“Yeah, James.”
“Is he going to be okay? Ezrah?”
“Gonna do what I can to make sure he is. First step is to find out who he is.”
“No parents?”
“Dunno. No one seems to be looking. No reports of missing kids matching his description. His clothes are at least a size too small, and he cut the toes out of his sneaker so they’d fit.”
“Street kid,” she concludes.
“Looks like.”
“Will you guys take him on at Arrow’s Edge?”
“If no one shows up claiming him, we likely will. For now, he’ll be in the hospital for a while. Kid’s got some healing to do yet.” When she falls silent once again, I prompt her. “Jaimie?”
“Are you gonna stay ’til he’s released?”
“Couple more days, I think. Depends on how things go. I’ll drop in when I get back to town, if that’s okay.”
She apparently finds that funny. “You’re asking? I didn’t realize you knew how.”
“You bein’ a smartass?”
“Me?” She chuckles, followed by a loud yawn and a mumbled, “Sorry.”
“Tired?”
“A little.”
“I should let you go. We’ll talk when I get back. Get this dating thing back on track.”
I hear the smile in her voice when she answers, “I’d like that.”
“Good. I think there’s something going on at the clubhouse next weekend. If I’m back, I want you to come.” Fingers crossed Yuma isn’t in charge of entertainment again.
“The clubhouse?” She actually sounds excited at the prospect, and I briefly wonder if I didn’t just jump the gun on that.
“It’s nothing special, so don’t expect too much. I’ll be in touch.”
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” At her quick admonishment, I’m reminded I told her those exact words before and didn’t follow through. That’s not gonna happen again.
“I mean it. Get some sleep.”
“Night, Trunk. Look after Ezrah,” she says softly.
“Will do, Little Mama.”
CHAPTER 10
Jaimie
I HAVE BEEN spinning my wheels this past week, haven’t had my head in the game.
River was teething, which means he’s been fussy, particularly at night. Then Mom was hit with a short but particularly nasty bout of stomach flu. She kept to her apartment for days for fear of contaminating River or me.
I had my hands full looking after the two of them during the day, but at night my mind would start churning. Thoughts around that more than disturbing note, trying to figure out what the hell to make of it.
The only highlights have been a couple of calls from Trunk. He’s been keeping me up-to-date on the progress with the little boy. The good news there is Ezrah is healing physically, but they haven’t been able to glean any more information from the boy. Nothing to give them any indication who did this to him.
I purposely haven’t shared anything with him about the box or the note. What would be the use? The man has enough on his mind.
This morning I received a text from him, saying he expects to be heading home sometime later this afternoon. It was the kick in the butt I needed to get myself back on track.
“Mom? Are you okay with River for a bit? I need to see Tahlula to go over a few things with her.”
“No problem. Would you be able to pick up some groceries? Cupboards are empty.”
I’m not surprised, I haven’t been out of the house in what seems like forever.
“Yes. Can you make a list and text it to me?”
“On it.”
I kiss the top of River’s head, bundle up, and grab my bag before heading out into the cold. Jesus, that’s a shock to the system after being cooped up inside for so long.
There’s only a thin layer of snow on the CRV, but I’m more concerned about the car starting after sitting idle so long. I probably should’ve at least let the engine run a time or two over the past week. Luckily it turns over right away and within minutes I’m on my way.
_______________
“I like this one.” Tahlula taps one of the printouts of proposed ads I brought for her to look at.
“Me too,” I confirm. “I’ll send it back to them right away. They’re hoping to snag a few prime spots for release week.”
“Sounds good. What’s next?”
“New York.”
T rolls her eyes. She’s not a fan of public appearances. “Do I have to?”
“I think so. They’re already conceding to one signing, and however many interviews we can squeeze into a single day, but technically they could demand a lot more from you.”
“Fine. Confirm with them. I guess I’ll start pumping.”
“You could always bring Hanna,” I suggest. “Maybe Evan wants to come as well?”
“Not likely,” she states, snorting. “I think he’d rather visit a proctologist than NYC.”
“What she says,” Evan contributes from the kitchen, making me laugh.
“Anyway, I’d rather keep my family as far away from the spotlight as I can,” T points out, and I can’t blame her for that. She’s experienced firsthand how scary the spotlight can be. There are crazies everywhere.
“Let me check with Karen how we are for flights. We’ll try to fly out as late as possible the day before and head back immediately after you’ve fulfilled all your obligations.”
“Fine,” she grumbles before her face lights up. “Have you heard from Trunk?”
“I…uh…may have. Why?”
She grins wide. “Good. I just wanted to make sure. His birthday is coming up in a few weeks, it’s his forty-fifth and I want to surprise him, but I may need your help.”
“For what, exactly?”
“To keep him distracted but close to home while I plan this.”
I raise my eyebrows. “What on earth makes you think I have that kind of power? You’re his sister, you should know better than anyone, nothing and no one will keep your brother from going exactly where he wants to go.”
She smirks. “I bet you could.”
“You’re giving me way too much credit here, T.”
“And I think you’re giving yourself too little. I watched him looking at you at my wedding: bewildered, yet intrigued, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of you but couldn’t wait to find out.”
“We’ll see.” I resolutely close my notebook and gather my things. “I should get going. I have a shitload of groceries to get: this past week cleaned us out.”
“Glad everyone’s feeling better.”
“Me too,” I agree.
Snow is just starting to fall when I walk out. More snow. It’s already March and we’ve had snow on the ground almost since early December. I hope it doesn’t carry through to April, as I’m told is possible. I know it’s in part because of this past week being stuck at home, but I’m getting a serious case of cabin fever and can’t wait for spring to show.
I’m not the only one hitting the City Market on a Friday afternoon. Everyone in town seems to have picked this time to stock up for the weekend, and it takes me about an hour to fill my cart and make my way through the line at the cash register.
The short drive home is already treacherous, with visibility near zero and the roads jammed with rush-hour traffic. I heave a sigh of relief when I turn onto our relatively quiet street.
Mom has the door open when I walk up with the first load of groceries.
“It’s getting bad already,” she comments, taking the bags from my hands. “I just watched the forecast, they’re saying eight to ten inches tonight with the possibility of another five before morning.”
“Lovely,” I grumble. “How was River?”
“Tired himself out. He fell asleep on his play mat. I just covered him up and left him there.”
I peek over her shoulder to see a little bump under the quilt on the floor beside the coffee table. My boy probably needs to catch up o
n the sleep he lost this past week. I could do with that myself. “Let me quickly get the rest inside.”
I’m on my third trip back to the car when a familiar truck turns into the driveway. My stomach does a little flip as it pulls up beside my Honda, and Trunk gets out. I barely have a chance to register how good he looks before I find myself pressed between my SUV and his hard body, his mouth already hungry on mine.
I’m overwhelmed, both by his size and his voracity as he eats at my mouth like a starved man. A deep groan rumbles from him when I tangle my tongue with his. I experience a full-body shiver when a cold hand sneaks under the back of my coat and down my waistband, fingers clenching my ass cheek. He immediately pulls back his hand and his mouth. I whimper at the loss of contact.
“Sorry,” he mumbles against my lips.
“Don’t be.”
His hand curls around the side of my neck, a thumb lifting my chin, and his molten dark eyes are right there, searching mine. “Shoved my hand down your pants in full view of your neighbors during a snowstorm, Jaimie, I coulda used a bit of restraint.”
“Did you hear me complain?” I challenge him and his eyes narrow.
“Gettin’ you naked is about all I can think of. Don’t tempt me.” He lifts his eyes over my head and releases his hold. “Your momma’s waiting.”
“Shit.” I quickly straighten myself.
“Go inside, James, I’ve got this.” He almost shoves me out of the way to grab the last of the groceries.
Mom is indeed standing in the door opening, grinning from ear to ear as I walk up. She fans her face.
“Phew…that was something else.”
“Mom,” I warn her in a low voice, pushing her inside.
She’s not wrong, though.
Trunk
She tastes better than I remember.
Dayum, I’m glad I came here first. Goes a long way to easing the ache I felt leaving Ezrah behind in Monticello. Just because I agreed with the general consensus the club may not be what’s right for the boy yet—he’s too fragile physically and emotionally—doesn’t make walking away from him any easier.
I had no choice. First of all, Joyce found him a nice African American foster family. I met them and no matter how hard I tried to find fault with them, I couldn’t. Ezrah took to the woman instantly. He still barely speaks, only single word answers to direct questions, but he shuts down the minute you ask anything about what happened to him or where he came from.
It’s clear he isn’t local to Monticello: the black population is less than a quarter percent and was easily vetted. Even for all of Utah the percentage of African Americans is less than two, which makes it all the more amazing Joyce was able to find the couple.
The second reason I had to come home was some more unrest at the clubhouse. I talked to Ouray yesterday, who mentioned a few fights had broken out between the boys that even his son, Ahiga, got mixed up in. The man sounded almost defeated. It’s been a tough couple of months for the club, which is probably why it’s best Ezrah’s not coming back with me.
“Good to see you, Trunk.” Jaimie’s mother smiles like the cat that got the canary when I walk into the kitchen with the groceries. Jaimie is nowhere to be seen.
“Sandra.”
“No pork chops tonight, but how does lasagna sound? I’ve got plenty.”
My mouth waters. Whatever she has on offer is better than the fast food I’ve been living on this past week. “Sounds good to me.”
“What sounds good?” Jaimie asks, coming down the stairs with River on her hip.
“Trunk is staying for lasagna.”
“Is that so?” Jaimie glances at me, a smirk on her lips, before she drops her eyes to her son, who looks like he’s ready to jump from her hold. She lifts him in front of her. “You want Trunk to stay for dinner?”
“Unk!” The kid pumps his little legs like he’s got somewhere to be.
“Trunk,” Sandra repeats, grinning at the boy.
“Dunk!”
Fuck. I’ll take it. I reach out and barely manage to catch him when he launches himself at me. One hand immediately slaps against my cheek, while the other hooks onto my bottom lip. “Easy, Lil’ Brother. Let’s you and me find something else to beat up. Leave the women to sort out the kitchen.”
I grin when I hear Jaimie’s shocked gasp behind me. I like her any way she comes, but I like her best all riled up.
I build River a block house, which he takes great pleasure in knocking down, giggling harder each time I try to do it again. At some point a beer is set on the coffee table, and I look up to see Jaimie’s round ass move as she walks back to the kitchen. The ass that felt mighty fine in my hand. I catch Sandra eyeing me with a smile on her face, and I quickly redirect my attention to River.
It’s shocking how comfortable I am in this white picket fence house, with these two women, and this little tow-headed boy, who seems to think I hung the moon.
I’m glad I warned Ouray I wouldn’t be in ’til late tonight, because I have no intention of leaving here anytime soon.
Jaimie
I stayed to help Mom in the kitchen, only so I could watch and listen from a distance to the interaction between the two guys in my living room.
Trunk’s patience seems endless and I chuckle a time or two at my son’s peals of giggles every time he lets his destructive little fists fly. When he eventually quiets down, Trunk reaches for the remote and scoops River up in the same move, settling him on his lap as he turns on the TV.
Their heads are bent close, my son’s nearly white downy one almost touching Trunk’s bald, dark, much bigger one. A sigh escapes my lips.
“That salad is not gonna toss itself,” Mom whispers behind me. Caught, I quickly return my attention to dinner.
Over lasagna, Trunk fills us in on Ezrah and the couple who stepped up to take him in. I detect a wistful tone to his voice as he describes leaving the boy in their care. I’m starting to see the soft center to this intimidating, rough man his sister alluded to. In the way he talks about the boy, in how he handles my son, and in the attention he’s shown me.
River ends up wearing most of his dinner. I quickly whisk him up to give him a bath, while Trunk starts gathering the dirty dishes, telling Mom to go watch her show. By the time I come down—my son settled in his crib upstairs—I find the two of them on the couch, battling it out over Jeopardy. I could never keep up with Mom, but she seems to have found a worthy opponent in Trunk.
My mother yawns dramatically when the program’s credits roll. “I’m wiped. I think I’m heading upstairs to read a bit.”
I roll my eyes in response. “Subtle, Mom.”
“Well, it would’ve been if you hadn’t pointed it out, Jaimie,” she snaps back, suddenly wide-awake. To Trunk she says with a saccharine smile, “Careful of those claws, my dear.” I snort at her endearment for him. “She may look sweet, but my daughter can be stubborn like a mule and prickly as a porcupine.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Trunk chuckles, a good sound that rumbles from deep in his chest. “That’s what I like about her, Sandra,” he says, and I watch as my mother melts on the spot.
“Me too,” she admits, before giving me a saucy wiggle with her fingers and heading for the side door.
“What are you doing over there?” Trunk asks when Mom closes the door behind her. “Get your ass over here.”
I badly want to tell him how I feel about being ordered around, but not as much as I want to feel his strong arms swallow me up. Which is exactly what he does when I sit down beside him. My butt barely touches the seat when he lifts me easily onto his lap.
“Whoa. Not wasting any time,” I mutter breathlessly.
“Done enough a’that.”
A statement he underlines by sliding his large hand under my sweater. His rough palm stroking the skin of my bare stomach raises goosebumps all over my body.
“Cold?” he asks at my barely suppressed shiver.
“Not in the least,” I
confess, wrapping my arms around his neck as I raise my lips to meet his.
Full, strong, and yet surprisingly soft lips slide seductively over mine. His long fingers pull down the cup of my bra and have no trouble finding my tight nipple, tugging it firmly. I gasp and he seizes the opportunity to slide his tongue in my mouth.
Where our kiss in the driveway had been urgent—almost frenzied—this one is languid and exploratory.
My senses are filled with his taste and touch, and the feel of his hard body against mine.
Hard all over, I discover when I shift restlessly on his lap. He grunts when I do it again, quickly adjusting my position so I’m straddling him. He rolls his hips underneath me as his hands slide up my back, easily releasing my bra. I’m too focused on the feel of him, the size of him between my legs, to notice when he quickly releases my mouth to divest me of my sweater.
My head falls back as I rock my hips on the hard ridge, while his mouth closes on one breast, massaging the other in his large hand.
I curve my fingers around the back of his head, and holding him close, feeling my body gear up for release.
“Wait,” he rumbles, as his mouth lets go and he forces his head back against the couch, looking up at me.
“I don’t wanna,” I tell him, my fingers digging into his shoulders for purchase.
“One second,” he insists, as he pulls down my zipper with one hand while shoving the other down my waistband in the back. “Shee-it, James. So wet for me.”
The long fingers of his right hand trail down my crack, easily sliding inside my channel, while his left thumb zeroes in on my clit. My body ignites on contact, pulsating and shaking with my release. I let myself collapse breathlessly against him, my face buried in the crook of his neck.
“You blow me away,” he rumbles, his lips brushing my ear. “So fucking tight. So fucking responsive.”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, a little embarrassed.
“For what? Setting off like a firecracker at my touch? Do you know how fucking hot that is?” I lift my head. “Amazing,” he adds when my eyes meet his.
“It’s been a while,” I confess.
“Yeah?”
“Guess I lost my attraction once I became pregnant.”
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