“Willow,” she heard his deep voice say, “tonight, I would like for the girls to sleep with you in here. They need time to adjust.”
“Okay,” she said softly, touching the edge of the bed.
“The door does lock, but I will place an additional lock on it, for your own peace of mind,” he said.
“Thoughtful of you,” she said.
“I’m also hungry, so let’s get some pizza, find out how the girls are taking all of this, and then we go from there,” he said.
“Be right there,” she told him, walking into the bathroom with bright lights. In the mirror, she stared at a reflection she barely recognized. Thick, tangled hair sat on her head like it couldn’t make up its mind if it planned to be an afro for the day or to scare small children in the rear of a school bus.
Using her fingers, she parted the thick mass, braiding one half, then the other, bringing it to the nape of her neck. She could see her entire face and for a woman of 38 years, Willow liked the way she looked.
“Mom! Mom, come on! We are starving,” Dusty Rose called from the base of the stairs.
Willow quickly ripped away the white sheer dress, leaving the sweatpants and Raphael’s shirt on her body. The life of captivity was over. Today was a new day. Tonight, she would sleep without fear and be ready to tackle whatever the morning would bring. Quickly she washed her hands, drying them on a soft towel, sighing at the idea of a hot soak and soft, fluffy towels to dry her bottom.
“Shit, he may not want me to get used to this because if I do, he will never get rid of us,” she said, checking her teeth and heading for the stairs.
Raphael was waiting for her as well. Immediately, he noticed the two small changes—one to her hair, the other tearing away the white flimsy material—made a powerful statement. Willow had intentionally allowed the ragged edges of the torn fabric to be seen, versus removing his shirt, then taking off the dress. This was her statement to him that she was ready to live. The styling of her hair also sent him the same message, that the woman was ready to live. Six years she had said.
Six damned years without the touch of another person except the girls. Six damned years with no one to talk to but the girls. Six long years of lonely nights without the touch of a man. He gulped hard as Dusty Rose made him wait at the table to be served. Raphael knew at the exact minute on a Saturday evening in late May that the servings were about to get far more bountiful.
It was time to get back on the horse, but Willow Rayne was one filly he couldn’t ride. The timing was wrong. The situation called for him to be her hero, not the man who took advantage of having a lonely woman in his house. The past had a way of climbing on the copier and making a replication of itself.
He wasn’t going to play that game again.
DINNER PROGRESSED NICELY, with the girls unable to sit still long enough to bite or swallow. They wanted to see the beach. They wanted to see the inlet. They wanted to play in the water. They wanted to sleep in their own rooms.
“Daddy, do I get story time tonight?” Karli asked.
“Oh, you were serious about that...I thought you were kidding,” he said, looking at a 10-year-old whom he assumed was too old to be read to at night.
“I wanted to read A Wrinkle in Time, but Him wasn’t able to find it for me,” she said, wrinkling her little forehead. “He ripped apart the copy Mommy had out of meanness, and I knew he was lying about finding me another copy. That man did not value the use of the imagination.”
Raphael came to a standstill in the middle of the floor. He held up one hand and went into the downstairs office, returning with a copy of the book she wanted. Karli squealed at the top of her lungs as if she’d just been given tickets to Disneyland.
“Yes! Yes!” she squealed, grabbing her unicorn and plopping down on the couch. She flipped open the front flap of the book, then slowly turned the page, and said aloud, “Chapter One, Mrs. Whatsit.”
Her small eyes were wide as they scanned the page, ingesting the words, then methodically, with the tip of her finger, she lifted the sheet and turned to the next page. Raphael looked at Dusty Rose, who said nothing.
“Dusty, what are you into, your hobbies, interests, that kind of thing,” he said, watching her face.
“I like to paint, draw, sketch, design clothes,” she said.
Raphael smiled at her. “You are in luck,” he added, asking both the teen girl with the rosy cheeks and red hair to follow him along with Willow.
He led them to a small room off of the kitchen. Raphael flipped on the light and both of the ladies gasped. The room was his mother’s old sewing den. The machine she’d used to make items for the home was probably as old as he was, but it held a dress form on casters that had collapsible shoulders. Bolts of material lined the walls in a variety of fabrics, including items for young and teen girls. The cutting table rested over cubbies that held patterns, notions, ribbons, and everything a seamstress could want.
“I think there may be a few art pads around here somewhere,” he said, smiling at Dusty. “This room belonged to my mother. Over the years, I never had the heart to come in here and officially clean it out. There are tons of patterns for clothing that she planned to make for my niece. I think a few of the patterns are left over that she used for my sister.”
Dusty’s eyes were tearing. “We can use this room...this stuff?”
“Sure, I may need to update the sewing machine, but I don’t see why not,” he said. “Does this help?”
Willow said nothing, but shook her head yes, walking over to pull out the tray of patterns. There were four different bins. One bin held patterns for home decor, including pillows, napkins, place mats, curtains, and the like. The next bin held patterns for children and teen clothing. A third bin ran over with patterns for costumes and crafts, but the final bin, held vintage patterns that would make June Cleaver swoon.
“Willow, does this help?” he asked again.
Tears welled in her eyes as she touched a bin filled with elastic, ribbons, and trims. Dusty had taken a seat on the floor, thumbing through the patterns in her size, picking the items she wanted to make first. Her eyes scanned the bolts of fabric lining the walls, and she became almost giddy with excitement.
“This is amazing, more than we could have ever hoped to have,” Willow said, wiping away a tear. “I don’t know how we can ever repay you or say thank you.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” Dusty Rose said, giving him a wide, bright smile.
“Just glad somebody can make use of this stuff,” he said, walking away and leaving them to it. Dusty Rose had come to life. Initially, he’d thought the girl to be simple, but he’d just been proven wrong.
Raphael’s mind was on other matters. First, he needed to add the additional lock to the second bedroom’s door. The girls needed to feel safe as well as their mother. Then a hot shower, and... “Shit, I’m too tired to care about the rest right now.”
In the garage, time forced him to think about more than the immediate, but also his past. The tears of joy in Willow’s eyes hadn’t gone unnoticed. There weren’t many things about the woman that went unnoticed with his eyes. Locating the latch and screws, Raphael grabbed his power drill and took the stairs by two.
The sound of the drill brought everyone running as he affixed the metal to the door and frame. He tested the strength of the bolt using his shoulder, seeing how much it would give way under force. The screws allowed little give.
“Are you locking us in, Daddy?” Karli asked concerned.
“No, this is for you three to feel safe here until you get settled. Tonight, you all will sleep together in here with your Mom,” he said.
“I want my own room,” Dusty Rose said quickly.
“Shouldn’t Mommy sleep in your room, Daddy?” Karli asked.
Raphael quickly said, “No. Your Mom will sleep in here with you until you get accustomed to this house, the sounds at night of the water, and getting to the bathroom, well, just stay in here with your Mom. If we
get past a week and you’re still here, then we can talk about your own rooms.”
“Good, because my room should be yellow and purple with a unicorn headboard,” Karli said with pride.
“Sure, whatever. I’m tired and headed to bed,” Raphael said. “I’m turning on the alarm so do not go out of the doors tonight, okay?”
Karli patted him on the arm. “Aren’t you going to tuck me in tonight and kiss me on my forehead like you did last night?”
“Tonight, you have your Mother. Last night all you had was a unicorn. Goodnight, ladies.”
“Goodnight, Daddy,” the girls called out.
Raphael threw up a hand and made his way first to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. To his surprise. the kitchen was spotless. “Hmmph,” he said, taking the water upstairs and closing his door.
“Calling me Daddy...what in the hell,” he said, starting the shower.
Chapter Five – Mimeograph
IN BED, RAPHAEL LAY on his left side, staring into the darkness at the pillows on the empty side of the bed. At three separate points in his life, the other side of the bed had held an occupant. It never worked out in the long term since his work made living all about the short term. The not knowing whether or not a man would come home at night took front seat in most conversations about family planning. Even with a monthly stipend from Uncle Sam and an insurance policy that wasn’t worth more than the paper he scribbled his name on, no woman wanted to be a single parent.
When the conversations reached the point of marriage, he explained it as clearly as he could, “I pick up my bag and head out the door. There is no guarantee that I will come back. Even if I do make it back, there is no guarantee I will return the same as I left.”
This statement was usually met with tears, cursing, and balled up fists tucked into the corner of bed pillows. After the third try, he gave up. Emotionally, the whole ordeal was too hard on the lady and only hardened him inside. By the time he came off the SEAL Team and became Cadre at the school, he had no interest in changing his ways to accommodate a woman and children underfoot. He spent his money instead on upgrades in the old homestead for his mother’s comfort, and bought himself a boat.
He knew men who tried to make it work. They married, had wives, and just about all of them had children. Usually the marriages only lasted a few years. Towards the end, there were always allegations of abuse, or worse, the post-traumatic stress of missions no one could speak about replayed themselves repeatedly in fractured minds. Weary women wrapping wild wounds from nighttime skirmishes with an unseen enemy were a norm that he hated to hear. It was a norm he couldn’t force himself to bear.
It wasn’t a norm he needed in his life.
His norm, although he looked down on Wrong Way’s sexual escapades, held a similar pattern. In North Carolina, a pretty senorita who made the best homemade tortas that rivaled his mothers, was a monthly stop.
A pretty redhead in Roanoke expected a visit from him every other month. He left a little something on the nightstand for her, but his last visit six months ago had left a bad taste in his mouth. He hadn’t been back since.
Rolling to his back, he looked up at the ceiling, realizing with a bit of chagrin that it had also been six months since he’d last seen the senorita.
“Shit,” he groaned, closing his eyes and silently willing sleep to consume him.
THE GIRLS HAD SHOWERED and were snuggled in bed under the coverlet. Karli held onto the unicorn, which took up entirely too much space in the bed. Willow ran a tub of water for herself, thankful for the lavender bath salts as well as a scented bath bomb which turned the bathwater a lovely shade of purple. Stripping down, she slipped into the water. Sinking her body low into the water until it reached the tip of her chin, she finally permitted herself a chance to sigh.
Willow also gave herself permission to cry. The past 48 hours were nearly more than she could handle. Initially, she assumed Kindred was taking Karli as a punishment from Hymn, to make her more compliant to his desires. Then she found out that Hymn wasn’t on the compound but at his retreat, which meant he was breaking in a new wife, and it was clear he knew nothing of Kindred’s doing. There was no way to get a message to him that Karli had been taken.
It was a coup d'état. Kindred wanted to seize power of the facility, which also meant he’d be coming for Dusty Rose. Next month she would turn 15. The age of consent in Kentucky was 16, but a year here or there didn’t matter to men like that. If Kindred was willing to send Karli out at a price, there was no limit to the evil in his heart.
Her concern was more for Hymn. She took his daughters. He would come for her and the girls. This time, he wouldn’t be so lenient with her, letting Willow live in her own camper. He would place her in rotation with the other women who displeased him.
“Not ever again, Proderick. Never again,” she said, grabbing a sponge and soaping it to wash her body.
Willow and the girls had found an escape and safety. The lock on the door was a nice touch, but she wasn’t lowering her guard anytime soon with Raphael Hoyt. He did smell all kinds of wonderful she admitted, giggling to herself.
“Six years without a man and Bigfoot could get it,” she said, chuckling to herself. “Naw, that’s not true. Bigfoot’s little brother, yeah, he could have some of this.”
Her mind went to many of the men who would come to the compound on Friday nights. Hymn made a point of keeping her out of sight, although Kindred made it known every Saturday evening that requests had been made for dark meat.
“I wouldn’t mind a slice myself,” he would say, licking his lips.
Willow shivered in the tub. The water had also grown cold and it was time to get out. Pulling the plug, she stood, watching the purple swirl go down the drain. She couldn’t let this opportunity get away from her and the girls. Hymn had emptied her bank accounts and run up the limits on her credit cards. He’d taken all of the identifications she had plus no one was looking for her or Flower. This is where she was and where she would make her stand.
“I didn’t read him incorrectly,” she said with pride, reaching for a towel. “He’s lonely. He allowed the girls to call him Daddy without flinching too much. He let me take the ring and wear it as his wife. This house and everything in it are almost a mimeograph of the setup of my own home. Well, the one I know the bank has repossessed. We belong here. We belong with him.”
She only needed to find a way to show Mr. Hoyt her thought process. Besides, she wouldn’t mind waking up next to him on any morning. Willow had never considered herself to have a type, and Raphael Hoyt wasn’t anywhere in the realm of possible types of men she’d been interested in previously.
“Maybe you’re just horny as hell and grateful, which is why he’s turning you on,” she chastised herself. “If I get a chance to lick him, I’m keeping that man. Just to make sure, I’m going to take really good care of Raphael Hoyt, and he’s not going to want us to leave. Ever.”
Willow Rayne was known for being a stubborn woman. When the lady made up her mind about a matter, it would take a tidal monsoon to sway the thought process. In her estimation, Raphael Hoyt needed her and the girls as much as they needed him. Plus, he would get a woman who literally held Good Housekeeping Awards. The man couldn’t ask for a better wife.
“Technically, he didn’t ask you, Willow, but he put a ring on it, so there’s that,” she said, pulling a tee she found in a drawer over her head. The girls were all over the bed and she would have preferred to sleep on the couch versus wrestle with them all night, but he was right; safety came in numbers. Willow wouldn’t take her eyes off the girls ever again.
USUALLY ON SUNDAY MORNINGS, Raphael enjoyed sleeping in and rising around noon. The black shop was covered in scratches which needed to be buffed out before he left to go on the road again. People may not pay much attention to a tall white guy in a suit, but they would notice a tall white guy in a suit getting out of a black SUV covered in deep scratches. He couldn’t take that risk. There w
as a second vehicle in the garage, but the scoot’um-a-bug belonged to his mother.
“If they stay much longer, and Willow’s identifications come through, it would be an ideal car for her and the girls,” he said, thinking of the yellow, vintage Mercedes 300T station wagon. The old car was purchased new in 1985 and still only had about 285,000 miles on the odometer. Carlotta Hoyt loved the yellow car that had been a gift from her husband Fernando. Raphael maintained it out of loyalty, as he did with many of the items around the home that would get a second life courtesy of Willow and the girls.
A growling stomach changed his mind about sleeping in, plus there was work to get done. By Wednesday, he expected to be off to work if not already on a job. The country was filling up with assholes and business was good. May had barely left the middle of the month and already he’d taken down seven targets.
Raphael made quick work of his morning routine. He dressed and headed down the stairs fully expecting the girls to still be sleeping, but they were awake. Dusty Rose spotted him first. Her red hair was pulled into a ponytail with a purple ribbon. In front of her were the bins of patterns. She looked up at him with a warm smile.
“Morning, Daddy,” she said, getting to her feet to give him a morning hug. He bent to accept her thin arms around his neck and the peck on the cheek.
“You’re busy this morning,” he replied.
“Yes, I must organize the patterns into sizes and styles and what we can tweak to maybe mimic today’s fashions. I must say, most of these patterns are timeless and will go with any decade,” Dusty Rose said as a matter of fact.
“Is that so?”
Blind Copy (The Technicians Series Book 5) Page 6