Lost & Found Love

by Laura Browning

  At some point, he fell asleep, not waking until dawn began to touch the interior walls of Tabby’s bedroom with its faint glow. Joseph slipped silently from her bed, grabbed his shoes, and tiptoed downstairs. Katie Scarlett brushed past him as he eased out the door and made sure it shut noiselessly behind him.

  As he dashed down the porch steps and across the driveways between their two homes, a flash of silver caught his eye. Joseph’s gaze switched to the street where a four-door sedan had slowed. Crap. It was Dennis Underwood. As their gazes met, Joe smiled and waved as if he had nothing at all to be concerned about. And he didn’t. The night he’d spent with Tabby had been totally and completely G rated.

  Chapter 7

  Tabby felt almost weightless. Friday afternoon and she had survived her first weeks in a new town, she reflected, as she changed into her cycling clothes. They hadn’t been entirely smooth. There were her concerns over Melodie and the continued cold shoulders from the elementary faculty. However, Tabby could do nothing with either of those situations other than keep her eyes open and be as professional as possible.

  Joe’s car was gone. He was probably working at the church or out on calls, so Tabby decided a long ride would be exactly the thing to help her clear her head. Katie sat on the porch railing with her gold eyes scrunched into inscrutable slits as she half dozed and half watched her mistress warm up. Tabby made sure to thoroughly stretch the muscles in her calves as well as the front and the backs of her thighs. There was nothing worse than a cramp while riding. She remembered one time at college when she had nearly run into the back of a truck trying to massage a cramp in her calf. Boy had that been scary. There was no room for distraction riding on any roads.

  It took her a few minutes to get out of town. The afternoon was warm and a little breezy, but not enough to make riding difficult. The road she chose wound along a wide, shallow creek. Even though it was a state highway, it was nearly deserted and gave her plenty of time to think about her new job. While she was pleased overall with how things were going at the middle and high school levels, Tabby was still uneasy with the elementary classes. In addition to the cold shoulders from the faculty and the principal, Melodie Matthews worried her.

  Tabby reviewed everything that might be a sign the child was a victim of abuse, but so far the only things she had seen were the long sleeves and long skirts, the little girl’s withdrawal from the other children, and the rather cryptic comments from her mother. But simply telling a child she was not to draw, while odd, wasn’t an indication of abuse.

  In her heart, she knew Melodie was being abused. Somehow, she had to get the girl to admit it or show proof of it because, despite her certainty, she had nothing concrete. Melodie’s attire and demeanor could simply be a shy child with strictly religious parents. From what she was able to gather, that description apparently fit the Matthews to a T.

  The father was partner in a logging company. The mother was a stay at home mom. She attended a conservative non-denominational church. It brought such a sense of déjà vu to Tabby that it nearly made her sick to her stomach. Maybe she could talk to Dr. James, the middle and high school principal, on Monday. He might be able to give her guidance, where she didn’t trust Mr. Underwood to do the same.

  Tabby paused along the edge of the road to check her odometer. That was far enough. As she became better acquainted with the area, she could map out routes that would bring her in a circle, but for now, she simply turned around to head back to town. She heard a vehicle approach behind her, but it didn’t pass. A glance over her shoulder showed a pickup hanging a few feet behind her back wheel. Lord how she hated that. It was either an overly cautious farmer or…the first wolf whistle made her cringe. Yep. That.

  “Hey, baby! Nice ass!” a teenager leaned out the window to call. “Wish I was your bicycle seat.”

  Right. She had never heard that before. Tabby ignored them, until they pulled alongside; then she turned to look the three boys full in the face.

  All three turned beet red, and the one on the passenger side said, “Oh shit! Get outta here, man! It’s the art teacher.”

  The truck swerved as the driver stomped on the gas. Afraid they would accidentally hit her, Tabby veered onto the end of a long, paved driveway that wound up through manicured pastures to a large red brick home that looked like it had been there for centuries. The bike began to wobble. As she tried to free her shoes from the toe clips, her front wheel caught a rock and tossed her onto her butt. She lay there for a second, a little dazed, but mostly humiliated and angry. Tabby groaned as she sat up and looked at her skinned palms. That would make riding home miserable.

  “Are you all right?” The question, voiced in a deep, pleasant baritone, came from somewhere far above her.

  She started, a little afraid after her encounter with the teenagers. Her heart pounded as she looked up and up. The sun was behind the tall man who stood a few yards away, breathing as though he’d run. Tabby put a hand across her brow to shade her eyes, but she still couldn’t see him well.

  She took a deep, steadying breath. “Yes. I think so. That was clumsy. My hands are a little skinned up.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be a gentleman and help you to your feet, but I’ve reached the end of my leash.”

  “Huh?” Tabby examined the man again, confused by what he said. He didn’t make sense. Was he crazy? That was all she needed. Horny teenagers stalking her in a pickup truck and now a crazy man rescuing her.

  “Electronic tether,” he clarified, lifting the cuff of his well-cut slacks to show a black nylon band with a small electronic tracking device on it. He stepped slightly to one side so she could see him more clearly. His mouth twisted with bitter amusement when he saw the way her eyes widened in alarm.

  “I promise I’m not an ax murderer or even violent. My wife’s up at the house. She saw what was happening and sent me down to make sure you were okay.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” She didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t seem friendly, and he was a bit scary now she got a good look at him. Not in a wild, mountain man way. No, he was well dressed, and his steel gray hair had been carefully trimmed, even if it was a bit mussed right now. He was so cold and remote looking, as if he allowed nothing or no one to touch him.

  “Your tire’s flat.”

  Tabby sighed. “That’s kind of how my life’s gone lately.”

  “Would you like a glass of tea? I could help you with the tire too.”

  She was tempted to refuse, but she did have to repair the tire, and there was something else in his voice. A reluctant loneliness? She smiled as she stood and said, “Sure. My name’s Tabitha MacVie.”

  He held out his hand, but when she showed him her skinned up palms, he smiled, and put his hands behind his back. “Stoner Richardson. If you’ll hand me your bike, I’ll take it up the drive for you. Your hands must hurt.”

  “A little.” Tabby took off her bike helmet and the long ponytail she’d had tucked under it fell down her back. “Thanks for checking on me.”

  He looked down at her as they walked up the drive. She guessed he must be around six-four, a lean man with gray hair. His thick, black brows arched over penetrating gray eyes and an aquiline nose. “I have a daughter about your age, I guess. She’s twenty-six. I don’t get to see her much.”

  He said the last reluctantly, as though he were trying to find some common ground, but didn’t wish to reveal anything about himself.

  “I’m twenty-three.”

  He laughed self-deprecatingly. “I won’t tell you how old I am. Suffice it to say that the twenty-six-year-old is the younger of my children.” Tabby looked up at him again and smiled. Then she blinked and her smile faded. Stoner Richardson. She ducked her head, but not before he saw the change in her expression. “Ah. I see something has finally connected. Is it my prison sentence or who I am?”

  Tabby stopped, and he did too. “You’re Evan’s father.”

  The man’s wall of re
serve was a mile thick. “I am,” he responded stiffly. “How do you know my…him?”

  “He’s my brother-in-law.” If it felt strange to say it, the reaction she got was even stranger. Stoner Richardson stumbled and uttered a crude expletive. Tabby’s brows rose. In that at least, he and Evan did have something in common.

  “Jenny Owens had no sister,” Stoner challenged, his brows now drawn together in a suspicious glare.

  “I’m her half sister,” Tabby corrected.

  “Mary Owens was your mother?” His voice suddenly lost some of its cultured veneer. There was a rawness to it that struck her instantly, but unlike so many other people, she couldn’t read this man’s thoughts and feelings.

  “Did you know her?” Tabby asked. She wanted to talk to someone who might remember her mother from a time before Tommy MacVie had beaten her into a scared shadow of herself.

  Stoner Richardson looked away and swallowed. “Yes, I knew her. It was years ago, though. I-I’m afraid I don’t remember much about her.”

  “Oh.” Tabby was disappointed. “That’s okay.”

  Stoner cleared his throat. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m the new art teacher for Mountain Meadow Schools.”

  “Really? Are you an artist too? Or do you only teach?”

  Tabby blushed. “I paint. Mostly oils.”

  They reached the house with its imposing stone pillars, but he continued walking around the back to a small workshop. He propped her bike next to the door and disappeared inside. Tabby glimpsed a partially finished table with beautiful inlay work. He stepped back out with an air hose in hand to which he had attached a tire tip and a pressure gauge. As soon as he attempted to put air in, it was obvious the rock she hit had also sliced the inner tube and tire. Stoner frowned, but Tabby just released the tire kit hooked under the seat. After squatting next to him, she quickly and efficiently popped the tire from the rim. She stripped out the tube and yanked the tire off the wheel.

  “What are you doing?”

  Tabby turned. With him squatted next to her, they were almost on the same level. “Changing the tire, Mr. Richardson.”

  “Call me Stone or Stoner. You know how?”

  Tabby sat back on her haunches and laughed. “Of course I do. When you ride a bike like this as much as I do, you learn how to take care of it. Trust me. It’s no fun to push a bike with a flat tire for miles. I could even pump it up with my hand pump, but if you don’t mind, sir, I mean Stoner, your air hose will work a whole lot faster.”

  She worked the new tire onto the rim, inserted the tube, and carefully snapped the tire’s remaining edge inside the wheel. “There. All ready for air.” She held out her hand for the hose. “If you don’t mind, I’ll do it. I had a guy at a service station start to fill it like he had all day when I told him it took a hundred pounds of pressure. Next thing I knew…pop! My inner tube was in shreds.”

  “I’ll bet the guy at the service station was, too, when you got done with him.”

  Tabby tilted her head at Stoner’s comment. “No. It was an accident. He didn’t mean to do it. People shouldn’t be punished for things beyond their knowledge or control.” Her gaze skittered to the building behind them. “Hey, may I see your shop? Are you building furniture?”

  Stoner flushed. “I-I’m not very good yet. It was a hobby of mine years ago, and since I have…well… I have a lot of time on my hands, I decided to take it up again.”

  He was obviously proud of his shop, but she sensed his uncertainty when it came to his work. Tabby ran her hands over the round occasional table with its Queen Anne legs. He was carefully working an intricate geometric inspired inlay pattern into the top of it. She touched the table, marveling at the workmanship. “It’s beautiful. You must have incredible patience.”

  He chuckled. “Not a word most people would attribute to me, but thank you, Tabitha.”

  “Tabby,” she corrected. She glanced at her watch. “I should go. I’ve got an hour ride back to town.”

  “What about the tea? And your hands?”

  Tabby grimaced at her scraped palms. “I’ll be okay. Maybe some other time.”

  “Sure.” But it was obvious he didn’t believe her. Impulsively, Tabby leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. His brows drew together in a frown, but she saw him swallow. “Thanks,” he said gruffly. “It was nice to have company for a little while.”

  “I’ll be back.” She told him earnestly. “This was a pleasant ride, well, except for falling.” This time he nodded and smiled.

  When she reached her house, Joe was pushing his mower back and forth across his lawn, and Tabby noticed her lawn was already mowed. He waved to her as he continued to push the mower, and Tabby nearly fell off her bike again as she gazed at his bare chest. She had never seen him without a shirt on. The man had muscles. And abs. Beautiful. The golden tan on his face and arms covered his upper body too.

  She dashed into the house and washed the road rash on her palms, wincing at the sting before carefully examining her hands to make sure she’d gotten out any stray bits of grit. After taking down two glasses, she filled them with ice, then tea, and started to push the door back open with her hip, but Joe already leaned against the doorjamb. It finally struck her that she no longer heard the mower. He had a towel slung over his shoulder but still wore no shirt. Tabby swallowed as she stared at his broad chest with its covering of darker hair.

  “I poured you some tea,” she said breathlessly, looking away from his bare chest and moving back so he could open the door and step inside. “Here.”

  He smiled slowly. “Thanks. I stopped in to invite you out to dinner. There’s a steak place over by the interstate. I checked and they have several vegetarian dishes as well. What do you say?”

  Tabby looked from him down to the sweat staining her own shirt. “We’ll need to shower first.”

  Dead silence greeted her. When she looked up, Joe gazed at her with such heat in his eyes she spilled some of her tea. He set his glass down on the counter as he advanced, took her glass, and set it down too. Tabby smelled newly mown grass mingled with clean, male sweat. A slow, heavy throbbing began inside her.

  “Together?” he breathed.

  Her startled gaze met his intent one. “Joseph? I haven’t… I mean…you… me…”

  He touched her cheek and leaned closer so that his lips were a whisper away from her. “I need to kiss you, Tabby.” And he matched his actions to his words. She leaned into him, against him, feeling the heat of his skin from the sun and the work.

  “I need to touch you,” he groaned against her lips as his hands moved restlessly along her rib cage. “I need you to touch me.”

  She couldn’t think. Her heart beat like mad, and his scent flooded her senses. He captured her hands and stared into her eyes.

  “Feel me, Tabby,” he whispered and drew her hips into his. “Feel how much I want to be with you.”

  She moaned as the intensity of it shot through her. Her legs went weak as she imagined what it would be like to have this man make love to her. Joseph cupped her bottom, holding and supporting her against him.

  “It’s too much, Joseph,” Tabby gasped.

  “Shower with me,” he coaxed. “No more, no less. Only what you want.”

  “Yes.”

  They left a trail of clothing from the kitchen, up the stairs, and into her bathroom where the master bath had been remodeled at some point in recent years and included a walk-in shower big enough for both of them.

  For an instant, Tabby simply stopped and stared at him. Joseph returned her look, his face flushed with a mixture of excitement and shyness. Did she look that same way? So hungry? Joe moved first, his fingertips trailing across Tabby’s cheek, down the column of her neck to the pulse beating in the base of her throat. His eyes drifted lower.

  “You’re so beautiful.”

  Tabby’s hands fluttered nervously, sudden shyness making her want to cover h
erself from his gaze. Joseph shook his head.

  “Don’t. You have no need to hide from me.”

  She looked at his chest, then lower, and sucked in a nervous breath as she saw his erection. Joe adjusted the spray in the shower. He pulled her in with him. His hands gently stroked along her upper arms as the water beat down, and he lowered his head to kiss her. It began tenderly and teasingly, but the passion that overwhelmed them soon had them gasping and groaning while their hands continued to touch and explore. Joe’s tongue probed the inside of her mouth, and Tabby met him thrust for thrust.

  When she caressed his flat nipples, he sucked in his breath on a startled moan. After grabbing the soap, he turned her and lathered her back, down the line of her spine, and over the smooth round globes of her buttocks.

  “Don’t look at them, Joseph,” she choked, knowing his eyes were on the scars that crisscrossed her. His fingers brushed her as if touching the finest porcelain. Tabby trembled. She had never felt such tenderness or such passion. She ached with a need she only barely understood. “Joseph!”

  He knelt and kissed one of the thin, pale lines. “I wish I could take away every bit of pain you felt.”

  He stood again, gently turning her and washing her front, his hands lingering on her breasts before his hand slipped lower. Tabby sucked in a breath, and he paused. “Is this all right?”

  Her decision. He was leaving it up to her. Tabby knew that if she told him to stop, he would. But that was not what she wanted.

  “Yes,” she murmured, and he slid his fingers into the curls between her thighs.

  * * * *

  “You’re so hot,” he told her, his voice hoarse. His heart hammered, and he wondered if he was even still breathing. The silky feel of her jacked his already aroused body even higher. Joe continued to stroke and play her with his fingers. She whimpered and pressed against him. He leaned his face against hers. Lord help him, he wanted her so much, had waited so long to find a woman who accepted him as simply another human being with the same amazing feelings surging through him as she felt. He wanted her by his side and in his life.