts.

  For my parents, once again, thank you for everything. The only bittersweet part of the fun I’m having is that you can’t revel in it alongside me.

  To the remarkable group of women who I have met before and during the writing of this book. To Jade Eby, I cannot thank you enough for your patience and help. Jena Campbell at IndieGirl Promotions, you are such a treasure and I am so glad to have your help and support. You were the first person to welcome me into this world and you remain the one who holds my hand through everything. Najla Qamber, you are incredible. You make a simple thing into an artful one, and I now think of future books first and foremost as your covers. And also to Nazarea Andrews at InkSlinger PR for bearing with me, being my cheerleader, and being so patient with my excessive email-sending habits. Finally to Neda Amini at Ardent Prose, here is to many years of messaging. Thank you for all you have done already.

  To my editors. You prove that no matter how focused the eyes, another set can only improve the work. Eagle, you have a modern touch that brings my writing to the next level; you cannot imagine how I envy your eye, or how grateful I am to have your help. Alexis Durbin, you will never push too hard. And Abbie Lee, I’m starting to think that even my emails need your eyes on them.

  To my extraordinary betas. To Anita Scott Shofner for claiming Vince as her own and showing me that a picture is, indeed, worth 1000 words. To Julie Kelley for her honesty, her love, and her emails. To Amy Boscia for catching things that I literally could not see, no matter if I looked a million times.

  To Samantha Stroh Bailey. I have dreams of seeing the cottage one day together. And Delaney Foster, how I love you. To all the ladies in my street team, there is no better group of mothterbitches anywhere.

  To the bloggers who have supported my work in so many ways, you are remarkable women. You helped make the release of Professed a smash success and I couldn’t have done it without you. I especially want to thank Shelley from Must Read Books Or Die; you don’t know this, but you were my first blogger to respond and I will never, ever forget that. Your support gave me strength on a long day and every day since. To Maïwenn Blogs, plein de bisous. Vox Libris, I have always admired the way you do things, and to have your support is such an honor. To Angie’s Dreamy Reads, the day you told me you were interested in my book was the day I squealed like a little girl. And to Ang, Candi, and Paula at Dirty Laundry Review, you are generous, welcoming, and absolutely fantastic. You know what’s up, as I have always said. There are so many talented authors and a girl is grateful to have caught your eye. I’d put that bird sticker here if I could.

  To my fellow authors. Carrie Aarons, thank you for you all your patience and kindness. Lauren Blakely, thank you for taking a chance on me and taking me under your wing. You can’t imagine how much I admire you, and how flattered I am that you enjoyed this book so much. Thank you to Alexa Riley (*horny face*). And Alex Lucian, never in my wildest dreams did I think the two of us would have inside jokes.

  Finally, to my readers. We are on this ride together and I couldn’t have better company. Thank you for supporting my stories and the work of all the authors you love. It’s all for you!

  * * *

  Coming soon. Hail Mary. Football season, 2016.

  About the Author

  Nicola Rendell writes dirty, funny, erotic romance. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She is at an unnamed Ivy and prefers to remain mostly anonymous for professional reasons. She has a PhD in English and an MFA in Creative Writing from schools that shall not be named here. She lives with her husband and her dogs. She is proud to be a left-handed Myers-Briggs INFJ... which makes her some kind of unicorn or something. She is from Taos, New Mexico.

  AuthorNRendell

  www.nicolarendell.com

  Also by Nicola Rendell

  Professed