by Taylor Ryan
“Get your butts back here and help me clean this up—” Garth began gathering dishes from the counter. “What are you going to do when you get your own place?”
“Eat out,” Henry was clearly annoyed having to help, but Alison didn’t say a word, immediately grabbing bowls from the table.
“You two go, I’ll take care of it,” Alison offered with a resigned sigh toward Henry.
“No,” said her father. “We’ll all clean it up. Then I’ll take you to town and buy you a drink.”
“We’ll clear up, Mr. Morley.” Henry began dashing around them, familiar with the kitchen. “You warm up the car. We don’t want to keep your dad waiting, Alison, come on,” Henry handed her a dirty pot. “Just load the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, it’s new and has a grinder.”
Garth grinned as he left the room. He hadn’t seen Henry so enthusiastic since he’d met him.
He took the stairs quickly, wondering which room was Mary Kathryn’s. Upon hearing her voice coming from the door closest to the bathroom he stopped short. Not wanting to eavesdrop he was unable to avoid hearing the one sided conversation because her bedroom door was slightly ajar.
“—and instruct them to add Henry’s name on the deed to the house. I know it has to go through a title company. Yes.” She was silent for a moment, then, “Yes. Monday. And Monday morning I want you to call the credit union and tell them to arrange to put him on the account. It will give him access to money that doesn’t have to go through probate. I know he has to sign them,” she sounded exasperated. “Just instruct the accounts officer to have all of the papers ready for signatures. You’ve drawn up the trust? Good. I’ll figure out how to get—”
Garth walked down the stairs, shaken. It sounded as if she were sick, but experience told him it could be something completely unrelated. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Morley,” he warned himself more than a dozen times as he followed Henry and Alison from the house a short time later.
“What’s wrong, dad?” Alison asked from the back seat of the Lexus he’d rented at the airport in Great Falls.
“I’ve been thinking of what to do with the rest of my life,” Garth lied smoothly.
Henry directed him with one syllable words to the nearest tavern. “Left.” Each time Henry gave a direction he would raise his hand in advance, giving Garth plenty of time to prepare. The boy was an excellent navigator. Once again, Henry’s hand came up and Garth began to slow the car.
“Any solid ideas?” Alison asked her father.
“Not yet, I’m not done being lazy. But I can’t do nothing the rest of my life.”
“Right.” Henry interjected as Alison began offering suggestions to her father, none of which Garth heard. He wondered why he felt so shaken someone he barely knew might be ill. Empathy was acceptable, normal, but not this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He made nonsensical replies all the way into Bennt, relieved when they finally arrived. He didn’t really know if Mary Kathryn were ill. That thought was all that kept him reasonably civil as Alison and Henry laughed and chatted as Henry led them into the tavern, waving and greeting people he knew.
“Dad,” Alison looped her arm through her father’s and leaned fondly against him as they made their way through the crowd to the bar. “I’m glad you’re here. This gives you and Henry a chance to get to know each other better. What do you think of this place?”
Garth glanced around the room. It was teeming with people of all ages. The jukebox blared a mainstream country western song he liked. There were two pool tables with people shooting games and others laughing around the tables. A few curious women boldly met his eyes. Others glanced at him then away, only to look again. It was a familiar scene, although he’d been frequenting bars less over the years, he was comfortable in this neighborhood tavern. “You go and have fun with Henry, sweetheart,” he told Alison. “I’ll just sit here at the bar and bank you—within reason,” he corrected at her delighted expression. “Two hours enough time for you?”
“Two hours?” Alison beamed. “You’re the best, Dad! Can I have ten bucks for the jukebox and pool?”
“You have no money at all?” he eyed her with parental disgust.
She appeared surprised by the question, “But, you said you’d bank us.”
“Kids!” he handed over a bill, his expression indulgently harassed.
“Young adults,” she said cheekily. “Order us two drafts, please, Dad. If you run out of cash there’s an ATM by the door.” She left him to make her way toward Henry who was talking to somebody he knew farther down the bar. Garth heard Henry say something about a job and shook his head. Alison was working at a pizza parlor two nights a week and Henry... well, Henry was driving her. He seemed to consider that his job. That, and getting to the bottom of why his mother was acting odd.
After the bartender took Garth’s order, Garth’s attention became engaged by the woman on the stool next to him. Yes, it was a typical neighborhood tavern. He gave the brunette his attention, an aloof but polite smile on his face as she eagerly introduced herself, her eyes riveted on his face as more women she was acquainted with approached her on the pretense of speaking with her but obviously wanting to meet him.
“Did you see that woman hitting on my father, Henry?” Alison was still griping about women who had approached her father in the tavern as they were walking into the house three hours later.
“The Chamber of Commerce lady? She seemed nice,” Garth said nonchalantly as Henry unlocked the front door.
“Nice?! Nice is a vague adverb,” Alison snorted. “Dad, she practically asked you to take her to a motel. At least the other ones didn’t cling.”
“Alison, that’s not what she said,” Garth argued quietly. “She asked me if I were visiting the area. And told me about the nicest motels. She works for the Chamber of Commerce. It’s her job, in a roundabout way, to tell strangers she meets what is available in the community. She was just being friendly.” He didn’t hide his exasperation as they entered the house. “But you’re absolutely right, it was horrible,” he said drolly, then added, “Women have never talked to me before—it was nerve wracking—terrifying.” He eyed his daughter sternly as she flounced into the living room ahead of him. “Mostly because I thought you were going to tell her off or tear her hair out.”
“Dad,” Alison snapped indignantly. “She wasn’t your type.”
“I don’t have a type, you scary pest!” His statement brought Mary Kathryn’s cat trotting to them. The cat sat down and looked at them as if wondering why he had called it.
“Yes, you do,” Alison burst out. “But it wasn’t her. Besides,” Alison said logically, “she only promotes the hotels that pay dues to the Chamber of Commerce. She’s biased.” Alison scoffed, “Dad, she uses her job as an excuse to hit on strange men.”
“I didn’t know until now I was strange.” Garth eyed his daughter with amusement as she grabbed Henry’s arm. Henry pulled away. “I’ve got to check something in the kitchen,” Henry told her. “I’ll be up in a little while.”
Out of patience with Alison’s behavior, Garth steered his daughter toward a chair as Henry disappeared. “Alison, I met your mother in a bar. I was just out of boot camp. And I met Courtney in a bar.” He referred to a woman he had dated whom Alison had met.
“Mom?!” Alison appeared shocked. “You met my mother in a bar? My mother?!”
“At a wet tee-shirt contest.” Garth nodded, hiding his amusement. “She won first place.”
“Nooo!” Alison was scandalized. “Mom is so... mom. And Lisa—?” she asked disgustedly.
“At an upscale scotch bar in San Francisco when I was stationed at Travis. I met Courtney in Florida at a liquor store. Believe it or not, she was buying wine and beer for a party. Imagine her audacity—inviting me to a party.” He tsked as he shook his head.
“Courtney picked you up in a liquor store?!” Alison’s eyes narrowed. “Just what kind of women do you hang out with?”
“Women I
like,” Garth growled. Who was the parent here? “Who cares where I met them. I was in the military. I met them wherever I met them.” He stared at his daughter. Since when had she become so priggish—or so protective?
“Why haven’t you ever married again?” Alison flopped down in Mary Kathryn’s easy chair. “Mom remarried.”
“I was stationed all over the world, Alison, you know that. Moving every few years, going on assignments for months at a time,” he eyed her warily. “I lost you and your mother. I saw other marriages go down the toilet. Leaving for lengthy periods of time is hard on a marriage. Not marrying seemed—” Garth gesticulated, searching for the right word, then said, “prudent.”
Alison remained silent for a moment and then burst out: “Tonight I saw you differently. I didn’t like it. Women were crawling all over you. It’s because you’re so buff isn’t it.” She grimaced, seeing her father as an attractive man for the first time.
“You’ve grown up, Alison. Now, you’re paying attention to the way it’s always been. I’m just a man, and I thank God every day women look at me.” He chuckled as her expression screwed up with distaste. “And I like keeping myself in shape.” It burned off energy...pent up sexual energy. But he didn’t say that.
“They all looked at you,” Alison huffed. “Saw you as a sex object.”
“Now that I really liked!” he mimicked her tone. “Who wouldn’t?” He hadn’t really. It was annoying sometime, not being able to have a drink in peace. Sometimes he just wanted to be left alone. But he’d be damned if he’d tell her his feelings on the matter.
“You’re used to it, aren’t you?” She seemed bemused as she studied his face. “Like a pretty girl. You’re used to the attention, so think nothing of it. How weird. My father, a sex object. Eew!” she shuddered. “I don’t want to go out with you ever again! Ever! I felt embarrassed for them. It was like they thought you were a toy or something. A pretty new toy.”
“Women have been looking at men and vice versa since before we managed to get our knuckles off the ground—the reason some men have flat foreheads—because we tipped over,” he laughed quietly at her expression. “Women always look at new men. Flat heads or not.” It had kept him busy for years, but he wasn’t going to tell her that either. “It’s nature’s way of keeping the gene pool mixed up. And you look like me, Alison, so if you’re saying I’m pretty, what does that say about you?” He yawned behind his hand.
“Dad,” Alison persisted. “I even heard women talking about you in the bathroom—”
“Which means when you choose my rest home you’re going to have to set your foot down with the blue haired ladies who will be chasing me using their walkers. Go to bed, honey, you’ve exhausted me.”
She giggled, standing up. “I’ll keep them away from you with your cane.” She grinned and ran up the stairs.
Had he ever been that young? Garth pulled off his shoes and socks as Henry appeared from the kitchen. “Night, man,” Henry mumbled. “Thanks for the night out.” Henry sounded upset about something but before Garth could ask the younger man went up the stairs. Garth shrugged out his shirt then lay his folded pants across the back of the couch as Pest meandered to him and curled around his bare legs.
“Hello, Pest.” He scratched the cat behind its ears, then bent and zipped his leather bag. “I found your hair on my clothes. You slept inside my bag last night. Never again, you aptly named fur ball.”
Ten minutes later he lay on his back staring at the ceiling wondering what he was doing in a stranger’s house for a month with three pairs of jeans, one pair of slacks, two sweaters, shirts and other sundry items filling his bag. Restlessness, something akin to loss, kept him tossing and turning for over an hour. Retiring was more difficult then he’d imagined. The regimented life he’d led for so long hadn’t prepared him to be at loose ends. He felt—lost. He cringed at the word.
He had no real home to go to. No wife waiting, no family to speak of. Nothing. Alison was moving on. But then, there was Mary Kathryn, whose contradictory behavior amused and intrigued him. Whose eyes spoke volumes when she looked at him. Mary Kathryn, who made the best waffle he had ever tasted. Orgasmic? He grinned. Not nearly orgasmic, but as close as food could come to that fabulous state.
Mary Kathryn. People called by both her names and it seemed to fit so perfectly. How would that work out if she were ever to marry again? Mary Kathryn, who probably needed a spanking as much as she needed— What did Mary Kathryn need? He didn’t know anything about her. Was she ill, or was he just assuming that because of what he had overheard? If she were ill, she would need friends.
He sighed, admitting to himself he didn’t want to be her friend. He wanted to toss her on a bed and hand feed her that orgasmic pumpkin cream waffle of hers until she admitted his was better—or at least just as good.
Chapter Four
GARTH WOKE UP EARLY the next morning. He stretched, thankful the couch accommodated his six foot two frame with room to spare. It was the most comfortable couch he’d ever slept on, bar none; but it still wasn’t a bed. He lay back looking at the high ceiling, noting idly the fan needed dusting, and it would take an eight foot ladder to reach it. The ceiling sloped high, giving the room an airy appearance even though—
“I’m not the mechanical sort. I find myself unfulfilled, left needing more than battery operated apparatuses.”
Whoa—
What?! Garth started, abruptly wide awake, his head whipping to find Mary Kathryn curled up in the easy chair to the right of the couch. Curled up with a lap quilt over her legs and drinking coffee from a bright mug emblazoned with Hot Stuff.
He blinked, taking in her sable curly hair and her sensual mouth. Wishful thinking she had said—but—nooo! She hadn’t just said that! Had she meant sexual apparatuses?
He couldn’t have heard her right.
He stared at her, his brains scrambling. His thoughts jumping all over the place for some conclusion to hold onto so he wouldn’t fall off the couch.
Did she need the oil in her jeep changed?
Just to be sure he wasn’t jumping to conclusions due to his nature, his natural masculine inclination to think along those lines where she was concerned, he asked very cautiously, “Excuse me?”
To which he heard: “I’m not mechanically inclined—the, uh, erotic mechanics—you know what I mean?” she motioned vaguely with the hand not holding her coffee—which he could smell and wanted. Where that came from Garth had no idea, but he was so taken aback he could only look on helplessly, thinking: So much for changing the oil in her jeep.
He wasn’t sure what to say. This was a first, not exactly the forum for such a private subject between two people who barely knew each other—who weren’t already intimate, at least already in a bed together.
And from the look on her face, there was more coming. He prepared himself, shoring up his shock with years of training. She’d scuttled him. Thank God for the Navy—scuttling was a good word! It was regroup time, take a minute—probably ten... and figure out why she was banging on his head with a white flag pole when she wasn’t the enemy.
“I need to touch skin. To feel the weight of a man’s body pressing me back.” She plucked at the blanket covering her legs, painting a picture in his mind that caused tension to thrum through him.
And scuttled him again.
“I need to feel a man’s hot breath on me, his mouth on me,” she said quietly, as if she were considering what she needed as she was telling him. “To be kissed, to kiss him all over... I love the feel of a man’s chest hair under my fingers. The warmth of his body next to mine, every inch of it against mine. But for all that, I need to feel something for him...to be emotionally involved.”
So she liked sex, Garth was relieved—good for her. But his brains were scrambled and he could only stare at her, trying to understand why she had clobbered his wits.
All he could think about was the two of them, naked. With him wielding one of those apparatuses against
her and driving her mad; until she was pleading for him to come inside her. Suddenly Garth knew exactly why she was there, had been sitting in the chair across from the couch waiting for him to wake up. And her quiet statement had made him hard as a rock—uncomfortably so—some things never scuttled off...
He studied her with intrigued interest, shifting uncomfortably on the couch, wondering if he could make her faint. The little death. A definite challenge. Always terrifying the first time. Odd thoughts were randomly flitting into his mind. She’d probably complain—he could just hear her boldly ask, “Where’s the pleasure in fainting from pleasure? What’s the point?”
And here she was facing him—taking them to task—asking him about them—wanting to know if their mutual attraction was going anywhere. Wanting to know what to do about this thing they were both experiencing. At least he now knew it was mutual. And now, she was simply waiting to see what his response might be. Her statement hadn’t been an invitation to her bed, he knew that without a doubt. She wasn’t even trying to turn him on—which was a dismal failure because his body had responded accordingly, betrayed his fierce Air Force loyalty and joined the Marines—the flags were everywhere.
He shifted on the couch again, utilizing the blanket to cover his heavy arousal, his intent absorption never leaving Mary Kathryn as he quickly digested what she’d said and what he thought she’d meant.
They were aware of each other with an intensity that went against all common sense. The attraction was powerful. Apparently just as much for her as for him. They wanted each other without regard for consequence. It was purely sexual. Nothing but a strong physical attraction and they both knew it. If they acted on it, sheer lust could consume then burn them out if they let it.
Or it could be built on, nurtured into something more enduring. Something lasting. That was why she was sitting there, calmly drinking coffee and knocking him for a loop, calmly revealing what worked for her, what she needed. She wasn’t going to act on it unless there was something more in it for her.