Silver Brewer: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  “It was more than I expected. Peaceful. Serene.”

  “That’s what the brochure would say.”

  I push water at him. “That’s what I’d say. I found a little of myself that I didn’t know was missing.”

  His lips crook in the corner. “Really?”

  “I’ve been a little lost since Hudson. Not that I miss him. Lying, cheating bastard. Then I missed another opportunity with a baby.” I chuckle, but my voice saddens. “I just thought I was moving in one direction, and then I wasn’t. It’s the story of my life. I thought I’d graduate college and go one way and ended up where I’m at.”

  “And that is…?”

  “I sell real estate when I wanted to write books.”

  His brows pinch, waiting me out. “I was an English major eons ago. What else would I want to do besides teach, which I didn’t want to do. I wanted to read and write. Period.” I chuckle at myself and my twentysomething dreams.

  “And you can’t do it now?”

  I stare at him, his big brown eyes questioning me with sincerity. “I-I never thought about it. I mean, I work all the time and travel.”

  “Do you like that?”

  “No,” I offer a little too harshly and a little too quick. “It’s a job.”

  “Could you do it anywhere? Sell real estate?”

  “I wouldn’t want to.” The words rush out again, and his eyes widen. Why is he looking at me like that? “I mean, I wouldn’t want to sell real estate somewhere else because I don’t really want to sell it at all.” I can’t believe I’m admitting this to him. I don’t think I’ve even admitted it to myself. I’m miserable at my job, but saying it out loud makes me feel guilty. It’s a decent job, and I need the money for a baby.

  “If you could do anything, anywhere, what would you do?”

  “Write books,” I say a little more confidently. “I’d write a book.”

  “About romance?” he teases, wiggling his brow.

  “Well, I certainly have good material lately,” I flirt.

  “Sex god.” He pats his large chest.

  “Among other things.” I giggle. It’s so much more than sex. I feel connected to him in a way I can’t explain. Maybe it’s because of the mountain and our experience up on the ridge. I proved to myself I could camp, and he opened me up to an adventure I didn’t know I needed.

  After covering his face with bubbles, he pulls himself from the tub. “I’m too warm.”

  He’s hot, actually. So hot. His broad chest. The patch of hair. The trail leading lower. His dick, which isn’t extended but still large. His arms. His hands. I love this man.

  Even if it seems too soon, I love him.

  His eyes dip, and his grin turns mischievous. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  + + +

  I’m wrapped in a towel covering the middle of me while Giant has one wrapped around his waist. I lead the way and note the time over the clock on his stove.

  It’s after two in the morning.

  As we cross the living room, heading for his bedroom, Giant cups my elbow and tugs me to a stop. I turn to him, and he leads me between the furniture to the well-worn brown leather chair.

  “Sit,” he commands, his voice deep and rough, and a tingle runs up my spine. I sit with the towel still around me, but he untucks it as he lowers to his knees before me. “Sit back.”

  The leather is cool after the heat of the hot tub as I lean back, and he pulls the towel out from under me. He scoops under my knees and drags me to the edge of the cushion. Then he lowers his head and laps across my seam. I flinch at the sudden touch—cool on warm again. He smiles into the crease. Then he sucks on my clit, and I fall under the spell of his tongue. Charmed.

  The flat pad separates me, dipping between the folds as his mouth deepens the seductive kiss on my lower lips. His head bobs, and he moans against sensitive skin. My feet lift for his shoulders, and my fingers delve into his hair.

  “Cricket”—he sighs—“you make me so wild. I want to do all kinds of things to you.”

  “I want you to do everything to me.” I can’t think of one thing I’d deny this man.

  He continues to work me with his mouth until I’m on edge.

  “Finish.” One word and I want to do as he says. “Scream, Cricket. Fill this house.”

  He nips me, and I let loose. My knees fold against his head, and my fingers tug at his hair. I call out his name, filling the room as he asked. I’m hardly done when he tugs me from the chair.

  “Flip.” Again, I do as he says, my knees hitting the soft material of my damp towel on the floor as he presses my upper body to the cushion of the chair. My nipples peak to attention as they meet the cool leather. His hand twists into the messy bun I made to keep my hair up while in the hot tub, and he fists it, giving it a tug as he slams into me. I cry out. “Again.”

  He pulls back and thrusts forward, the angle deep. Every time I think he can’t reach anywhere new in me, he does. He rocks his hips, forcing me upward before slipping into my channel. Then he repeats the motion.

  “So wild,” he mutters behind me. “I can’t stop myself. I want you so much.” His voice strains as he takes me harder, faster, deeper. I’m close once again, and then he pulls out.

  “No,” I whine, but he lifts me under my armpits, and we shift positions once again. He sits in the chair and guides me by my hips to climb over him. I easily slip down his stiff length, filling myself once again.

  “This,” he says. “I want to see you fall apart over me. In my chair. Every time I sit here, I’m going to picture you over me, under me. In my mouth. On my dick.”

  His words spur me on, and I lift and lower, holding his shoulders as I gyrate over him. I stroke at him in a way my clit rubs on the bone near his dick. The sensation is divine, and he presses at my hips, forcing me back and forth.

  “Take me,” he groans as I ride him, finding my pleasure until he’s hissing.

  “I can’t…Too much…Feels so good.” He stills, and the pulsing within sets me off. I come, digging my nails into his shoulders as he holds my hips, pinning me to him. Moonlight streams into the room, hitting a section of his face as his neck strains.

  Sex god. Mountain man. Lumbersexual. He defines each word.

  Suddenly, I’m tugged down to him, and he wraps his arms around my back, holding my shoulder blades so my bare breasts cup his face.

  “I love this,” he says, kissing between them. “I love everything about you.” He looks up at me with such adoration and fear and hesitation and surprise. I lean down and kiss him soft and tender, telling him I feel all the same emotions.

  When we finally fall onto his bed with him on his back and me on my stomach next to him, I reach for his jaw and scratch the scruff.

  “I love you,” I whisper before exhaustion sweeps me under.

  23

  Waffles with little ears

  [Letty]

  “Papa.” The word jolts me upright in Giant’s bed, and I turn for him as he’s already leaping out from under the covers. We fell into bed naked and exhausted, and I twist to find bright daylight streaming through his windows.

  The patter of little feet resonates down the hall, coming toward this room, and Giant stands, reaching for his pants on the chair and tugging them on. He looks around the room for something and then takes three steps to his highboy dresser. Briskly opening the drawer, he pulls too hard, and it jams. He slips a hand into the slim opening, tugs out a T-shirt, and roughly pulls it over his head. Another call comes closer.

  “Papa.”

  My heart drops to my stomach, which roils and coils, and not just from the excessive amount of beer I drank last night.

  Giant steps for his bedroom door, not even acknowledging me, and wraps a hand around the handle.

  “Papa?” I question, bile climbing up my throat. As in Dad? Giant’s hand pauses on the doorknob, but his back remains to me.

  “Grandpa,” he clarifies, without looking back. His forehead hits the wood ba
rrier to the hall for a mere second before he opens the door only a crack. “I’ll get rid of them. Just. Stay. Here.” His words are almost angry as if gruff Giant has returned. He slips through the opening he made and shuts the door behind him.

  The second the door closes, I rush for his bathroom, emptying the contents of my stomach. Stay. What kind of command is that? Am I dog?

  When I stand from the toilet and look in the mirror, my face is ashen. My lips dull. My eyes too bright.

  Papa. Grandpa.

  He has fucking children. He has grandchildren.

  I lunge for the toilet again, but nothing other than liquid comes out. On shaking legs, I stand, splash water on my face, and then brush my teeth.

  Stay here. I’ll get rid of them.

  Oh, no. Not this again. I will not be invisible.

  I’m forty and about to do the ultimate walk of shame—meet the children after fucking their father senseless. I fix my hair into a tight bun and slowly cross his bedroom for my bag. I pull on clean clothes. Jeans and a long-sleeve shirt are the best items I have left. I wore a dress last night to the Oktoberfest, but it smells like beer and…it’s down by the hot tub where I left it.

  I pinch my cheeks for color and pull on my proverbial big girl panties.

  “Well, here goes everything,” I whisper as I tug open the door a little too harshly and step into the hall. The noise of little girl voices and an older female fills the great room. A second strong feminine voice joins the first.

  As I step to the edge of the room, I stop when two sets of eyes meet mine.

  “Dad?” the one questions while the other just stares at me.

  Giant turns with a girl roughly three years old in his arms. Another little one sits on a stool at the kitchen island.

  “Hello,” I say, my voice cracking.

  He has children. He has grandchildren.

  Giant looks from me to the girls and back. The little one in his arms wiggles to be released to a second stool. I feel as if I’m walking through deep water as I cross the living room, approaching the gaping mouth, wide-eyed women who appear to be in their mid-to-late twenties.

  I extend a shaking hand, hoping they can’t see how much I tremble. “I’m Olivet Pierson. Letty.” I choke on my own name. Not a Livvy or a Vette or an Olive. Just Letty. Invisible.

  One young woman circles the island, extending her hand for mine. Her hair is a light amber color, but her eyes match her father. “Ellie. Ellie McCabe. These are my daughters, Kali.” She points at a light brunette with eyes matching most Harrington offspring. “And Essie.” The second brunette has brilliant green eyes and mischief in her little smile. She lowers her face away from my prying gaze. “And this is my sister, Sarah.” Ellie points at the other woman.

  Awkward silence falls around us as Giant still doesn’t speak. He isn’t looking at me, and I refuse to look over at him.

  “We’re here for breakfast,” Ellie explains.

  “Well, then,” I say to the little girls. “What are we having?”

  “Waffles,” they cheer in unison. “With ears,” the younger one—Essie—adds. I look up at her mother in question.

  “Mickey Mouse ones. My dad…” Her eyes shift to Giant. “He makes them when we come for breakfast.”

  My heart is ripped into tiny little shreds, and while I should pack my bags and storm out of this house, never to look back, my pride wouldn’t allow that scene. Instead, I’ll suffer through this breakfast, humiliated and awkward, and make my presence known while feeling empty in my chest.

  “Waffles with ears sound delicious,” I say, stepping toward the kitchen as if I know where anything is.

  24

  Relationships of fathers

  [Giant]

  The hurt in her eyes pains me more than the bullet wound near my shoulder. She won’t look at me but keeps the tight smile on her face as she addresses my daughter.

  Ellie, named after my mother, is twenty-eight years old and a beautiful mother in her own right to little Kali, five, and Essie, three.

  “We live in Atlanta,” Ellie explains, speaking on behalf of herself and her sister.

  Sarah, so like her mother, is quiet, shy, and stunned. She hasn’t closed her mouth yet while Ellie nervously chatters, filling the awkward silence while she rattles in my cabinets.

  “Daddy makes breakfast the last Sunday of each month. That’s our deal.” Ellie isn’t being defensive. She’s stating a fact. Breakfast. The word distracts me, and I step around the island.

  “I got it,” I mutter, pulling out the Mickey Mouse waffle iron I thought would be a fun treat for the girls, and entice them to want to come to my house.

  “I teach ninth grade English,” Ellie states, and my chest rips open again. Letty told me only last night how she studied English and wished to write a book.

  I love you.

  There’s no denying what she said to me before she fell asleep.

  Yet she hates me today, and I don’t blame her.

  It isn’t that I forgot about my monthly breakfast date. It’s just…I forgot it was this weekend. And I forgot to mention I had children although I didn’t really forget them.

  “What are you reading with your class?” Letty asks, prompting Ellie to keep talking.

  “Close your mouth,” I mutter to Sarah as I pass her for the refrigerator. She clamps it shut and shakes her head.

  “I’m Sarah,” she says as if Ellie didn’t already handle introductions five minutes ago. Letty smiles at her and reaches out a hand. She doesn’t offer to shake so much as wraps both hers around Sarah’s and squeezes.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Sarah.” The affection warms my insides as Sarah struggles with social situations. Her shyness keeps her from acting confident. “And what do you do?”

  “I’m studying to be a veterinarian, but for now, I work at an animal clinic.”

  “What’s your favorite animal?” Letty prompts, encouraging Sarah to speak. My breathing comes quicker. She’s being so nice to my girls. My girls who were shell-shocked by someone other than their mother coming out of my bedroom. My girls who have told me to date, but I told them it would never happen.

  I break eggs and add flour, but I can’t even calculate the measurements in my head. I’m making a mess. A mess of everything.

  Letty comes around the counter and gently pushes at my hip. “Why don’t you let me?”

  “I thought delivery was your specialty.” I’m trying to tease her, but my voice remains stilted as I speak.

  “I think I can handle a few waffles. With ears,” she adds, addressing my granddaughters. Kali looks up, hopeful of success. She’s so like her mother. Essie, on the other hand, is a little deviant like her father. The absentee dad. I was like him. Always working. Never home. Missing everything important to my girls. I didn’t want that for the next generation, yet Ellie picked a man like me. Mick is in the military.

  “So how did you meet Daddy?” Ellie asks, interrupting my thoughts of her husband.

  “I wanted to buy his land.”

  “Pap’s land?” Sarah asks, horrified at the thought. She enjoys it almost as much as I do, loving the wildlife in the woods.

  “Yes. But then I had a change of heart.”

  Kill me. She’s driving the knife deeper because it’s my heart that changed, and she’ll never love me after this.

  “And when was this?” Ellie asks, digging for more details.

  “A month ago.” Letty stops whipping the batter. Has it really only been a month? I feel like I’ve known Letty a lifetime. I want to know her for a lifetime. I glance from Letty to Ellie, begging my daughter for a moment.

  “Let’s go wash our hands,” Ellie announces, and the two littles jump from the stool. “Sarah, come help us.” Sarah stares at her sister a moment until Ellie, not so inconspicuously, nods to follow her. Kali skips. Essie follows. Letty turns her head toward the French door leading to the second floor.

  “Nothing of consequence? Their rooms are up t
here, aren’t they?”

  “I can explain everything,” I mutter.

  Her eyes close, and I’m certain she’s heard those words before without good results.

  “I should leave,” she hisses under her breath.

  “I don’t want you to.” With everyone out of the room, I tug Letty to my chest, where she lands against me like a brick wall, stiff and tense.

  Noooo, my heart screams. The feeling reminds me of Clara, and I want to smash the bowl of batter and throw the waffle iron across the room, which would be so unlike me. Clara wasn’t cold, but she didn’t melt into me like Letty does. She didn’t respond to my touch like Letty. She didn’t give me…

  “I need a minute,” Letty mutters, disrupting my thoughts and pulling away from me. She heads for the back deck, and my stomach flips with unease. I can’t relive what I had with Clara. I loved her, and I don’t fault her for anything we had in our relationship, but Letty has been so much more to me, so liberating, and I can’t handle her shutting down. In bare feet, the wood slats of my kitchen floor feel cold, chilling me in the briskness of the morning. I stare out the window after Letty, and my hand slams on the counter.

  Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

  “Dad?” Ellie stands before me, and I quickly look up.

  “Yeah, honey?” Eyes which match mine stare at me, apprehensive and curious.

  “She’s pretty.”

  I lick my lips. “I know.” She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Clara had a simple beauty, a grace about her quiet nature, but Letty is stunning. Don’t compare, I criticize.

  “She seems nice.”

  “She is.” I exhale, crossing my arms over my chest as I lean back against the opposite counter. Letty’s kind, and when I consider her adoption reasons, she has a good heart. She’s a good person.

  “And you like her. I mean, she spent the night so…”

  “I do. Like her. I…feel a lot of things for her.” I’m not certain I should be having this conversation with my twenty-eight-year-old daughter. My girls and I aren’t emotionally close. I’d been gone too long, too often, and when I finally came home, hurt and broken, I didn’t know how to interact with them. Then their mother died, leaving me with two teenage daughters and no clue how to be a parent. Thank goodness for my mother and Mati. I did the best I could, but we lived separate lives. It’s one reason I lost them both to Atlanta.