Every Second Counts

by D. Jackson Leigh

  Ryder’s eyes were bright as they bore into hers, showing her, feeding her the fire she stoked with each slow, careful thrust. When they came together this time, she glimpsed something different than hunger or victory in Ryder’s gaze. Something like…surprise.

  But when they collapsed together, Ryder tucked her face against Bridgette’s neck, trembling in the aftermath of their coupling. She stroked the long, sweaty back and skated her hands over Ryder’s perfect ass. God, she loved that ass.

  “Say it again.”

  “What, darling?”

  “My name. I love hearing my name on your lips.”

  Ryder’s hips convulsed when she raked her nails over the smooth buttocks. “Marc. It’s a beautiful name. It suits you.”

  Ryder’s lips were on her throat, then her mouth. But Ryder’s eyes were shuttered this time, dark thick lashes shielding the emotion Bridgette didn’t want to see anyway.

  Their kisses grew heated and purposeful again, and she rolled Ryder onto her back.

  “My turn,” she said.

  *

  When Ryder woke, the thin rays of dawn were filtering through the sheer drapes. She was alone with only Bridgette’s sandalwood scent lingering on the blanket she had pulled from a closet and the pillow that had cradled her beautiful face.

  Her hips jerked and she grew wet at the memory of Bridgette’s fingers filling her, her mouth sucking her, her strokes taking her to that edge of passion again and again, only to deny her orgasm. She had begged shamelessly, even wept when her release was at last permitted. And then, Bridgette began again, claiming her four more times before Ryder was too depleted to respond.

  Their first time had been about lust, passion burning hot and bright between them. This time had been about touching deeper places that spoke of caring and hinted at owning.

  Now Bridgette was gone.

  She sighed.

  Nothing had changed. She was still the child nobody really wanted. She was the lover no one thought to keep. They all wanted her lust. None wanted her heart.

  For a moment, Bridgette had touched, filled the empty places inside her. Now they ached with a new, sharper desolation. She had done what she swore she would never do again.

  Damn it. She had let herself hope.

  *

  The door to her loft slammed behind her, but this time Bridgette felt no uncertainty. Her paints, her clay called to her. She was hungry and needed to shower, but her urgency would not let her stop to take care of those baser needs. She would paint with the scent of their passion still on her hands, on her cheeks, on her body.

  It was her inspiration.

  Art had always been an outlet for her.

  After her brother died, the desolate feelings she poured onto canvas were tortured pictures that magnified rather than purged her agony. That work had made her reputation and filled her bank account. But it had also pushed her into a depression so deep, she had packed the last of those paintings away and spent more than a year in a monastery retreat where she learned to separate and shut away those dark thoughts to find peace from her pain. When she began to paint again, the raw passion that marked her earlier work was gone, locked away with the torment of losing Stephan. Locked in the crate that stood in the corner of her studio.

  She shook now as she opened her paints and mixed them on the palette. She was elated to feel passion flowing through her hands again. And she was terrified that it was Marc Ryder who had opened the floodgate.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ryder urged Wind Walker faster, taking another jump on the cross-country course. Gallop, gallop, gallop, gather, jump. The impact of their landing stung, but the pain was manageable. Her leg was growing stronger every day. Gallop, gallop, gallop, gather, jump. They skirted the really difficult obstacles because the Arabian wasn’t bred for jumping, but they had pounded around the center’s trails and now the course for much of the afternoon.

  She had begun to ride the day after she woke alone in Eleanor’s house. She needed to test her limits again and fill her mind with something other than a blond-haired artist.

  She had found Bridgette’s phone number in the center’s office and had left several messages before Bridgette finally returned her call. The woman she spoke to on the phone, however, wasn’t the one she’d made love to in the empty mansion, the one who had surprised Ryder by laying her own claim again and again. Although Ryder rarely let her sexual partners take charge, giving herself over to Bridgette’s desires felt easy and natural.

  But that was before. Now, their conversation felt stilted and difficult. Bridgette was preoccupied, barely listening, absently responding to Ryder’s offer for the auction and reception to be held at Eleanor’s mansion.

  The stallion still breathed easily, but sweat had lathered his white coat into a dark gray and Ryder reined him in to a trot.

  What had she hoped for? An acknowledgement that something more intimate than sex had transpired in that upstairs bedroom?

  She turned Wind Walker toward the barn. He could feel her agitation and danced sideways. She had to work hard to calm him to a cooling walk and to quiet her churning thoughts.

  Damn, she felt like a yo-yo. Come here. Go away. I want to hold you. I’m too busy for you. Still, she couldn’t help the anticipation that filled her. Tory and Leah were coming over for dinner, and Bridgette had been invited, too.

  She took her time bathing sweat from the stallion before returning him to the pasture. She even stood against the fence for a while, watching him roll in the grass to dry his wet coat. It barely left her enough time to shower before dinner. She was being childish, but she didn’t want to appear too anxious for Bridgette to arrive. If she came downstairs too soon, she would pace and give herself away. That wouldn’t be cool.

  *

  “Bridgette said she couldn’t make it tonight,” Leah said.

  “Why not?” Ryder knew she sounded like a pouting child, but the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

  Jessica walked by, carrying a plate of deviled eggs, and sniffed Ryder. “Mmm. You smell good.”

  She’d scrubbed, shaved, and even borrowed a bright-blue polo from Skyler that complemented her tan. All dressed up and no woman to impress.

  “She’s playing ball. We’ve got a book deadline but she’s got time for softball.” Leah didn’t look any happier than Ryder felt.

  “It’s for the season championship, babe,” Tory said. “The team is depending on her.”

  “I’m depending on her, too. We have a contract and a deadline.”

  “I’m sure she’s swamped with preparations for the auction,” Jessica said as they moved to the dining room. She sat in the chair Ryder pulled out for her since Skyler’s hands were full with a large platter of steaks. “Thank you, Ryder. I haven’t been to an art auction since I lived in Atlanta with Mom. We got our invitations yesterday. I was surprised to see they’re having it at your grandmother’s house.”

  Leah sighed. “I probably should negotiate an extension on our deadline.”

  Jessica grimaced and rubbed her belly.

  “You okay, babe?” Skyler put down the meat and was immediately at Jessica’s side.

  Jessica pulled Skyler down for a quick peck on the lips. “Fine. My back is just bothering me. The baby’s been kicking my kidneys all afternoon.”

  “I wanted to talk with Bridgette about a few things and give her the keys to the house,” Ryder said, still frowning as they all sat and began to pass food around the table.

  “Oh, yeah. She said to ask if you could drop the keys off at the art department in the morning,” Leah said. “Her friend is flying down from New York tomorrow to establish some base values for your grandmother’s artwork.”

  “I could have met them there.” Ryder sawed into her steak, nearly raw and bloody just like she liked it and sort of how she felt right now.

  “Friend from New York?” Skyler asked the question that was chewing at Ryder.

  “The owner of
the galleries that sell Bridgette’s paintings,” Leah said.

  “Galleries?” Jessica asked.

  “One in New York and the other in Boston, where Bridgette lived for a while. She said they’ve been friends since college.”

  Ryder didn’t like the sound of that. An ex-lover? Everybody knew what happened in those college dorms. “I could take the keys over to her loft.”

  Skyler pointed her fork at her. “Sounds like she’ll be busy entertaining company. You’re odd woman out.”

  “Maybe she was hoping to talk them into a threesome.” Tory winked at Skyler.

  “Now, there’s an idea,” Skyler said, warming to their usual teasing. “Think she could handle two women?”

  “She’s probably done it before.”

  Skyler chewed her steak and made a show of considering Tory’s suggestion. She nodded. “Probably so. But—”

  Tory waved her fork. “But, with Bridgette being one of the women, I don’t know. She’s quite a handful.”

  “Shut up,” Ryder growled, sawing viciously at her meat.

  “Ow, that’s my foot.” Tory grimaced, then sweetly smiled at the foot-stomper. “A handful, but not nearly as amazing as you, babe,” she said, giving her glaring partner a quick kiss.

  Leah accepted the groveling and turned back to Ryder. “You know what I think?”

  Ryder looked up cautiously. Leah tended to say exactly what was on her mind, but she apparently was the only one Bridgette had talked to in the past week and she wondered what she knew.

  “I think you should stay away from Bridgette.”

  Jessica looked surprised. “Why would you say that?”

  “Uh-oh.” Skyler gave Ryder a disapproving look. “What have you done now, brat?”

  “Nothing.” Ryder scowled.

  Everybody looked to Leah for an explanation. She glared at Ryder.

  “Bridgette hasn’t been the same since we were trying to work in the barn office while your little tête-à-tête with Alex was going on upstairs.”

  Ryder’s cheeks flushed when the attention turned from Leah to her.

  “When?” Skyler demanded. “Exactly when did this happen?”

  “Yeah, we had a bet on this,” Tory said, frowning at Leah. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  Ryder ignored them and glared back at Leah. “I apologized to her for that when I took her to see Eleanor’s paintings.”

  “I’m not sure what your apology involved, but she hasn’t come out of that studio since. I can barely get her to talk to me on the phone, much less nail her down to a time when we can get some work done.”

  Ryder’s heart lifted. She wasn’t the only one Bridgette was avoiding. “I thought we were fine when I saw her last. I’ll take the keys to her in the morning and talk to her. Did she say what time she’d be there?”

  “I told you, she said to just leave them with the department secretary. She’ll be in Richmond, picking her friend up from the airport.” Leah raised an eyebrow at Ryder. “Doesn’t sound like she wants to see you since she asked for you to drop the keys off when she won’t be there.”

  Ryder was about to tell Leah to butt out when Jessica paled and pushed her plate away.

  “Sky—”

  Skyler jumped up from her chair and knelt next to Jessica to grasp her hand.

  “Are you okay?”

  “A little queasy. I think I need to lie down for a bit.”

  “You’re not having contractions, are you?” Ryder jumped up, too, and pulled out Jessica’s chair as Skyler helped her stand.

  “No. This backache has just ruined my appetite.”

  “Let’s get you on the bed and I’ll rub your back for you.” Skyler’s face was etched with concern.

  “Sorry to break up the party,” Jessica said weakly as Skyler turned her toward the downstairs master bedroom.

  “You go lie down.” Leah waved for Tory and Ryder to begin clearing the plates. “We’ll clean everything up and then come say good night to you before we leave.”

  Tory and Leah stood at the sink, washing and drying dishes, while Ryder went outside to clean the grill that had cooled as they ate. On her way back inside, she paused in the mudroom. She could hear their low, intense conversation.

  “I’m just saying you were a little hard on my buddy. What goes on between her and Bridgette is their business.”

  “It’s my business when it’s affecting our work.”

  “Seems like it’s bothering more than your deadline, babe.”

  “Bridgette is my friend, too. I know I was a little jealous because she got in your pants before I did, but she backed off when she saw what was happening between us. She’s a good person.”

  “Ryder’s a good person, too.”

  Ryder nodded to herself. She could always count on Tory to stick up for her.

  “You’re the one who said she likes to love ’em and leave ’em,” Leah said.

  “Yeah, well, Bridgette’s sort of easy-come-easy-go, too. She believes in having ‘friends with benefits’ so I’d say they’re a good match.”

  Leah laughed. “I think your ego is a little bruised because she let you go so easily.”

  “She knew my heart—and my pants—would only belong to you.”

  “Sweet-talker.”

  They were quiet for a moment, only the clink of silverware filtering from the kitchen.

  “Something else is going on with Bridgette, Tory. I don’t know what it is, but your buddy bird-dogging her just seems to be making it worse. I think Bridgette is trying to brush her off gently, but Ryder knows she needs those paintings for the auction and is taking advantage of that.”

  “Ryder isn’t like that.”

  “How do you know? You and Skyler haven’t seen her in twelve years. People change.”

  Tory sighed. “I just know, Leah. Underneath all that bravado is a good, solid soul. But I’ll talk to her.”

  Ryder frowned. The artwork couldn’t be the problem. Bridgette had believed her when she made it clear that what was between them had nothing to do with Eleanor’s paintings. But what was between them? Did Bridgette see her as just another friend with benefits?

  Leah said Bridgette was trying to brush her off. Had their night in the mansion been a pity fuck because she told Bridgette about her childhood? How could she have mistaken it for something more? Bitter embarrassment gnawed at her insides. Nobody had to tell her twice. She’d been brushed off before and knew how to hit the road. She grabbed the truck keys from the hook by the back door. There were lots of other women, available women. Why waste her time on somebody who didn’t want her?

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Really, you guys. Just one beer, then I have to go.” Bridgette had pitched a no-hitter to win the regular-season championship and her team wanted to celebrate. She wanted to go home and paint. But they had welcomed her when she landed in town two years ago, and she owed them at least one drink.

  The R&R was loud and teeming with patrons as diverse as the establishment’s music. The two lesbian ex-marines who owned the place made it clear that they wouldn’t tolerate bias within these walls. The crowd came anyway—gay or straight, liberal or conservative, hawk or dove—because of the huge dance floor, the mechanical bull, Foosball, dartboards, pool tables, vintage video games, and the gourmet selection of beer.

  Bridgette wove her way to the tables her teammates had commandeered, her locally brewed Howling Dog Ale icy in her hand. She was tired but at the same time energized. Her week had been a frenzy of painting that was going so well, she felt refreshed despite having little sleep. Her rediscovered confidence had carried over to her softball game tonight, and she had pitched a perfect game of blazing fastballs, snapping curves, deceptive risers, and her favorite, sliders.

  The team’s catcher, Lou, dropped into the seat beside her and set a second Howling Dog in front of her. She started to protest, but she had almost drained the first and the crushed ice dripping down the sides of the second promised to
be just as cool on her parched throat.

  “Thanks, but this one is absolutely my…damn, Lou.” She frowned at the ice-filled Baggie that Lou gripped in her swollen left hand. “Sorry about that.”

  Lou grinned broadly. “Don’t be. It’s just a bit bruised from the fastballs you were throwing. Shit, woman. I don’t know why you aren’t playing professional ball.”

  Bridgette shook her head. “I just had a good night. I’m not usually that hot. Besides, I’d rather paint.”

  “Lucky for us,” Desiree said, as she settled in Lou’s lap for lack of an open seat. “The championship-tournament trophy is ours to lose this year. You’ve got it on your calendar, right?”

  “Hell, yeah. She better have that weekend reserved,” Lou declared.

  “Fortunately, it’s the weekend after the art auction, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll probably have to miss some practices before then, though. I’ve got a million things to do for the event.” The team’s shortstop placed a third Howling Dog in front of her and walked away, ignoring Bridgette’s protest.

  Lou waggled her beer at her. “Delegate. That’s why you’re head of the committee.”

  “Did you talk to Ryder yet?” Desiree asked.

  “About what?” Bridgette spoke before she realized the question was meant for Lou.

  “I was going to see if we could add her to the roster for the tournament, if she’s still in town,” Lou said. She and Desiree clanked their beers together in celebration of what they obviously thought was an excellent idea.

  “But we’ve got a full roster.” Bridgette frowned. “What position would she play?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lou said smugly. “She can play any position, but what we want is her bat. She holds the Cherokee Falls record for the most home runs in a season. Hell, for the most in one game.”

  “Yeah. She hit four the night we played the R&R’s team,” Desiree said. “Can you believe it? Four. The idiot pitcher was so mad, she refused to intentionally walk her.”