by Moriah Jovan
He stared right back at her and said, very firmly, very deliberately, “No.”
She stared at him, as if she didn’t quite believe him, but went back to her work with a firm nod. “Okay.”
Eric leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, watching for a great long while before she had packaged what she’d cut and thrown the packets into a small chest freezer marked RABBIT.
“Oh, hey,” he said, “what’re your buildings roofed in?”
“Solar panels.”
He blinked, surprised. “I didn’t know they came that small.”
She glanced up at him and smiled. “Technology’s amazing, isn’t it? Whittaker House made my architect famous.”
“How so?”
“A building like mine is an energy hog. I was very specific about what I wanted it to look like, but I also wanted it to be as energy efficient as possible. Nia had to figure out how to do it. She got together with Knox’s cousin Étienne—the engineer—?”
Eric nodded.
“—and they basically built a power plant.”
“So you’re off the grid,” Eric said slowly, leaning backward to look down the hill at that magnificent mansion—power plant—feeling a rush of admiration so strong he could barely breathe.
“No, we’re on the grid, but only to sell power back to the utility company. We sit over a natural spring and draw our own water. Étienne also designed a filtration system that would work with Nia’s ideas. We collect rainwater and recycle runoff. The only propane we use is for the kitchen, and those tanks are buried. Since all the buildings are able to generate their own power, we’ve been able to grow fast. I wouldn’t have been comfortable trying to get a loan for the boutiques across the highway if I didn’t know they’d pay for themselves in electricity in a couple of years, whether my tenants make money or not, whether they stand empty or not.”
He looked back at the rabbit under her knife. “And the animals?”
“The Conservation Department makes sure we keep our predator-prey ratio healthy. They make sure we don’t fish out our streams. They have breeding programs all over my land here, and outward. My menu suits the Department’s purpose and their presence here suits mine. They help me be the kind of steward I want to be.”
“Steward . . . ” he said slowly. “Of the land?”
She nodded.
“Most people wouldn’t care about that, Vanessa,” Eric murmured. “How did you come to care so much?”
She stopped and stood up straight, wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “Common sense,” she said. “Responsibility. Protecting my investment. This—” She gestured toward the outside with her knife. “—This is survival. I can dress my food, present it like it’s an upscale New York dish, but if you think about it, you realize it’s just survival food. I can cook on any surface you can imagine, as long as I have a flint and some water.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.”
Vanessa gave him one of her eye-crinkling smiles. “Yes, I am. And I protect my land as well as I can.”
“So are you organic?”
“All the vegetables I serve are fresh from local farms. I have several vendors who’re stay-at-home moms—and most of them are church members. They started growing vegetables for me for some extra cash and now that’s where I get it all. They’ll grow anything I ask for. A couple of them have hen houses. I get all my eggs from them. All the bread I serve is locally made, too. But . . . we aren’t completely organic,” she admitted. “We do the best we can, but it’s not one of my sticking points. Things happen. You have to be flexible. It’s like the electricity. Yeah, we conserve there, but we use a helluva lot of propane and water. It’s always a balancing act.”
“And the planters on the veranda?”
“Herbs.”
“What about winter?”
“My vendors all have greenhouses now.”
Eric stopped asking questions to watch her work while he thought about what she had said. What it meant to him. His heritage. His ancestors and his tribe. His mother.
It took her another long while to clean everything up and package the fur. Once the butchery was clean and she had shucked her coveralls, she went to an out-of-the way table and boxed the pelts. She tossed the box across the room to Eric and said, “Put that on the front corner of the veranda where the rest of the boxes are, would you, please?”
He grinned. “Oh, I see. You let me come down here so you could put me to work.”
Vanessa laughed. “Of course I did. Did you think you were coming to Whittaker House to be waited on? There’s a small cottage on the other side of my private garage. I need some help there when you’re done with that.”
Eric felt an odd sensation in his chest that felt as warm and soft as the rabbit pelts inside the box he held. It wasn’t lust, wasn’t love. It was . . . something he had never known and couldn’t identify.
When he’d finished that task, he went back to the butcher shop to find it closed up tight and Vanessa gone.
He wandered past a six-car garage, which had doors matching the butchery, though this one had windows. It housed her Prowler, a large pickup, and two four-wheelers with trailers. Behind that was another small cottage, two-story, away from the rest and covered by large oaks. It was different: It looked lived in. Loved. Cared for with a personal touch the others didn’t have.
So. This was where Vanessa lived. He began to smile.
He walked up the three stairs to the porch, then into the cottage without a qualm.
Water ran through the pipes. The cottage was so small, it only took him four steps to follow the sound to the narrow staircase that wound around the back of the chimney, which led to the second floor. Her bedroom, tidy and mostly pink. Another five steps got him to the bathroom, which had no door.
Taking a chance that she meant him to find her somewhere in this tiny cottage, and knowing that this was the only place she could be, he stepped into the bathroom.
There, in the glass-enclosed shower, she stood nude, her body beautiful and streaming with water, her streaked hair clipped to the top of her head.
She looked over her shoulder, straight at him.
He knew exactly what he’d be spending his nights doing to that beautiful voodoo priestess body of hers.
All week long.
* * * * *
23: Mary Had Always Been Good
Vanessa wasn’t going to waste this opportunity.
She’d finished the butchering in record time, so no one would come looking for her. Vachel was sleeping. Shelly had things under control.
I want the chance to fall in love with you.
She’d obsessed over that ever since he’d declared his intention, the possibility that this boy-man she’d carried in her heart all these years was eager to give her what she had always wanted from him. But today, she’d awakened with the thrilling tension of a girl about to go on her first date.
Eric had called her the minute she got home last month, and she’d bolted out of her car to run to her office. Breathless, she’d checked her packed calendar to try to figure out what commitments she could rearrange.
Then she’d gone straight to Nash.
Consider this your eviction notice. Go home to your woman and your brat.
Oh, so small-time married country lawyer stepped up to the plate, huh?
Not married. And maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. We’ll see. I’m shaking you off my leg now.
Okay, doll. But I ain’t leavin’ ’til I get a good look at him.
Fortunately, Eric had shown up while she was butchering.
Say, doll, your boy’s here moseyin’ around. I can clear out in a coupla hours if you’ll store my shit. That good for you?
Yes, thank you.
Yo, V, thanks for a good run. And thanks for bein’ a real friend.
You, too, Nash. And, hey. Good luck with Melanie and Trixie. I hope that works out for you.
I’m gonna need all the luck I
can get. Have your little pets pray for me, ’kay?
Sure thing.
Vanessa had had time to collect herself and gather her thoughts before Eric showed up in her butchery door. Then she’d concocted a hasty plan and sent him away just long enough to prepare.
No matter what happened in the future, she wanted to make love with Eric today.
Now.
As she let the hot water rinse the soap away, she watched him take his clothes off. He returned her look, undressing slowly as if he didn’t want to scare her by appearing too eager. Her breathing quickened when he stripped his tee shirt over his head, and she saw the intricate spider-web tattoo that banded his left upper arm and covered his muscular shoulder. Then her breathing got harder and faster when he pushed his jeans and snug boxer briefs down his legs; a matching tattoo banded his right thigh and climbed up his hip, disappearing around the back.
She stared shamelessly at his arousal. Her nostrils flared. She wondered how he would taste—and when she’d get to wrap her mouth around that. She looked back into his intense face.
She ached for him.
Eric opened the glass door and stepped in with her, behind her, buried his nose in the crook of her neck. Kissed. Licked. His hands wrapped around her waist, then stroked up her ribs to cup her breasts.
Better. Much better than she’d hoped for.
Perfect, as a matter of fact.
“How much time do we have, Vanessa?” he murmured as he nibbled at her jaw.
“An hour maybe,” she whispered, almost unable to speak. “I couldn’t wait until tonight.”
He said nothing to that. She knew he wouldn’t have expected this at all; wouldn’t have expected her to be so upfront about it, nor so soon after his arrival.
“I want to seduce you, Vanessa,” he murmured. “Not here, not in the shower. I want to love you properly, take my time, and in my world, an hour’s a quickie.”
Vanessa smiled then and turned, wrapping her arms around his neck; she thought she’d never been so happy in all her life. Here, now, in her shower amongst the life she’d built for herself, with Eric, the man she’d risked everything for so many years ago; the man she’d fallen in lust with a year ago; the man she was pretty sure she could fall in love with. He caressed her and stroked her and kissed her—
—so very well, his tongue in her mouth, teasing, tasting, his skin against her nose so that she could smell him, all earthy and utterly male.
He drew away from her and turned the water off, then led her out of the tiny bathroom into her tiny bedroom. He rolled her into the middle of the bed, her legs wrapped around his hips.
“Come be inside me, Eric,” she whispered, reaching for the drawer on the night stand and pulling out a handful of condoms, letting them fall on the bed like confetti.
“Mmmm . . . I want to touch you more, kiss you more.”
“Necking and petting? I learned about that in Young Women’s.”
He chuckled. “Everybody else calls it foreplay and I like it. I like it a lot.”
“No. Not now. Please. I’ve been waiting for you, for this, all day. All month. My whole life, I think.”
He gave her that sly grin and whispered, “Well, if you insist . . . ” After a moment of preparation, he found her spot, then slid slowly, carefully inside her. Stayed. Her back arched and she drew in a soft breath of ecstasy.
Yes! Much, much better.
His skin on hers, her breasts mashed against his chest, her arms around his neck, his body pressing hers into the mattress, her mouth under his.
They kissed. Vanessa had never felt so liquid, so . . . right. She hummed into his mouth as he licked at her lips, then teased her tongue.
The senior girls had been right. He definitely knew how to make girls feel good.
“VANESSA!”
At the familiar bellow, which was way too close to the cottage for comfort, her eyes popped open and she nearly choked. Eric stilled and they stared at each other, wide-eyed.
“Vanessa, you didn’t,” Eric growled.
“I forgot. Eric, I swear I forgot. I— All I could think about was you. Making love with you. Cover your ears.”
“VANESSA!” It was closer this time, and then her front door opened.
“KNOX HILLIARD, YOU GET OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW!”
“Whose Corvette do I see out in the parking lot?!”
“Whose do you think?!”
“Well, where the hell is he?”
Eric clamped his hand over Vanessa’s mouth and barked, “You knew exactly where I was, you obnoxious bastard. Get the fuck out.”
The slam of her front door, then booming laughter that grew fainter and fainter until there was none.
They looked at each other again and then began to laugh. The moment was lost, but they had something to share now.
“Dying sure didn’t have any deleterious effects on his crappy sense of humor, did it?”
She rolled her eyes. “Uh, no. He killed it for me; how about you?”
“Can’t you tell?” he muttered, pulling away from her to discard the condom.
“Ah, yes. Just making sure.”
But they kissed. And then again. Longer still, and Vanessa simply enjoyed his taste, his touch. Soft, tender.
She stroked his arm as if to feel the spider web buried in his skin. “What is this?”
“Symbol of my people,” he whispered.
“You’re close to them?”
“Not really. I’d like to have been, to learn and carry on what traditions are left. It’d make my mom happy, but life got in the way.”
She smiled then and traced his lower lip with her finger.
Eric’s arousal firmed up at that—because of her smile or the way she touched him, she didn’t know. “Mmmm, maybe he didn’t kill it after all,” Eric breathed, stretching to grab another condom. “Let’s try this again.”
“Oh yes. Thank you.”
“AUNT VANESSA!”
He froze. His head dropped down into the crook of her neck and Vanessa clapped her hand over her face.
She took a deep breath.
“What, Vachel?”
“Curtis is out of his medicine. He miscounted.”
“Have Knox or Justice take care of it.”
“Oh, they’re here already? Cool, okay.” Pause. “Uh, are you all right? You sound funny.”
“I’m fine!” she screeched, but then felt Eric’s body begin to shake. His warm breath puffed into her neck.
“Easy for you to say,” Vanessa grumbled, yet feeling the pull of his amusement. “are you gone yet?!”
No answer.
Eric burst out laughing and rolled off her, captured her hand in his and brought it to his lips. “Shit, Vanessa, is this an endurance test or something?”
“I told you what my life is like and I wasn’t exaggerating. I don’t know what you plan to do with yourself all week.”
He still chuckled. Wiped a hand down his face. “I’ll find something.” He turned his head and looked at her with that heart-breaking smile she’d always adored. “You think third time’s the charm?”
“Nope. Everybody knows where I am now. Next thing you know, the missionaries will show up needing something.” She sighed. “Time to get back to work.”
“I’ll help you. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“Oh, I see. You just don’t want Knox to laugh at you.”
“Knox? Hell, Vanessa, you’re talking about a man who got caught by an office full of attorneys and cops fucking his only female assistant prosecutor up against the wall of his office in the middle of the workday. He can’t point and mock.”
“He didn’t!”
Eric’s chuckles turned back into a rolling laugh, then a guffaw. “You should’ve seen it.”
“With Justice?”
“Who else?”
“Wasn’t she embarrassed?”
“Not a bit. She thought it was funny as hell. They both did.”
They continued
to laugh as Vanessa pulled on her whites and Eric re-dressed. They walked back toward the mansion with fingers laced and Vanessa shocked herself when she remembered—
“I’ve never held hands with a boy before,” she murmured.
He looked at her sharply. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. It just now occurred to me. You popped my hand-holding cherry.” He laughed again at Vanessa’s self-satisfied smile and they continued along the pathway to the mansion.
“Curtis is the veteran, right?” Eric asked suddenly.
“Ol’ Curtis Lowe,” Vanessa began, “lives in a small cabin at the back of the property and insists that we refer to him as ‘the sharecropper’ because he thinks it’s funny to let the guests think he’s a charity case. The man’s richer than God.”
Eric stopped. Stared at her. “His name is not Curtis Lowe.”
She smiled up at him. “It is. Just like the guy in the song. Looks like him, too.”
“And his medicine?”
“He wouldn’t take it if Vachel weren’t around. I told Vachel it was his responsibility to make sure Curtis took his medicine so he’d stick around for a while. I told Curtis it would shatter Vachel if he died because he didn’t take his medicine.”
“Mmmm, no pressure there.”
She shrugged. “It gets the results I want.”
“And what you want is to keep ol’ Curtis alive and give Vachel someone to take care of.”
“Right. Curtis fought me for years over that and the only thing he ever let me do is feed him. My food is his Achilles heel. Better than his mama’s, he says. So I make him sit in the kitchen and tell me all about his mama’s cooking. You can guess what I do with that.”
Eric laughed.
“Knox is my next project. Haven’t figured out how to make him do what I want him to do yet.”
“Which is?”
“Take care of his diabetes.”
Eric grunted. “Good luck with that. Justice can’t even get him to do it.”
“Justice doesn’t know.” At his look, she said, “I suspect everybody else thinks she does, but that this is one area where she can’t get him to heel.”
“That explains a lot. Why don’t you just tell her?”
