by Beth Flynn
"It's called venison," he'd explained and nodded at the corn she'd boiled over the fire. She was grateful that her participation was limited to chopping and boiling. He used his knife to cut the kernels off the cob, and after she gathered them in a bowl, he teasingly asked, "Aren't you going to feed me?"
She dipped a spoon in the corn and fed it to him, smiling the whole time. "I guess this would be pretty hard to mess up. I hope you enjoy it," she'd told him laughing.
By the time they'd cleaned up from dinner and washed themselves off in a nearby freshwater lake, Anthony took some blankets from the tent. He wrapped a blue blanket around Christy and sat down in front of the fire with his own. They spent the rest of the night talking, and when it was time for bed, they were both surprised the mosquitoes weren't out. They forfeited their tent and laid under the stars. Before making love to her, he tossed their matching blue blankets back in the tent and grabbed a large white one.
"This is big enough to cover us both," he explained as he lay down next to Christy.
Her memory was interrupted when Anthony asked, "What are you thinking about?" He was still straddling her and looking down into her face. His long black hair was covering her breasts and he brushed it aside. "You're sighing," he told her.
"I was thinking about our camping trip the other day," Christy answered. She started laughing, and he gave her a curious look.
"I'm trying to make love to you, Christy," he said, trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt.
"I know," she said apologetically. "I was just thinking how I would've loved to have seen the expression on Detective Cochran's face when I called her the day before you took me camping. I don't mean that disrespectfully...I like Detective Cochran." Then she quickly added, "I know she had to be shocked."
Three days earlier Christy had decided to come clean with the woman about where she'd been staying. No amount of convincing by the seasoned detective could talk her into leaving Anthony. Anthony had been standing next to Christy and grabbed the phone from her.
"Christy is safer with me than she is at her own home or in your safe house." He then proceeded to tell the woman about the visit from Van's attorneys.
"Check them out," Anthony told her. "You find those men and they can lead you to Van."
Detective Cochran had paged Christy the next day and informed her that she did check out Dan Mikkelson and Pete Germaine and they didn't deny visiting Anthony to discuss payment terms on behalf of Van, but claimed not to know anything about the scheme Anthony described.
Christy’s expression went from happy to wistful, and Anthony once again broke into her thoughts. "I don't want to think about Detective Cochran right now," he said, giving her a smoldering look. He bent low and kissed her lazily. He started to make his way down her body when she stopped him. "Um...not a good idea," she told him.
"And why would that be?" he asked her between gentle bites to her stomach.
"It’s that time of the month," she told him matter-of-factly.
He looked up, and she was smiling. "Don't look so disappointed," she teased. "It gives me more time to practice on you."
He rolled over taking her with him. She was sitting on top of him looking down when he said, "You've already perfected it." He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. "But if you insist on practicing, I'm not going to stop you."
A little while later she followed him to the front door. "Why can't I go to the camp with you?" she asked, her disappointment evident.
"The camp is no place for a lady," he explained. "I've told you what goes on there, Owani."
She leaned against the doorjamb with her arms crossed and kicked at a pebble on the porch. Anthony had held nothing back when he told her about his criminal dealings and the motorcycle gang that had practically formed itself and fell under his authority. She had frightening memories of the Glades Motel, and couldn't imagine anything like that happening to her at Camp Sawgrass. Especially if she was with Anthony.
"I need to stop at the landscape office on my way back," he said. He kissed her and added, "How about a ride on the bike when I get home?"
She perked up. She'd never been on the back of a motorcycle. "Okay." She smiled. "I’ll finish my painting while you’re gone."
He heard her lock the door behind him as he headed for his truck. On his drive to the camp, he reflected on the woman who had become ingrained in his soul. He'd shared almost every aspect of his life with her, including his criminal activities that he was certain would segue into her sharing her deepest secrets. When she asked about the scar on his abdomen, he slipped about Veronique. He never mentioned that he and Veronique were lovers, only that she was a skilled surgeon who helped out at the camp when needed and had expertly sewn him up after he'd been in a knife fight.
He wondered more than once what Christy had been doing at Van and Vivian's the day he met her. Who was the older man she’d lived with when she was sixteen? The man who'd obviously had no skills in the bedroom.
The stories Christy shared had nothing to do with her, but more to do with her family and their over-the-top peculiarities and how her biggest resentment toward Van and Vivian had to do with Litzy. She explained how the Chapmans’ faithful nanny was let go the summer that Christy ran away.
"Litzy couldn't keep me from running away, so she'd outgrown her usefulness," Christy explained, her bitterness hard to disguise. "And let's face it, what sixteen-year-old still needs a nanny?" She looked away from Anthony and added, "What nobody knew at the time was that Litzy was pregnant. She was still rather young, only in her thirties, and Van and Vivian sent her away with a decent health insurance plan. It was probably the only humane thing they'd ever done."
"So, she had Abby," Anthony said.
"Yes. She got a job at a preschool and took Abby to work with her every day." Christy smiled wistfully. "I still like to volunteer there even though it's hard for me," she added.
Anthony could understand how Christy would've become so attached to Litzy and Abby. They were probably the closest she had ever gotten to a real family. It explained so much about her love for Nadine and her children. He couldn't imagine her devastation when Abby died.
"The house that I gave to Nadine," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "I originally bought it for Litzy and Abby to live in. When Abby died, Litzy moved out. The house was too big for her. She eventually moved away."
"Have you lost touch with her?" Anthony asked as he stroked her cheek.
"No. She's up north, and we still talk, but not as much as we used to. I can't blame her. The Chapmans brought nothing but pain to Litzy."
"How's that?" Anthony asked. Christy hadn't shared any stories of the Chapmans treating Litzy badly, except firing her when Christy was sixteen.
She stammered as if not sure of her answer. "Well, um...they didn't treat her right when her daughter got sick."
"I thought you said they sent her away with health insurance. Do you mean they didn't help financially for what the insurance didn't cover?"
"No, Anthony!" she spat. They had been lying in bed, and she sat up to look at him. "That's not what I mean. This wasn't about money. This was about Van and Vivian not caring about a woman that had lived in their home for almost fifteen years! Since she was a teenager herself. Not caring about a woman whose only child was dying. They never asked about Abby, and they never once showed up at the hospital. Not once." She looked down at Anthony, tears starting to blur her vision. "I'm so sorry, Anthony. I didn't mean to yell at you like that."
As Anthony pulled up to the camp, he thought about how deep Christy's pain ran. She hated Van and Vivian so much he was certain she found fault in not just everything they did, but in everything they didn't do.
An hour later, he was home and found her at his desk talking on the phone. Apparently, all the talk about Litzy had made her nostalgic for the woman she cared so deeply for.
Christy laid the receiver down and looked up at Anthony with a wistful gaze.
"Yes." She smiled. "And she's doing good. Still dating the same guy."
"Abby's father?" he asked, not remembering if Christy had ever mentioned him.
"No," she answered as she stood. "She never told me who fathered Abby." She looked sideways then, noticing he held one hand behind his back. "What do you have behind your back?"
He smiled and handed her a bouquet of flowers. "It's Tuesday. I thought you might want to visit Abby's grave."
She took them from Anthony's outstretched hand. "They're beautiful, Anthony. Where did you get them?"
He chuckled. "I own a landscaping company, Christy. I know where to get my hands on flowers."
They carefully wrapped the bouquet, and she held it close to her as they made their way to the cemetery on Anthony's bike. After paying their respects, they rode to the beach, and she enjoyed the ride even more. When they'd ridden to the cemetery, she had to delicately hold the flowers between them. Without the worry of crushing them she was now able to lean against Anthony and wrap her arms around his waist. He made it a point to bring her hand to his mouth at every red light and she couldn't be certain, but she thought he whispered, "I love you" into her palm at the last stop. Her heart skipped a beat. If only she could believe it was true.
She leaned her face against his back and reveled in the feel of his long thick braid as it pressed against her cheek. He took her to dinner, and they watched the sunset from the restaurant window. Afterward, he drove her to a tiny stretch of private beach. He walked her down to the edge of the ocean and held her close. She took in his strong, masculine scent and pretended her circumstances were different.
Anthony pulled away from Christy and looked down. He had something to ask her, and for the first time in his life, he felt awkward with a woman. He was out of his element and would've called his sister to ask for advice, but wasn't in the mood to explain the details of how he'd come to fall in love with the woman he'd carried into his home two weeks ago. He knew that two weeks wasn't very long, but it seemed like an eternity since he'd met her. And he'd never been one to squabble with himself over a decision. He should've known the day he refused to let her buy her freedom that it would come to this. The absolute certainty that he needed to, had to, must possess Christy Chapman. And not just her body, but her heart and soul as well.
She looked up at him and realized she couldn't read his expression. He seemed almost nervous, unsure of himself. The total opposite of the Anthony Bear she'd come to know. As if sensing her scrutiny his demeanor changed. He was back in charge, and she read it in his expression as well as his body language.
"You know what I like to do in my shop, Christy?" he asked.
She blinked, not sure where the conversation was going. She nodded, then, "Yeah, you showed me, and I know what you're doing when you're out there."
"I've been working on some things for you," he told her. When she didn't respond, he added, "I know that even though you don't wear them, you're worth more than diamonds. More than any precious stone."
He saw the confusion in her eyes. He reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled something out. He took her hand in his and laid it in her palm. She looked at it and smiled. It was simple but beautiful. He had crafted a ring that was stunning in its simplicity, and she was in awe of the details she could see in the tiny present.
"It's beautiful, Anthony. The most beautiful gift anybody has ever given me," she said. And she meant it. The smell of the salt air and seagulls flying overhead added to the moment and she basked in the warmth of receiving such a personal gift from him.
"It's not just a gift, Christy," he said, his dark eyes serious.
She shook her head slightly as if to say, I don't understand.
"It's a request." He cleared his throat. "It's my way of asking you to marry me."
She pulled her hand back like it had been burned. The ring flew into the air and Anthony managed to catch it before it fell to the sand. She took a step back, and her breathing became heavy as her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. This was the moment every woman dreamed of. The moment she dreamed of. Having the man you love ask you to spend the rest of your life with him. Except she knew this was nothing more than a charade. Did she think Anthony loved her? Possibly. Maybe in his own way. Did she think Anthony was asking her to marry him because of that love? No. She knew he had another reason.
"Christy?" he asked, his head leaning to one side.
She immediately discounted the words she thought he murmured into her hand less than an hour ago. "We've never even said the words 'I love you' and you're asking me to marry you?" she asked, her voice laced with skepticism and pain.
"I didn't realize that was a prerequisite to a marriage proposal," he said, and she heard the sincerity in his tone. "I've never done this before, Owani. I've never been in love, and if you've been waiting for me to say it, I'll say it now, and I'll say it every day for the rest of my life. I love you, Christy. I want to marry you." He paused and took a deep breath. "Do you want to marry me?" His brown eyes looked hopeful.
"Yes," she answered, but her voice sounded sad. Like she'd delivered bad news.
The contradiction between her answer and her tone caused him to pause. He wasn't sure what to think. He didn't have to think at all. Her next words stunned him.
"But I can't," she added as she looked away and shook her head slightly. "I'm sorry, Anthony, but the answer is no."
She left him standing at the edge of the water as she made her way back up to the parking lot.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Naples, Florida 1978
No matter how hard Anthony tried to get a reason from Christy for rejecting his proposal, she refused to open up. She stuck to her story that she couldn't marry him, but offered no explanation as to why not. She was adamant about making sure he knew she wanted to stay with him and that she loved him, but that she could never marry him.
Anthony Bear wasn't used to hearing the word “no” so he spent the days after his proposal teetering between the knowledge that he had to be patient with her, and the anger at her rejection and refusal to tell him why. He had an inkling as to what might be the reason behind her refusal, but he wanted to hear it from her. Frustrated and a little mad, he'd fought the urge to tell her that he'd already taken matters into his own hands days before his formal proposal. If only she knew, he thought to himself.
Apparently, the woman he'd fallen in love with was stubborn to a fault. As much as he hated to admit it, it was that stubbornness combined with her gutsy and spirited nature that caused him to fall for her. When he added her vulnerability and naivety to the mix, it was the perfect recipe to saturate his heart. A heart that he'd never known was capable of love. That is until Christy Chapman drove up in a red Corvette.
Later that week, Anthony stopped at Camp Sawgrass to check on his crew and to discuss a business arrangement that had to do with a special delivery to the Port of Miami. His new client would be visiting from Saudi Arabia and wanted to meet Anthony personally. It wasn't unusual for a high-profile customer to want to meet the man in charge of the operation and Anthony confirmed that he would be in Miami the day after next.
Satisfied with the arrangements for his meeting, he stood back and watched as the hatchet he'd thrown seemed to fly through the air in slow motion before hitting the block of wood that was fastened to the wall of one of the buildings. He started to walk toward the bunkhouse to retrieve it when he sensed Shasta's approach. He was pulling at the ax when he felt her hand lightly caress his bicep.
"I have some rubbers, Anthony," she said.
He turned around to look at her and saw the hunger in her eyes. It was a combination of sexual desire and desperation. She needed a fix and was hoping that an encounter with Anthony would earn her more drugs than if she slept with one of the regulars.
"Not today, Shasta," he told her as he walked back to where he was standing. Not any day, is what he meant to say. She f
ollowed him and waited for him to throw the hatchet a second time.
"It'll be worth it," she told him. She nodded toward the camp office building. Anthony followed her gaze and saw a scantily dressed blonde standing in the doorway. She smiled and waved him over.
"The two of us together will make you forget your name," Shasta said, her voice unsteady.
Anthony shook his head slowly and looked at Shasta. She had to be only a little older than Christy but looked like she was in her thirties. He tried to stir up some compassion for the woman, but it wasn't there. She'd made her choices in life. Not him.
"It's her, isn't it?" Shasta asked, her eyes sad.
"It's who?" he countered, not understanding the question.
"It's that girl you had everybody looking for. You have feelings for her, don't you?" she swallowed and looked away from him.
"Is that what everybody thinks?" he asked.
"No," she answered honestly. "Nobody talks about it. She was yesterday's news. I guess you seem different to me."
"C'mon," he said as he grabbed her by the arm and steered her toward two men that were standing by their bikes. Just the thought of Christy had somehow softened him.
"Brooks," Anthony commanded. "Get Shasta set up with whatever she asks for."
Brooks nodded.
"Thank you. Thank you, Anthony," Shasta blurted out. She followed him as he walked toward the blonde who was smiling seductively.
"How old are you?" Anthony snapped at the girl.
"Eighteen," she answered a little too quickly.
"How old are you?" he asked again, narrowing his eyes.
"Don't lie to him," Shasta added as she watched Brooks from the corner of her eye. She was anxious for whatever Brooks was going to give her. She needed a fix and she needed it badly.
The blonde let out a huff and whined, "I'll be seventeen in two weeks."
"Go home and never come back here," Anthony said as he headed for his bike. He wanted to go home and make love to a blonde. His blonde.
