Fearless

by Marlie May

  After the accident, I no longer had to.

  The bright yellow shard I lifted wasn’t quite right for the phoenix’s tail. Maybe it came from that canary she’d given me when I turned four. None of the orange or red pieces lying among the blues, browns, and grays looked like they belonged to that thirteenth birthday gift, either.

  No phoenix.

  A quick glance around the room told me the truth. It was gone. Like Mom.

  How had my collection gotten broken? Had the cat slipped in here and knocked it onto the floor? Or, had Dad, in a drunken haze…No. I refused to go there. Closing this chapter of my life was my sole purpose here. No need to open the book and start reading all over again.

  I thumped down the stairs and fetched the dustpan and brush from the kitchen. Then I took care of the mess, dumping it into another box bound for the trash.

  My old fishing pole tilted in the corner, faithful tackle box by its side, both untouched for more than half my life. Long ago—before Mom died—we’d gone fishing most weekends, the three of us piling into Dad’s canoe after launching it into whatever lake or river was handy. We’d drifted across the water, our paddles dipping in rhythm, stopping to eat PB&J sandwiches in the shade. After, we’d throw out our lines to catch trout. Striper. Sometimes salmon. Mom would fool with our hair with pride gleaming in her eyes. When we got home, she’d cook our catch for dinner.

  I stared at the rod, knowing that I wasn’t going to mail it to California.

  But I wanted to.

  Overriding that directive, I carried it downstairs, out the front door, and chucked it into the dumpster. I turned my back on it before I weakened and drove downtown to buy packing material for shipping.

  Back upstairs, I boxed up my old books to donate to the library. I’d already arranged for the Salvation Army to come for the usable furniture. I dismantled my bed and hauled it and the bureau down to the garage, placing them with the other things stored there. That left a rickety lamp and side table in my room. Not much value in those.

  Hefting the table, I’d pivoted to haul it downstairs when my eyes caught the writing on the back. I set it on the carpet and stared, remembering the day when I’d carved my initials and Ginny’s inside a heart on the back. I’d only known her a few months. I’d been overconfident, obviously.

  Stooped down on my heels, I traced those letters. And, with a sigh, I carried the side table down to the dumpster.

  Before tossing it inside, I pulled open the drawer to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important. A pack of gum. A long-dead calculator. Multiple chewed-on pencils, a habit I’d shaken in boot camp.

  And, stuffed way in the back, the picture. I’d forgotten I’d snitched Ginny’s photo from her mom’s house all those years ago.

  Her thick blonde hair hung half in her face, scattered there by the wind. But her big brown eyes gleamed as she smiled for the camera.

  All sweetness and innocence and totally not for me.

  The guilt brought on from stealing it had eaten away at me for months. I told myself it was okay; it was just one old photograph. Not something her mom would miss. That the albums lying around her house held more images of Ginny than her mom would ever need.

  While I only had one.

  I stroked her face with my thumb, remembering how desperately I’d longed for this girl. Still longed for her.

  I pulled my wallet and tucked the picture inside.

  Hours later, I’d finished my room and the upstairs bath. The basement still awaited me and would likely take more than a day to clean since Dad had thrown a ton of junk down there. After that, I only had one room left to work on before I could call an end to this farce. I’d clean out my father’s bedroom—that final, straggling piece of my past—at the end. My flight home was booked for early Sunday morning.

  After locking the front door and pocketing the key, I drove to my hotel where I showered and dressed. After, I headed to Ginny’s place for supper.

  Damn, I missed her. It felt like a lifetime had passed since I’d last seen her. Touched her.

  Even though it was still eighty outside, I turned off the AC and lowered the windows. Fresh air cut through the car, slicing through the cobwebs from my past.

  All I wanted to do tonight was bask in Ginny’s glow.

  With her new security system in place, and me beside her, nothing could get to her now.

  23

  Ginny

  I couldn’t imagine why my pulse hammered in my throat or why my breathing was ragged. I’d done nothing but putter around my house for hours.

  Cooper.

  It wasn’t as if I hadn’t cooked a meal for a man before. Even this man. Why had I vacuumed and changed my sheets? Did I truly believe his presence tonight meant…something?

  There was no harm in making the place look decent. After he’d seen the wreck I was in yesterday, I wanted to make a decent impression. That was all this was about.

  Silverware and plates sat on the table. Cheese and crackers waited on the hutch near the sofa. I’d sliced up a loaf of crusty bread and loaded it into a basket. Butter sweated on a pretty plate beside it. The marinara sauce I’d made this afternoon steamed on the back burner, and hints of oregano, basil, and tomatoes swirled in the air.

  I drained the pasta a few minutes before six and not a second too soon, because the doorbell rang. With my usual caution, I peered around the curtain.

  The tightness in my chest told me how much I’d missed him. I smoothed my hair, placed a welcoming smile on my face, and unlocked and opened the door.

  With a crooked grin, he thrust out flowers that looked suspiciously like ones I’d seen growing on the side of the road. He held up two bottles of wine in his other hand. “Wasn’t sure if you liked red or white or either.”

  “Either, but red will go perfectly with dinner.”

  He shuffled his sneakers on the welcome mat. The light scent of shampoo drifting between us told me he’d showered recently. I wanted to tug up his dark green tee so I could taste his skin with my fingertips.

  My intentions must’ve been obvious, because his lips lifted and his pupils dilated. He cleared his throat. “Some people believe life’s unbalanced unless things come in threes.”

  I juggled the bottles and bouquet in my arms while he shut and locked the door. “Flowers. Two bottles of wine. That’s three.”

  He took the flowers and wine from me and dropped them on the counter, and then nudged me backward until my butt pressed against the wall. His palms captured my face. “This is three.”

  And four, five, ten, and a thousand. I deepened our kiss and put my hands to good use on his shoulders, his neck, his back, and his butt. Pulling him into me while teasing his tongue with mine.

  He lifted his head, and his eyes glowed. Mine probably did, too. “Nice seeing you tonight, sweetheart.”

  “You, too.” Damn, but my head was whirling again.

  He sniffed the air. “Something smells good.”

  “Spaghetti.”

  “Sounds awesome.” Releasing me, he glanced around, taking in my home. “Nice place.”

  “Thank you.” While I’d joked about Cooper being my only fan, I’d done well with the photographs I’d taken during my travels. Who would’ve thought journals filled with folksy posts and colorful pictures could sell for so much money? Even after I’d donated to orphanages and women’s organizations, I still had enough tucked away for my future. Sure, I had a mortgage, but the payments were low. Living above my business was the best. No drive to work, and I could scoot downstairs whenever the urge to process film hit me.

  “Have a seat.” I waved toward the living room. “Do you want wine or iced tea?”

  “Tea sounds great.” He settled on the couch.

  “Lemon or lime?”

  “Lime?”

  “It tastes good that way.”

  “Lime it is then.” He thumbed through a magazine while I bustled into the galley kitchen. Joining him in the living room a moment later, I
dropped our glasses onto coasters and brought the cheese and crackers over from the hutch.

  For whatever reason, my excitement had fled, driven aside by sweaty palms and an urge to gnaw on my lower lip—something I hadn’t done in years.

  I wanted him here. All night, if he’d stay. But I didn’t want to cling or say something awkward that might drive him away. The rules for our relationship had been set in stone. It just hurt, because the wall on my side was sharp and cut deeply. While I wanted to make each second with him special, I couldn’t stop focusing on when I’d have to say goodbye.

  Leaned into his side, I peered at the magazine over his shoulder until he closed it and pushed it away.

  He turned to face me. “What did you do today?”

  “Oh, this and that. I tried to lounge around like the nurse told me to, but I like keeping busy.” Actually, I’d spent a lot of time dwelling on him. On us. On how there would never be a us. I’d started to mourn his loss already.

  “I get that.” He stroked my arm and ran his gaze down my front as if assessing for wounds. Even though they still smarted, he wouldn’t find them. They lurked inside me, hidden away from the world. “How are you feeling? Better?”

  “Much.” My face overheating, I darted my eyes away. “After the drugs wore off, that is.”

  “No injuries other than your arm?”

  I shrugged. “My right knee was stiff this morning, but I stretched and that helped.” Could we let this go? He was leaving in a few days. Spending our precious time together talking about what happened yesterday was the last thing I wanted to do. Hell, I was embarrassed about the whole thing. “How about you? How have things gone at your dad’s place? I know you’ve been busy.”

  “Yep.” He lifted his tea and took a long swallow. “I like the lime.”

  My smile rose as thanks for the comment, but it fell short when I thought about all the work that must still wait for him at his father’s home. “Do you want help? I have free time this week.” I picked up my glass and sipped. “I could come over tomorrow afternoon. I’m also free Friday. I have a sunset wedding booked for Sunday, but that’s it for the week.”

  “Tell you what,” he said. “What time are you free tomorrow?”

  “After two.”

  “Instead of working on my dad’s place, let’s do something together.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  He glanced toward my back yard. “How about we take advantage of that big lawn and play croquet?”

  A game a grannie might be familiar with, but not me. “Umm…”

  His gaze narrowed, but his eyes twinkled. “Your card luck doesn’t extend to lawn games?”

  “I toss a decent bean bag, and I’ve played badminton once or twice.”

  His grin widened. “Then you’re sayin’ I might stand a chance at whooping your ass at croquet.”

  I curled my lips. “You already whooped my ass at cribbage.” A fact he’d mentioned more than once already.

  “Made you whimper, didn’t I?”

  In so many ways.

  “I think I can stand a little croquet whooping.” Or any other kind of whooping that might come along with it.

  The heated message my hormones were putting out must’ve transmitted to Cooper, because he took my iced tea from my hand and lowered it onto the table.

  “Ginny,” he said, his voice gone husky.

  “Cooper.”

  “Anything on the stove we need to worry about?”

  “I shut everything off before you arrived.”

  “I love how efficient you are.” Leaning forward, he kissed me, his lips tasting of lime.

  I moaned and wrapped my arms around him, giving in to the response he pulled from me every time he touched me. I wore a simple white top and a striped cotton skirt over bare legs. He stroked my thighs, his fingertips inching up underneath my skirt. Higher. Higher. While I ground my mouth against his and nearly shredded his shirt to reach skin. This man wore too much clothing. All the time.

  His fingers stilled and he leaned back and panted, staring down at me with widening eyes. “Aw, hell. You’re gonna kill me.”

  He’d discovered I wore no panties.

  “Scooch your hips forward and lay back on the cushions, sweetheart.”

  I pointed. “My bedroom’s down the hall.”

  “No time.”

  My laugh burst out. “More hard and fast on the agenda?”

  Growling, he tugged my hips forward and flipped up my skirt. “You are so going to get it.”

  I could only hope.

  His head lowered. He parted my thighs and tasted me, his tongue soft and scratchy and twirling all together. Desire flooded my limbs as his tongue dipped inside.

  I trembled and tried to keep from lifting my legs, pulling his head closer, and jutting my hips up at him. When he thrust his finger into me, while his tongue kept moving, we both groaned.

  He looked up at me from where he’d crawled between my legs. “You don’t mind if I spend a little time here, do you?”

  My heart skipped, and my breath choked off. I couldn’t say a damned thing, because he’d rendered me speechless.

  Some sound must’ve slipped from between my lips because he nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He sucked, drawing that crest of me inside his warm mouth. While I writhed and thrashed my head on the cushions, he loved me with his fingers and his tongue. I’d reached for the peak when he stalled. His head lifted, and he patted my thigh. “I think it’s time we slowed this down, don’t you?”

  No way. I was ready to speed things up, actually. Speechless still, I quivered.

  He shifted back, leaving me splayed out before him. Once standing, he extended his hand. I took it, and he pulled me onto my feet. For as long as that lasted, because he swept me up into his arms.

  “Bedroom,” he said.

  I waved, the only action I was capable of performing.

  With firm strides, he carried me down the hall where he lowered me onto my bedspread. He climbed over me and braced himself with his arms. Need pinched his face. “I want you.”

  “You already have me.”

  Once I was confident my legs could support me, I padded naked out into the kitchen and turned on the burner underneath the spaghetti sauce.

  The pasta lay in a glob in the strainer, but I might be able to salvage it by cutting it into chunks. Some would suggest this was a ruined meal, yet I wasn’t complaining.

  When hands settled on my hips from behind, I jumped and let out a squeak.

  “Shit. I’m sorry,” Cooper said.

  He’d crept up on me, only betraying his presence when he touched me.

  He wrapped me up as if he could cocoon me in his reassurance, but the sliver of a frightened girl inside me only curled tighter.

  I hated this. Hated that fear ruled my life.

  He kissed me, stroked my hair, and stared into my eyes—his heavy with sadness.

  Embarrassed by my reaction, I pulled out of his embrace and turned away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have behaved like that. I…” The lump in my throat wouldn’t go down, no matter how hard I swallowed. Why couldn’t I let this go? The last thing I wanted was to give Cooper the impression I feared him when he had my complete trust.

  “I’m the one who messed this up,” he said. “I should’ve—”

  I placed my fingertip on his lips and shook my head. “It’s okay. Really.”

  We dressed and returned to the kitchen. Cooper leaned against the counter and watched me while I finished getting dinner ready.

  I’d thrown a bucket of water onto our sexy moment and needed to fix things fast.

  “Why don’t we eat on the deck?” I said. If nothing else, it would be warmer out there. Eyes stinging, I kept my focus on arranging the food on our plates.

  With a soft sigh, he tilted my chin and studied my face. “I’ll be more careful from now on.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. I didn’t want him accommodatin
g me. I wanted to be free of my screwed-up past.

  He released me and lifted the corkscrew I’d set out earlier. “Wine?”

  Accepting his welcome distraction, I made busy at the stove. “Love some.”

  He took glasses and place settings out onto the deck while I hacked up the pasta and settled lumps on each plate. I spooned marinara sauce over the top. Our dinner looked oddly volcanic, but it would taste fine.

  He whistled through his teeth as he approached, giving me fair warning. Coming up behind me, he paused and kissed my neck, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Spaghetti’s one of my favorite meals. It smells fantastic.”

  We took our food out onto the deck and sat across from each other.

  Making an effort to ditch my embarrassment, I laughed as I stared down at my spaghetti mountain. “Jeez, I’m sorry. I’m not usually this bad a cook.”

  “The sauce is excellent,” he said around a big bite.

  “We won’t discuss the pasta.”

  “Hey, I’m enjoying my I-got-to-drag-Ginny-off-to-bed pasta. It’s a meal I’d be happy to savor any night.”

  The sparks zipping around in my belly told me I’d be glad to share lumpy pasta with him most any night, too.

  We finished and loaded the dishwasher. Returning to the deck, we collapsed on chaise lounges and finished the bottle of wine.

  I caught movement beyond the rail and sat forward, scowling. “There they go again.” As I jumped and flapped my arms in the air, Cooper’s eyes widened. “My turkey neighbors have come for dessert,” I said. Like that explained things.

  Frowning, he squinted through the railing. “Wow.”

  “Impressive, aren’t they?” Below, multiple turkey parents herded numerous half-grown chicks—a generous term on any day for these butterballs—across the lawn. The turkeys trailed across the grass, pausing to snatch up bugs. “Only one problem. They keep eating my strawberries.” I leaned over the railing, shouting and waving my arms. “Go!”

  Like I’d fired buckshot into the air, the beasts let out squawks. Wings flapping, they scattered back into the woods.