The Ranger's Passionate Love

by Nicole Jordan

  "Fine, but I'm getting myself some food, too. You start eating."

  Jason grunted his assent. She watched him with satisfaction as he picked at the food, then started eating with more enjoyment.

  Silence reigned as she warmed another serving. She was suddenly very self-conscious. Being here, in her apartment, dressed only in her pajamas, felt ... intimate.

  As quickly as she could, she returned to the table, sliding into the seat across from her. He watched her as she came.

  "I don't know how you do it," he said, his voice low and warm.

  "Do it?" she asked.

  "How do you keep that figure and eat food like this?" he revealed, flourishing a bite of fatback.

  "I work fifteen hours a day on my feet and rarely have time to actually eat," said Kyara, smirking. "Also, I mostly eat the greens. Tonight I was just doing something special after a hard day."

  "Yeah," agreed Jason, his eyes going distant and sad again. "Hard day."

  Kyara instantly regretted mentioning it and ruining the mood. She reached across the table, taking his hand in hers.

  "Hey," she said, holding him tightly. "It's gonna be alright. She was fine. In a few days she'll be back to spilling your secrets and speculating on celebrity love lives again."

  Jason shook his head.

  "That's not it," he said softly.

  "Then what is it?"

  Jason stayed quiet for a long time before he spoke again. Kyara waited, her hand gently rubbing against his.

  "I wasn't there," he said at last. "I moved all the way back here so that I'd be there for her when something finally happened, and I wasn't there." His eyes moved to their hands, her dark, delicate fingers arched over his pale, rough ones.

  “No one should have to be alone when something like that happens," he said in a near whisper.

  His parents are always traveling, Kyara remembered. I wonder what happened to him when they weren't there.

  "You're not alone," said Kyara. Jason turned his gray eyes to hers.

  Did I say he's not alone? I meant to say she wasn't.

  Jason's eyes on hers drew her in. She saw in them loneliness, but also hope, and warmth, and need.

  He turned his hand over in hers, holding her. His skin against hers suddenly felt pleasantly warm. Slowly, carefully, he picked up her hand, drawing it to his mouth. He pressed it to his lips, lightly kissing it. Kyara tingled, a warmth rising up from her belly.

  I want this so badly, but...

  "I think it's my turn to say this," Kyara said quietly. "You've had a rough night. We shouldn't do this while you're emotionally vulnerable."

  Jason kept holding onto her hand, but sighed.

  "You're right, of course," he said. "And thank you. But we should really find a time when one of us isn't ... when we're both in a position to really be with each other."

  I don't think that's ever going to happen for me, thought Kyara, but now's not the time to tell him. Instead, Kyara squeezed his hand.

  "Why don't you lie down on the couch for a bit?" she offered instead. "I'm going to clean up and change, and then I can give you a lift home."

  Jason nodded, the same pained, far-away looked coming back into his eyes.

  Kyara stood, showed him where her couch was, and set about cleaning up. She moved quietly, trying not to think about the man only a room away. When she was done in the kitchen, she walked to the bedroom, passing through where he was resting.

  His eyes were closed, his hands cupped underneath where his face lay on a throw-pillow. His face, normally so controlled and confident when he was awake, was relaxed in sleep. He was still gorgeous, but softer, younger looking, and vulnerable.

  Kyara padded carefully to her bedroom, pulling out an extra blanked from the closet. She came back, settled it over him, and dimmed the light. Navigating by moonlight, she padded back to the bedroom, moving silently so she wouldn't wake him.

  I'll never get to sleep with him so close, she thought to herself as she settled into her large, empty bed.

  It was the last thought she had before drifting off.

  In the dark, she returned to her nightmare.

  A black sedan came around the corner as it always did. The bright yellow rubber chicken in the rear-view seemed sharp and bright in the dream, more real than the street on which she stood.

  I should be grateful for that thing. Without it, I'd have never known.

  The car windows facing her father and Keisha's dad rolled down. The muzzles of guns appeared.

  Warn them, Kyara. Save them.

  She didn't, though. As in real life, when she'd been unsure what was happening, Kyara didn't begin to scream until the first, terrible shots.

  Not again.

  The sound of the gun blasts filled the streets, a hundred times louder than on TV, or even than when it happened just a few blocks away. Still screaming, Kyara pulled Keisha into her arms, pulling her into the nearby alley. Behind her, windows and bits of concrete exploded into shards and dust.

  Don't make me see it again. Please. I can't do it again.

  The screech of tires and sudden absence of shots was all that signaled the end of the attack. Kyara held Keisha close, the little girl sobbing into her arms.

  "It's okay, baby. Everything's gonna be alright," she assured the girl.

  No, it won't. Never again.

  She looked down at the child, ready to sooth her. Droplets of blood, a bright, terrifying red, stood out like terrible jewels against the brown of her skin and spread in slow, oozing patches of darkness across the purple of her shirt.

  You're fine, Kyara screamed at her unhearing dream self. Go to him. Check on him.

  Kyara quickly checked Keisha, but the girl, other than being terrified, seemed fine. Kyara held her for a moment, soothing her with blood spattered hands.

  It was the silence, Kyara remembered. Too silent. Too final.

  Slowly, Kyara turned back to the street.

  Not this time. Please, let him be safe this time. Let him be alive.

  But he wasn't. At first, she had trouble figuring out what she was seeing. The broken figure lying on the ground looked so small. It lay draped over another, equally twisted figure, like a pile of discarded coats. Blood pooled slowly out from both of them.

  Maybe that was why it had taken her so long to recognize her father as the man laying on top, blood slowly staining his neatly pressed suit.

  * * * * *

  Kyara woke feeling smothered. He sobs came, harsh and painful in the night air. Her voice sounded broken, like a child lost and searching, not knowing where to look next.

  Jason held her close, crooning soft words into her ear.

  "Kyara. Kyara, it's alright. You're OK. I'm here. It was just a dream. I'm here."

  Tears still running down her cheeks, Kyara turned and buried her face in his chest. He held her, rocking slightly, while she wept into his arms.

  Kyara wasn't sure how much time passed before her tears were finally spent. She let them come, giving them up to the strength of his arms and the feel of his warmth beneath her cheek.

  For a while afterward she just lay there, exhausted. She let herself get lost in the rhythm of his breathing, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the sound of his heartbeat.

  Eventually, though, it had to end. He stirred, moving his hand to gently rub her back.

  "That happen often?" he asked quietly, his breath tickling her hair.

  "Not that often," replied Kyara. "Mostly when something reminds me."

  "Reminds you?"

  "Of my father's death."

  "Tell me." His voice was almost a whisper.

  "It's better if I don't talk about this." She felt like she was floating, their voices alone in the dark.

  "This is better?" he asked, pushing gently.

  "Mostly." She tried to shrug, her skin rubbing under his hands.

  "It doesn't have to be me," he said, "but it should be someone. You can't wake up screaming for the rest of your li
fe."

  "No. It should be you." Even as she said it, Kyara realized it was true.

  Jason shifted beneath her, holding her more tightly.

  "I'm here."

  And, for the first time since she'd given her statement the police months ago, Kyara told.

  "My father was a preacher. He grew up in a rough neighborhood. Plus, it was the sixties. Not exactly a great time for Black folk in Atlanta. He always preferred to work in neighborhoods like the one where he grew up. He said he wasn't that clever a man, so it was best if he worked somewhere where the need was the easiest to see." Kyara's voice grew stronger as she spoke, the memory of her father flooding back.

  "These days a lot of those neighborhoods are in gang territory. Papa always allowed them to come to service, but not to wear their colors. Mostly they respected him, I think. Papa always said that, in their own way, they were just trying to look out for their own flocks, the way he was looking out for his.

  "But sometimes, one of them would come to him, trying to get out. Understand, the gangs watch their members, especially the ones who seem nervous. Not when they were with Papa, though. He was just a local preacher, and one who didn't even speak out against them, much. They would come to him, and he'd get them a new place to live somewhere else.

  Kyara stopped for a moment, then, trying to ready herself for the next part of the story. It felt unreal to tell it, like a book report on something which had happened to someone else, someone far away.

  "They found out, caught him with a man he was trying to help. Well, a boy, really. He was younger than me, though he had a five-year-old daughter, Keisha. I was there when ... when it happened.”

  Sorrow washed over her, threatening to drag her under again.

  Oh Papa, I should have done more.

  "I couldn't save him," she said, her voice breaking. "I didn't even try. I just stared like some stupid kid. I stared and held Keisha and didn't do anything to save him."

  Jason held her again for a long time.

  "Kyara, I wasn't there. I don't know. But gang hits, aren't they usually ... could you have saved him?" Jason's voice was compassionate, but strong, supporting.

  I know it's dumb to blame myself. He had four bullets in him. But that doesn't change how I feel.

  "I could have tried," Kyara insisted.

  "You could have," Jason agreed. "But instead you comforted a five-year-old girl whose father had just died. I think you're not giving yourself much credit."

  If only I were the person he sees, longed Kyara.

  "It's more than that," Kyara said, bracing herself.

  "More?"

  "I knew one of the killers. He ... I was dating him."

  Jason went very, very still.

  Please don't hate me.

  "I didn't know he was a gang member," Kyara explained. "We met at church. We went out, had fun together. I thought he was just a normal guy."

  "You didn't know what he did," Jason concluded.

  He's figuring out why I was so upset when he hid his work from me.

  "He never tried to tell me, I never asked," confirmed Kyara. "Years of living with my father, knowing not to ask, well, I think it became a habit. And now ....”

  "You just assume people will tell you if you need to know," finished Jason.

  "Yeah," agreed Kyara.

  And I still do. Even now, when it's caused so much pain, it's still a part of me.

  "Where is he now?" asked Jason.

  "My father?"

  "Him, too, but I meant the gang member.

  "Oh. After I told the cops what I'd seen, they arrested him, but it wasn't enough. I'd only seen the car, not who was inside. No license plates on it. And the things they promised to do to me for telling, to do to my brothers? I decided I was better off far away."

  But I could have done more. I should have done more. Maybe I could have gotten a confession or something. But I ran.

  "So you came here," concluded Jason.

  "As far away as I could," agreed Kyara softly. "Where I would recognize anyone new who came into town immediately. I took my father's life insurance and my savings and opened the restaurant."

  "Wait, so you came to a small Vermont town because ....”

  "Hard to hide being a Black gang member in one of the whitest places on Earth," pointed out Kyara.

  Though I didn't really think through how hard it would be not to have anyone, Kyara admitted to herself.

  "I don't know whether that's genius, or crazy," Jason said.

  "Me neither," admitted Kyara. "But it seemed like a good idea at the time. I had to get out. I just ... I had to."

  Jason held her, squeezing her tight for a moment. The silence was deafening.

  He thinks I should have stayed, that I should have faced them.

  "You are so brave," said Jason into the darkness. "I don't know anyone who could have gone through that and still been as strong as you are." Kyara blushed, her skin hot against his.

  Here comes the 'but', Kyara thought.

  "But," Jason continued, "You don't have to do it alone. There are people who ... people who care for you. We can be here, if you need us."

  Not the objection I was expecting. He's so kind. Kinder than I deserve.

  "Thank you," said Kyara, snuggling up against his body. "I ... thank you."

  Jason didn't reply. Instead he held her, his hand gently brushing along her back. Sleep took them together. If there were dreams this time, Kyara didn't remember them.

  Kyara woke slowly. It was still dark, but the alarm clock showed she'd slept in until almost 5:30 – an eternity for her. She began to stretch, her arms reaching out, and then felt warm skin against the back of her hand.

  Slowly, careful not to wake him, Kyara turned.

  She could barely make out his face in the dark. Only the light of the street lamp coming in through the window gave her anything to go by at all. He slept carelessly, sprawled across as much of the bed as he could claim. Her hand had come to rest on his arm, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw that his shirt was gone as well. The smooth curve of his chest peeked out of the blankets, revealing the tiny bud of one nipple.

  Kyara gulped, letter her eyes explore him. His head was flung back over the pillow, drawing attention to the line of his neck.

  Kyara leaned in, wanting to run a line of kisses along it, up to his full, moist lips. She only just stopped herself short of touching him.

  What are you thinking? she scolded herself. You told yourself you wouldn't do this. Never again.

  You also told yourself that you'd never tell anyone what happened. And that you wouldn't fall in love again.

  Love? Is that what this is? The thought made her pause, just watching his chest rise and fall.

  Last night changed things. He was there for me, and I for him. I don't want to trust him, but I do. In spite of everything, I do.

  Jason shifted in his sleep, slowly pulling the blanket to the side in a long, slow, strip tease. Kyara watched it slip off of him. It came a bit at a time, first revealing the bulge of his shoulders, then the swell of his chest, the long, flat line of his stomach.

  I wonder if he took his pants off as well? wondered Kyara, mesmerized. Before she could find out, though, his other arm, the one she'd brushed against as she awoke, move downward in a lazy arc. It moved around the arm on which Kyara was propping herself up, and curved gently around her waist.

  Jason's eyes were open, dark pools in the night. Her eyes met his.

  His arm around her pulled her toward him, and she let herself go.

  I want him.

  Then they were kissing, his lips gently exploring her own. He must have risen in the night, because he tasted of mint and something that was only him. Softly at first, then with growing confidence, his lips pulled gently on her lower lip.

  Kyara gave in, leaning against him, and losing herself in the feel of him underneath her.

  It might have been ten minutes or a thousand when she felt his hands slowly workin
g their way under the bottom edge of her pajama tops. His fingertips, rough but yielding, slowly traced along the base of her spine, sending tingles of pleasure along the length of her body. Her body responded, rocking her hips forward against his thigh.