Spun Out

by Lorelei James

  “Or it makes it incredibly fulfilling when I can help fit the right person to the right job.”

  Bailey studied him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. She’d considered her people-judging skills above average, and what she’d heard from this guy seemed genuine. And that allowed her to be equally honest. “Given my recent health history, how much do I have to disclose to potential employers? And to tag on to that question, how much of my military history are they able to access?”

  Chuck didn’t answer right away. He stared at a spot behind her as he gathered his thoughts. Then his gaze met hers again. “If you apply for a position in the federal government, HR for that division, department, whatever, would have easier access to all records than say . . . a retail or clerical job in the private sector. What you choose to disclose, I can’t tell you if complete honesty is preferable to only revealing information pertinent to the position. And that’s not me hedging. In your case, Bailey, I’m not sure which route to go.”

  Groaning, she slumped back in the chair. “So if I’m honest, chances are high that I’ll be passed over for jobs in the private sector.”

  “You mentioned that your oldest sister said she could get you hired where she’s working. Is that still a possibility?”

  “Getting an interview? Yes. But she works for a security firm. I’d never pass the extensive background check.”

  Tap-tap-tap went his pen on his desk blotter. “I thought you told me one of your sisters knows about . . . ?”

  “Liberty knows about the lupus. Harper doesn’t. They both know I’m leaving the military. Neither has a clue about the . . . other thing.”

  “Bailey, have you discussed with your counselor why you’ve refused to tell your family—”

  “Chuck, you basically just told me it’d be a red flag to employers who don’t know me. So how do you think my sisters, who love me, will react to the most selfish, wrong and stupid thing I almost did?”

  “That’s what I’m saying. You don’t know. The longer you wait to talk to them—”

  “I’m never going to tell them or anyone else. Never. It’s over. I’ve dealt with it. It won’t happen again.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. That’s your choice.”

  Goddamned right it was. Bailey stood and went to grab a bottle of water from the tray in the corner of his office. As she drank, she moved to brood out the window.

  “Any chance your summer job could become full-time?”

  “No. Harper has finally started looking at the whole picture of her life. She has to do what’s best for her and her family, and she’s decided to close the store.” She flashed him a quick grin. “I will miss bullshitting my way through conversations about fashion.”

  “What are you doing after hours?”

  Gorging myself on the hottest sex of my life. “Working on the game app.”

  “How’s that coming?”

  She shrugged. “It’s challenging, although making weapons accessories for female game characters is fashion related.”

  When he flipped open a folder, she knew the discussion was over. That caused a pang of melancholy. Chuck had been her sounding board, so who was she supposed to talk to about this life-altering stuff now?

  Streeter popped into her head. He would listen with the same open-mindedness as Chuck, be as supportive and positive, but he also wouldn’t sugarcoat his responses.

  Chuck slid a piece of paper across the desk. “This makes your outprocessing official.”

  Bailey picked up the pen and signed it.

  “This will take around three weeks. You’ll need to sign a lot of these documents in person, so we’ll need to see you once a week until it’s done, okay?”

  “Sure.” She offered her hand. “It doesn’t seem like enough to say thanks, but you’ve really been a huge help to me, Chuck.”

  “I have every faith that you will be one of my most successful transition examples.” He smiled. “Pity I can’t share specifics with anyone.”

  Bailey stopped at the front desk and scheduled her remaining appointments.

  It was pouring outside and she was soaked by the time she got to her car.

  And she was really drenched when she literally blew into the Learning Center.

  Olivia seemed anxious. Bailey wasn’t sure if the storm had caused her distress, or her fear that Bailey wouldn’t return to pick her up, or if something had happened with one of the other kids during class.

  She paused in the entryway, watching out the window as the wind howled and the rain came down in sheets, waiting for a momentary reprieve in the weather so they could make a break for the car. While they waited, she suggested to Olivia that they should head home and skip the library.

  Olivia staged a massive fit the likes of which Bailey had never seen. A screaming, crying, throwing-herself-on-the-floor tantrum.

  Bailey had no idea how to deal with it.

  None.

  The other parents in the waiting area glared at her, as if she were the worst parent on the planet. Too bad she couldn’t tell them this wasn’t her kid. It was really too bad that she couldn’t just walk away.

  How the fuck did Streeter deal with this? And how often did this happen?

  Bailey plopped down on the floor next to her and waited. Olivia would either scream herself hoarse and flail to exhaustion or she’d stop. Bailey was betting on the latter.

  The fit lasted almost ten minutes—long enough to chase the judgmental parents into the rain so they were the only ones left in the waiting room.

  Bailey didn’t say a word about Olivia’s behavior. She merely handed Olivia two tissues and said, “Blow your nose and wipe your face.”

  And then . . . everything was fine.

  Getting a kid in and out of a car seat meant Bailey remained soaked while Olivia was somewhat soggy.

  However, the library books remained dry.

  The librarian added the books Olivia had read to her chart. Then Olivia asked Bailey to take a picture of her standing next to her chart for her dad because he’d be proud.

  There was the glimpse of sweetness Streeter talked about.

  Bailey parked herself in a chair in the children’s section of the library while Olivia browsed for books.

  Other parents in the vicinity sent Bailey “get off your phone and help your kid pick out books” looks, which she ignored. These people had no idea how lucky they were that Olivia was one hundred percent occupied “choosin’ her own books by herself” and not in meltdown mode because Bailey insisted on helping her.

  So while she checked her results from her blood tests last week, Olivia stacked books by Bailey’s chair. She said, “I’m gonna go look at the birds.”

  Which Bailey took to mean watch the birds in their caged habitat.

  Not so.

  When a librarian shouted—in the library no less—“Young lady, get out of there right now!” Bailey was on her feet.

  She skidded to a stop on the wet tile when she saw Olivia had peeled back a corner of the metal mesh on the outside of the cage and had squeezed inside.

  Birds were squawking and flying as Olivia tried to catch them.

  The librarian was still yelling. She looked at the assembled crowd and said, “Where is this child’s mother?”

  “She’s dead!” Olivia yelled from inside the cage.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  Bailey marched over and said, “Olivia. Out. Now.” Then she crouched down and lifted the mesh.

  Olivia scampered out, oblivious to the havoc she’d wreaked.

  Or maybe she wasn’t so oblivious because she hid behind Bailey when the librarian approached. “Are you her mother?”

  “No. She was telling the truth that her mother is dead.”

  That was probably the only thing that kept them from get
ting permanently blackballed from the Casper library—not for just two weeks.

  Luckily Olivia was allowed to check out her books. Bailey pretended not to notice the How to Tame Your Bird book at the top of the stack.

  The rain hadn’t let up and huge puddles had formed in the parking lot, puddles that Olivia delighted in stomping in.

  As much as Bailey hated the idea of sloshing through the rain again, she had to stop at Walmart. At least Olivia could be strapped into the cart for the very brief trip.

  In the store Olivia had convinced her to buy umbrellas—matching ones—covered in pink and purple unicorns with glitter-flecked handles.

  After standing Olivia next to the car and warning her not to move, Bailey unloaded the bags into the back of her SUV. When she skirted the back end of the car, Olivia wasn’t there, but the umbrella was blowing around like a rainbow tumbleweed.

  Goddammit.

  It was raining cats and dogs out here and if she was running through the parking lot, cars wouldn’t see her until it was too late.

  Full-blown panic set in and she yelled, “Olivia!”

  Something moved over by the cart return—a hand in the air, waving madly.

  Jesus, was she hurt?

  Bailey raced over and saw Olivia lying in a mud puddle.

  “Olivia! What happened?”

  “Shh, you’ll scare it.” She pushed onto her knees and turned with something clutched in her hands. “Look what I found!”

  Please don’t be a snake.

  “Whatever it is, put it down.”

  “But it’s a kitty! Look at her. She’s a teeny tiny baby. And she’s wet and shaking.” Then she rested her cheek on the top of the critter’s head and the thing made the most pitiful meow.

  “Olivia, you can’t—”

  “But she’s scared! And what if she doesn’t have a momma cat to take care of her? We can’t just leave her here if she’s lost and alone.”

  And . . . she was done. Maybe Streeter could justify leaving a motherless kitten in the rain, but she couldn’t. And if he didn’t want Olivia to have it, well, then he could take it away from her.

  “Okay. We’ll take it with us. But on two conditions. One, it has to stay in the box next to your car seat all the way home. Two, it has to have a bath before you can pet it because it might have”—fleas or worms—“germs.”

  “I promise.” Olivia thrust the cat at Bailey and scrambled into her car seat, leaving Bailey to forage in the back of her vehicle one-handed for a box and a towel as the drenched cat clawed and hissed.

  The kitten began mewing as soon as Bailey set it in the box.

  It cried and cried until about fifteen minutes into the drive, and then it stopped.

  She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Olivia had stretched her arm down until her hand was inside the box. “Olivia. What did I tell you?”

  “You said I couldn’t pet her. But she’s pettin’ me. I just put my hand over here and she started rubbin’ on it. I think she’s sad and hungry ’cause she’s lickin’ my fingers.”

  Oh, hey, Street, no big deal, but I think your precious daughter might’ve caught rabies from the feral kitten I let her bring home.

  Wait. Did one catch rabies?

  No. That’s the bubonic plague. Rabies required a bite. Or maybe even just a scratch.

  Great. Either way, she might be fucked—and not fucked the way she preferred with her man.

  Chapter Twenty

  Streeter hadn’t heard from Bailey all day.

  Not sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  He’d told Olivia to be on her best behavior. He might’ve mentioned something about earning demerits at home if he got a bad report from Sergeant B.

  It’d poured all afternoon like he hadn’t seen in a couple of years. The cattle broker had been very thorough, which Streeter appreciated since Ted was still fairly new to that aspect of ranching.

  Tobin had taken time off work to be there when the broker came to check out their cattle. Theirs was still a fledgling operation. Though they had expanded in the past two years, that meant they hadn’t been selling livestock but building their herd. Add in the genetic experimentation Tobin was doing for bucking bulls, and it’d be a couple more years before All Hale Livestock could support two families. But even when they got the business to where they wanted it to be—workwise and financially—he knew his younger brother loved the scientific aspect of his job in Casper.

  He still had half an hour before he could leave to head home, so he shot off a quick text to Bailey.

  30 min and I’ll be OMW. Everything okay?

  She immediately answered back.

  Purr-fect.

  Streeter scratched his head at the cat emoji she tacked on. Weird.

  Or maybe it was her veiled way of sexting that her pussy missed him.

  He grinned. That had to be it. And he couldn’t wait to show her pussy how much he missed it. He scrolled through his emojis, but none seemed to convey that. The tongue emoji? Nah. It’d be his luck if he sent the eggplant emoji next to the spurting liquid emoji that his daughter would demand an explanation.

  After he finished, he returned to the Split Rock. If he’d been anywhere near a store today, he would’ve bought Bailey some flowers for helping him out. He made a mad dash through the rain from his truck to his trailer.

  He wiped his feet, kicked off his boots and wiped down his hat before he hung it on the peg. He looked around. No sign of Olivia or Bailey in the living room.

  Then Bailey came out of the bathroom and stopped in the hallway. “Hey. You just get here?”

  “Yeah. Where’s Olivia?”

  “In her room.” Bailey sauntered forward and stopped in front of him, sliding her palms up his chest. “Kiss me like you missed me, cutie.”

  His gaze automatically went down the hallway to see if Olivia had exited her room. So far she hadn’t caught them doing anything except holding hands.

  “Her door is shut.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Take the shot while you’ve got it.”

  Streeter lowered his mouth to hers and her lips yielded to his.

  This.

  This was what he’d wanted: a woman to greet at home at the end of the day.

  Any woman?

  No. He wanted this woman. Bailey. The taste of her on his tongue, the scent of her in his lungs and the feel of her body twined around his.

  He broke the kiss to string soft smooches up her jawline until his lips met her ear. “More of that later.”

  “Yeah, well, about that.” Then Bailey stepped back. Way back.

  “What? Am I too wet?”

  “That’s what she said,” she joked.

  “Bailey.”

  “You’re fine. I had to change clothes too after spending the day in and out of the rain.”

  “Then why are you so far away?”

  “So you can’t reach me when you get mad at me.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  Before he could demand answers, Bailey yelled, “Olivia, you can come out now.”

  The door banged open and Olivia walked carefully—as if she were on a tightrope—toward him, clutching a shoebox to her chest.

  First thing he noticed? The huge smile on her face and the light shining from her eyes.

  “Daddy! You’ll never guess what!”

  That was when he heard a high-pitched series of animal noises.

  No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

  “We saved this little bitty kitty from dyin’!”

  Olivia finally reached him and she held out the box. “See? Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Streeter peered down at a ball of whitish gray fur with pale blue eyes. While it was cute . . . beautiful seemed a stretch.

  “This is Wally.”

 
He glanced over at Bailey. “It already has a name?”

  She tried—and failed—to hide a smile. “Yep.”

  “And I love her. So, so much. And she loves me.” Olivia walked over to a towel spread out on the floor. She lowered herself to her knees, set the box down and tumbled the kitten out.

  “Gentle, remember?” Bailey reminded her.

  “Sorry.” She flopped on her belly right in front of the kitten. “Sorry, Wally.”

  Wally meowed.

  “See! She already knows her name!” Olivia patted the carpet beside her. “Come on, Daddy. Watch her with me. She’s so funny.”

  “I’ll get you a beer,” Bailey offered.

  “Lemme get dry clothes on first.”

  In his bedroom, he decided as long as he was stripping down, he might as well shower.

  Ten minutes later, he headed down the hallway but paused before entering the living room when he heard Olivia say, “He’s mad, huh?”

  “I don’t know, cupcake.”

  Bailey had called Olivia . . . cupcake?

  Talk about melting his heart.

  “I love her,” Olivia confessed again.

  “So you’ve said,” Bailey murmured. “But what does it mean to you to love something?”

  “You wanna be around them. You miss them when you can’t be with them.” She paused. “I love Daddy. And now I love Wally.”

  Maybe his daughter was only repeating what she’d heard, but that was as accurate an explanation as he’d heard for love. Add in the fact Bailey made her define the term because she knew Olivia’s detachment allowed her to repeat things she’d overheard because she didn’t feel them, and he realized that Bailey understood his daughter better than he’d imagined.

  “But sometimes you have to let go of what you love, Olivia.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s better for them.”

  Whoa. Where had that come from? Was Bailey speaking from past experience? Or was this how she was feeling now?

  Why don’t you know? You’ve shared every bit of your past with her . . . and what do you know of hers? She’s pushed you to open up from the start but she hasn’t reciprocated. She’s as vague about her past as she is her future.