by Bonnie Dee
I left the room, cracking the door slightly, and went to wash up and change into pajamas. Nothing like soft flannel to make me feel warm, safe, and like myself again. It was almost as if I’d dreamed that interlude tonight. A ridiculously good-looking man offering me five hundred dollars to sleep with him when there were more willing and prettier girls at the club—definitely a fantasy, except for the fact that I could almost still feel the touch of his hands on my skin as I scrubbed clean.
I went into the living room and shook Carol Ann’s shoulder, but she swatted my hand away. “Stop it,” she whined.
“You can sleep there if you want,” I said.
She didn’t answer, and I left her on my couch, switching off the TV as I walked past. Way too wired to sleep, I went into the kitchen, made myself a snack, then went through the pile of bills. I wrote more checks that would be covered by the time they’d got where they were going. I’d take care of the lot rent check to Harley tomorrow, before it bounced.
After that, I couldn’t postpone bed any longer. I’d need to be up with Travis bright and early and couldn’t afford to skimp on sleep. I curled up on my hard, thin mattress beneath a thick comforter and tried to drift off, but all I could think of was Wyatt and the fire that had consumed us for a few brief moments. In the privacy of my own mind in my own solo bed, I couldn’t help allowing that scene to play out to the conclusion I’d interrupted.
His muscles under smooth skin had been so hard. Now I could take the time to explore them, to run my fingers through his chest hair and feel the strength of his powerful biceps. I could slide my hands down his torso without shame, pull down his briefs, and feel the weight and girth of his cock. I grew wet at the thought of having all the control in my hands, and my breathing grew ragged as I reached between my legs. I was already on the edge of coming, and a few strokes was all it took. I suppressed my moans, fearful of waking Travis or Carol Ann, although both of them seemed solidly passed out, but I shivered and wriggled beneath the comforter as I let go and flowed away on a tide of relief.
I pulled up my panties and rolled to my side, ready to relax at last. I may not have earned Mr. Wyatt Moneybags’s five hundred dollars, but I’d made use of him in another way. He was good inspiration for my private time, which was about all I needed from the opposite sex. A real man in my life would only bring trouble I couldn’t afford.
The next morning, Carol Ann was gone from my couch when I got up to tend to Travis, singing to himself in his crib. The cold seemed to have cleared up, and my boy was in a fine mood, telling secrets to the stuffed zebra he’d named Teddie.
He dropped the toy and reached his arms up to me when he saw me. “Mama! Teddie needs to pee.”
“Really? Do you need to pee too?” I asked as I swept him up. His sheet was dry, and the plastic training pants I still put on him at night due to his tendency to wet the bed felt dry too. “Good job waiting to use the potty. You’re almost grown up. I think we need to get you a big-boy bed real soon.” As soon as Mama can afford one.
I helped him in the john before making our breakfast. We talked about all sorts of fantastic things that only make sense to little kids, and then I dressed Travis in his coat, and we went to do errands.
First up was paying Carol Ann for the week. That used all my tip money from the previous evening. She counted it before pocketing it. Carol Ann was a friend, but she was also a woman who’d been stiffed too many times not to be cautious.
“So, did you hear about Doris and Sal yet?” she asked. “Come in and have a cup of coffee.”
“I really don’t have time. I need to get to town, take care of some stuff, come home, and drop off Travis before I go back into work again.” Not to mention Carol Ann’s smoky trailer wasn’t a place I liked to spend much time. At my house, she kept my rules and didn’t smoke indoors, but her place was an ashtray.
Carol Ann leaned against her doorway, flicking ash off her cigarette. “Anyway, apparently Doris went at Sal with a carving knife! Can you believe it?”
I could, actually. Doris and her husband Salvatore were the loudest arguing couple in a trailer park full of people who fought at the top of their lungs. Both of them were in their late seventies, but hatred for each other kept them strong and agile. It wasn’t the first time one or the other of them had pulled a weapon.
“Did anyone call the cops?” I asked.
“Hell, no. You know better. For one thing, by the time they bothered to get their asses up here, the crisis would be over. But mostly…well you know, most people wouldn’t welcome the cops snooping around here.”
My neighbors might be a nice enough group overall, but they were definitely outside the box. Travis was getting impatient and louder as he scooted up and down the steps to Carol’s place. I said good-bye again and took off.
I strapped Travis into a car seat so ancient I was probably breaking laws by still using it. But garage-sale baby furniture was all I could afford, and I figured generations of kids had grown up with less protective car seats than this one.
We sang “The Wheels on the Bus” all the way home, until my throat was sore, and I was sure I’d have that song branded on my brain for the rest of my life. But it made Travis happy, and I was so proud of the way my boy sang every word clearly and on pitch.
After I put groceries away, I sat on the floor with Travis to build with blocks, then play a matching game. He grew frustrated when he couldn’t remember, picked up handfuls of the animal cards, and threw them.
“Settle down,” I warned. “That’s not how we play.”
Travis had passed through his twos without being “terrible” at all, but recently he’d begun to have these little flares of temper. Being a first-time mother, I wasn’t sure how much was normal acting out or how much I should try to curb his impulsive behavior. My first instinct was to stamp out every sign of a temper like his father’s. I wouldn’t raise a son who couldn’t control himself and struck out at things or people when he was frustrated. But Travis was just a little kid, and some of that behavior was natural.
“Help Mama pick up the cards,” I said firmly and was relieved when Travis obeyed. Genetics didn’t mean he’d be a carbon copy of Clay Peters.
I hated putting him down for his nap later in the afternoon, because I’d be gone when he got up. Every moment I got to spend with my boy was precious. I hated leaving to go to work, especially considering the nature of my job.
Carol Ann came over, and we talked for a bit before I left for my evening shift. Shift was the right word for it. I had to change my entire mind-set from my normal life to the sexy persona I projected when dancing. I tried to think of it like an acting exercise, but it felt a little like having a split personality.
“Hey, lady,” Cyndi blared over the others’ chatter as I entered the changing room at Teasers. “You got mail.” She stopped applying her makeup in front of one of the mirrors and held up a white envelope.
My pulse fluttered as I went to take it from her perfectly manicured fingers. What the hell was this? Was I being pink-slipped by Ernie? I knew he’d let go a couple of the girls in the past for coming in too drunk or stoned, but a formal letter wasn’t his style.
I studied my name on the front, printed in small precise letters. All the girls were watching, and I wanted to go someplace private to open it, but Cyndi wasn’t having that.
“Hurry up! Open it,” she demanded.
I slit the flap and pulled out a piece of paper wrapped around a check. The paper read, Sorry about the misunderstanding. No signature or any other words. The check was for five hundred dollars and no cents, and it did have a precise, tight signature—Jonah Wyatt.
I gasped and stared from the check to the note and back again.
Cyndi popped up from her chair to look over my shoulder, then she snatched the check from my hand. “Holy shit! What’d you do? You must have been a helluva lay.”
Abbie and Libbie came flocking over to cluster around me like bright-eyed hens, squawking and e
ager to peck up any scraps of gossip.
“I didn’t,” I muttered and snatched the check back.
“Jonah Wyatt! Do you know who he is, Rianna?” Abbie pushed back a hank of her platinum-blonde wig, rings flashing. “He’s like the biggest drug dealer in three counties. They say he owns the law and judges and everything.”
“Not a drug dealer exactly. He grows it,” Libbie explained. “Meadows of pot up in the hills. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him by now.”
Cyndi rubbed my back. “Our girl’s too busy being a mommy to keep up with gossip. Although, maybe not as wholesome and innocent as we thought…”
“I didn’t do anything.” I hated feeling like I had to clear my name, but I couldn’t have their suspicions spread and earn me a bad reputation. If Travis grew up around here, I didn’t want him hearing his mom whispered about. Bad enough he’d eventually learn I’d been a stripper—though I hoped it would be well in the past by the time he was old enough to understand what the word meant.
“You didn’t do anything and some dude gave you a check for five hundred dollars?” Libbie scoffed. “Right.”
“He asked me for a date. I wouldn’t. I guess this is his way of trying to change my mind.” I massaged the facts a little. “But I’m not going to take his money. I’ll tear up the check.”
“No way!” Cyndi grabbed the nape of my neck and gave a little shake. “Think of it as a really big tip. You earned it by dancing. You don’t owe the guy anything. Use your head and take the money. He can afford it. The times he’s been in here, he’s never asked any of us for a date, has he?”
The others shook their heads and murmured agreement.
“He hardly even watches,” Libbie said. “I figured he was gay.”
“So you got him hooked,” Cyndi continued. “I say play the line a little and see what else he coughs up.”
Abbie adjusted her platinum-blonde wig as she offered her advice. “This isn’t the sort of guy you want to get on the bad side of. Don’t cash the check. He might take it as a sign he’s bought you.”
It would be like burning a barrel full of cash. I could hardly bear the thought. But I agreed with Abbie. Jonah Wyatt was definitely someone I didn’t want to get involved with in any way. He was too arrogant, too certain he could get what he wanted by throwing money around. Most of all, he attracted me way too much. I wouldn’t give him any more power over me than I already had.
Chapter Four
Jonah
Tall frosty grass crunched beneath my boots as I walked my land for the last time. Foolish to feel something for a piece of earth, but I couldn’t resist visiting once more the cradle of everything I’d become. These acres were the first I’d been able to afford—land I owned instead of the unclaimed wild places where I’d planted my earliest crops. Through constant effort, I’d built my empire piece by piece, and I was proud of it.
But those who don’t adapt die, and I’d come to the conclusion it was time to channel my enterprises in a new direction. Getting involved in Micah’s dangerous run-in with a mob boss in Chicago had cemented my conviction it was time for a change. It would feel good not to constantly be on alert, looking over my shoulder, questioning whether my employees were undercover agents or might sell me out. I’d be a legitimate businessman with all the prestige and security that entailed.
A long way to come for a boy who’d grown up in a tar-paper shack with a rusty tin roof that could’ve passed for a setting in a Depression-era movie. The old place was gone now, crumbled down to rubble and buried under weeds. It was one location from my past I’d never felt the need to revisit. Once I’d moved myself and my younger brothers out of that place, I’d never looked back.
I stopped in the middle of the clearing, empty now of the cannabis plants that had grown in thick green profusion throughout the summer. They were harvested and in various stages of drying and processing in my pole-barn warehouse. Sam Pace would plant the same crop here next summer. There was little other reason for him to want my land. As I transitioned away from a weed-based economy, I’d give Pace my seal of approval, introduce him to my customer base, and basically pass my mantle onto his shoulders. It would be a relief to be rid of the weight.
But for now… I inhaled a deep draught of cold air, seeing the clearing and the surrounding trees, the rocks and nearby bubbling stream as if for the first time. These mountains had been my refuge growing up. I’d spent many nights under the stars or the shelter of tree branches. I’d hunted, fished, and cooked over a campfire, providing for Micah, J.D., and myself on nights when it was safer to stay outdoors than go home.
During the really bad time after my mom died and before my dad finally did us all a favor and left us, we’d spent most of the summer months in nature, only staying indoors when the weather forced us to. So, no, I’d never cared to see that house again, but these woods, this land I’d eventually purchased by the sweat of my labor, was my true childhood home.
Just some land. It holds no more meaning than any other. I stomped out my whiff of melancholy and started back down the trail. A quick check-in at the drying barn, and then I’d drive up to Lexington and meet with my realtor. The next phase of my plan was underway, though it was going to take some time and effort to get what I wanted. But in the end, I usually accomplished what I set out to do.
Immediately, the image of the dancer I hadn’t bedded flashed through my mind. When I’d dropped off that envelope for her at the club, I’d learned her real name. Rianna, sort of like that Fleetwood Mac song my mother used to play all the time when I was little. She’d smile, take me on her lap, and sing along back when I was too young to understand the troubles in our house. The world had seemed like a safe place back then.
Rianna Cutter. Ernie, who owned Cock Teasers, had grinned as he told me, “You won’t get that one into bed, though. If you want a date, I recommend Cyndi or Abbie. Either one will show you a good time.”
“Just give her this, please.” I passed him the sealed envelope and a twenty for delivering it, then left. My mission was accomplished. The money should serve as an apology for the previous night’s disaster, so I could put it out of my mind.
That was what I’d thought at the time, but here it was almost a week later, and my mind kept returning to Rianna again and again. Why? Our conversation had been limited to her car engine and negotiating for sex, so it must be a purely physical thing. I hadn’t gotten laid in a really long time. She was a warm, eager woman in my arms—at least for a few minutes. Lust was the only reason I couldn’t shake the thought of her. Nothing more than that.
But at odd hours of the day, I found myself wondering about the kid she’d mentioned and what had brought her to stripping for a living. I wanted to know her story, who she was, what things she liked, what might put a smile on her tense face? Again, why? Mere lust wouldn’t make me dwell on details like that. Instead, I’d only be focused on the feeling of her skin under my hands or the taste of her mouth when we kissed or the powerful way her legs clamped around me when I lifted her up.
I shook off my rising desire as I headed back down to my SUV. If the first rule of business was “adapt or die,” another equally important one was “know when to write off your losses and move on.” My obsession with this woman was going nowhere. I needed to drop it.
After our last knock-down, drag-out fight before Micah left for Chicago, he accused me of being cold and dead, lacking any sort of passion, and that I might as well crawl into my grave and be done with it. I prefer to think of myself as extremely good at compartmentalizing. It’s a knack I had to learn early that allowed me to thrive instead of sinking into a steaming hot mess of self-destructive tendencies like my dad.
By the time I reached my car, I’d packed away any glimmer of interest in Rianna Cutter, and long before I reached Lexington, my focus was totally on the deal I wanted to make. I’d low-balled my first offer for the manufacturing space and might need to bump it up, but if everything went the way I hoped, I’d
soon own the property. Then I could begin work on remodeling it as a state-of-the-art distillery according to my own design that I’d spent over a year planning.
Some of my family tree had run moonshine during Prohibition. The distilling that had once made the Wyatts outlaws would now be legitimized. I’d resurrect our old family business with a respectable flair.
The idea pleased me so much, I sang along with the radio all the way into the city. Classic rock anthems and vintage country tunes were my secret addiction, and when I was alone, I belted the lyrics at the top of my lungs. Everybody has a hidden performer inside.
When “Rhiannon” came on, I listened through the first verse, then changed the station.
Later in the afternoon, with my business concluded, I drove back toward Sawville, winding around the foothills on curving roads. I came around a tight bend and braked as I shot past a car pulled over to the side of the road. The hood was up, the driver half-buried in the engine, and a rush of déjà vu went through me. I recognized the tight ass in skinny jeans and the flash of a red sleeve under the hood of the old Escort.
No way. This couldn’t be happening. Part of me wanted to hit the gas and keep driving. Likely the woman had already called a tow truck or a friend and someone was on the way to help her. But my foot shifted from gas to brake, and I slowed to a crawl.
There weren’t a lot of places to turn around on the narrow road, and no shoulder to make a U-turn on. A rare driveway loomed ahead like another sign snapping its fingers in my face. I did a U-turn and drove the opposite way until I pulled to a stop facing Rianna’s vehicle.
At the sound of my car, she straightened, holding the dipstick in one hand and an oily rag in the other. Her eyes widened at the sight of me walking toward her.