Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance)

by Lara Sweety

  “Hun, it’s not going to, or you wouldn’t be here talking to me. Don’t worry, Ellie; he loves you. You.” Ellie dabbed at her tears with a napkin and moved to slide out of the privacy of the booth.

  Laurel blew her a kiss. “Hey, Ellie,” she stopped her as she was about to walk past the end of the plush red booth, “stop by the mall and see if you can figure out what Victoria’s little secret is. Get something that makes you feel sexy. He’ll appreciate, it too. You are his gift, let him enjoy unwrapping it.” Ellie nodded and rushed out with new confidence.

  Laurel let out a big sigh with a humph, her bottom lip out, blowing her bangs skyward. Why was a beautiful girl like Ellie Tanner having trouble with the intimate side of her marriage? She knew Daniel was a wonderful husband to her. A pang of jealously stabbed her, followed by longing.

  Jahn. Thoughts of him always wrecked her emotional state when she realized she was lonely. She closed her eyes to see him. She felt like a cheat, wanting the love of a man when he was gone just barely a year. Time to go home.

  Laurel opened her eyes.

  He was the wrong color to be Jahn, so she hadn’t died, and gone to Heaven. The handsome man now standing in front of her had features much like her dead husband. Square jaw, broad shoulders, tall, handsome. She shook her head like a young horse trying to spit out a bit. He took his hands from the pockets of his obviously expensive suit and clasped them together with a nervous energy, ending his patient stance.

  “Laurel, is it?” He started.

  “Yesssirrr.”

  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversations earlier.” He looked apprehensive.

  “Well, Mr. ...uh....”

  “Jones. Reverend Darren Jones.”

  Laurel blushed a little, wondering just how much the Reverend had heard. She supposed she was going to get quite a verbal Bible thumping. She perked up with a twisted grin, ready for battle.

  “How. Can. I. Help. You?” She said defensively, pushing each word, ready to verbally joust.

  “May I sit down?” He gestured to the open space in her booth.

  “Sure...why not?” Laurel retorted. It was more of a statement than a question. He scooted in, keeping a comfortable space between them, and leaned his long arms on the solid oak tabletop.

  “Laurel, you seem to have quite a dilemma,” he began.

  She shook her head. Was he really going to drill her?

  “Please, let me explain, I know this is a little odd.”

  Darren Jones had heard most of her conversations with Addy, and Ellie, from his secluded position to the left of the opening where their booths sat back to back. The semi-circle seating was one of the design ideas she and Addy had loved when building City Creek. He hadn’t meant to eaves drop while finishing his glass of wine, but had needed time to think. The restaurant had been too quiet.

  “The argument I heard earlier, with those men—that was you?” Laurel queried searching for details. She remembered hearing his voice in heated discussion behind her.

  “Yes, I’m sorry.”

  It had drawn a lot of attention. The conversation had grown loud with the four other smartly suited men he was seated with. “Do something or we will have no other choice but to remove you!” She had heard.

  Darren Jones proceeded to tell her what seemed like a short-version life story, with the emphasis on his son. Derrick Jones was nineteen and involved in some sort of a rich kids’ gang. His mother had passed when he was only ten. She’d had brain cancer and it had taken two years for it to take her life.

  Derrick had been devastated. He had rebelled against his father, who he’d found in the arms of a woman a year later. His friends at school had given him a feeling of control over his life, his father had thought. His initiation at sixteen had been to beat up a fellow church member and friend. Things had gone from bad to worse. The next step, he’d heard, was gang rape. Reverend Jones had been meeting with the deacons of his church who had gotten wind of the gang’s plan.

  “I have to do something. I’ve tried everything I know. I know he can be saved from this. He’s a good man on the inside somewhere. I honestly believe he’d never do that to a woman, but he is still hurting and I just can’t reach him.” Darren Jones’ eyes misted as the concern for his son surfaced. He ducked his head into his hands.

  “And here I thought I was going to be chastised for the topic of my conversation.” Laurel mused. He chuckled a little nervously in response.

  “Believe it or not, I share your belief that we are meant to be enjoyed fully, with love and tenderness. As a pastor, I ride a fine line, but no, your conversation was not something I have an issue with. Again, I’m sorry that I overheard your personal exchange.”

  He looked up at her with a look of desperation behind cool eyes.

  “I need help and so do you. I’m risking a lot here, so please understand I mean nothing other than to help you and my son. You mentioned needing help on your farm?”

  “It has been a challenge since my husband died.” Laurel stated, not knowing what he was implying.

  “Derrick is a big, strong young man. I’ve seen how hard he can work when he wants to. You seem very matter-of-fact and goal-oriented. I think you would be a good influence on him, change his perception of women.” Reverend Jones plied in his convincing preachers’ drawl. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a photo. He placed the worn senior picture on the table and pushed it to her.

  “So, let me get this straight. You want a chubby farm widow to straighten out your linebacker-sized gang banger?” She laughed mockingly, “Yeah, right.”

  His face fell. “Please.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was his look of desperation, the kind eyes she saw in the photo, or her own exasperation, but she shook her head no, as she said yes. “I must be crazy.” What the hell.

  She was between a rock and a very hard place.

  __________________________

  Jen interrupted, “How big is your farm?”

  “Siddy Creek? About 1,200 acres. A lot of it’s leased out right now. It’s a lot to handle by myself. It’s beautiful. When you get to the house, you can see the farm on both sides of the road for quite a ways. It started with the 236 acres Grandpa Siddy inherited, and he added from there. Grandpa Siddy was proud of the legacy he created and how we took care of it.”

  Grandma Maralee had told her so before she died. Speaking to Laurel, she had inhaled hard, then gasping, “Siddy—happy—with you,” she’d said, smiling, as she had closed her eyes.

  Seeing Laurel’s eyes, Jen said, “I’m guessing your grandparents were very special to you?”

  Laurel’s head jerked in thought as if she had come back from another place, she laughed gently, “Yes, very much so. Everyone that knew them said I am just like Grandma Maralee, with a strong dose of Grandpa Siddy’s stubborn streak.”

  “Did you see Reverend Jones after that?” Jen grinned mischievously, eyebrows cocked.

  “No,” Laurel knew what she was insinuating, “I haven’t seen him since he brought Derrick to the farm.”

  “I’m guessing there is more?” Jen prompted.

  “Sure, as long as we don’t miss our dinner date. ‘Navy’ has a temper!” They both laughed.

  __________________________

  Down the two-lane road north and west of Summerville was the turn off for Siddy Creek road. Turning onto the gravel, the car didn’t travel far before the trees cleared and the MacClain farm spread out on both sides of the gently rolling hills.

  The shiny, long black limo gathered dust from the white limestone gravel as it moved toward the modern farmhouse. The soft hues of lavender and yellow iris in full bloom graced the circle drive in stark contrast to the sleek car Laurel saw pull up. Four large men in suits spilled out to escort a combative young man to the porch. Reverend Jones followed with two large duffle bags. Laurel watched from behind the screen door before she decided to step onto the porch.

  “Leave him alone. He has nowhere
else to be right now.” Laurel’s eyes met the inferno behind Derrick Jones’s eyes as the men unhanded him. She worked to keep her “I’m-not-taking-any-bullshit-from-anyone” look while quivering inside. Not only did he tower over her, he was incredibly good looking. She sized him up to be about six-foot-four. His broad shoulders looked striking under his silk suit jacket.

  Spoiled rich boy. He was a tower of strength, okay a little soft—maybe, but the farm would take care of that. His liquid amber-brown eyes seemed to bore through her like an oil field drill, hard and steady. They were not the only thing she noticed about his chiseled face. With rich light mocha brown skin and close-cropped hair, he was quite possibly one of the best-looking men she’d ever laid eyes on. Her breath hitched and she coughed to cover it up.

  “Derrick, you have only one choice. Stay here, work for Mrs. MacClain, help her, or go back and be handed over to the police. Leave, and these men will hunt you down. Hurt Laurel or anyone else, and you will pay the price.” Derrick knew his father was serious. He’d seen these men go after people. A congregation in the thousands gave Reverend Jones powerful support and protection, courtesy of the church.

  “How long?” Derrick spat as he glared at Laurel, turning a diamond-studded ear to his father.

  “However long it takes.” Darren Jones sighed, feeling relieved. Reverend Jones hoped this would be a turning point. He hoped that Derrick would want to go on to college, and have a decent future instead of mob life. Derrick stepped onto the porch and plopped his long frame into the porch swing. He was so tall that his knees bent upward from his seated position. So strong, the outlines of the muscles in his thighs were easy to see, the suit pants clinging to them. His long muscular arms easily spanned the back of the swing.

  She wasn’t quite sure what kind of gang/mob thing he was involved in. A silk suit was an interesting choice for a gang member, different than she figured, anyway. Armani? He sported a swagger in his designer suit and Italian leather dress shoes. His countenance was more of a filthy rich, misguided linebacker than a hoodlum. At least he didn’t have his pants down around his butt, Laurel mused.

  “I hope you brought jeans and work boots.” She spun around, flung open the screen door and marched into the house. Laurel heard yelling between the men, then spinning tires flipping gravel.

  An ice water calmed her a bit, as she sat at the kitchen table staring out the glass doors, past the deck to the pasture where her gaze became vacant. She breathed deep as she remembered Jahn walking up the short stairs and through the doors to sweep her into his arms, pressing her against the kitchen countertop in a passionate kiss.

  She missed him, them, together. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, she felt his breath against her neck, like the times when it was only the two of them during the day. He’d kiss her shoulder and chores would wait until later.

  But, he wasn’t there, and she realized it was the presence of Derrick Jones standing behind her that she felt. She turned her head to him slamming his bags to the floor.

  Derrick’s eyes yielded the fury burning in his soul. He was just plain mad.

  “Let’s get one thing straight. It was the great and powerful Oz that arranged this shit, not me,” Derrick vomited the words, hate oozing from him. She whipped up, standing to face him.

  “Mr. Jones, a gentleman announces his presence! Don’t you ever speak to me that way again. Save your hate for the hayfield or shoveling shit from the barn.”

  He seethed and scowled hideously at her. She was furious on so many levels. She reached up and slapped him hard across the face. He didn’t falter, standing stock-still. Standing there face to face, he trembled in rage and she in fear. She was taken aback by her own actions, but wasn’t about to back down. How had saving her farm come to the likes of dealing with Derrick Jones’s style of bullshit? She was disgusted with herself.

  Derrick’s jaw fell slack and his stiff stance softened a bit. He retrieved his bags as he shook his head trying to understand what the hell he was doing standing in Laurel MacClain’s kitchen, damn near getting his jaw jacked by the woman.

  “Mrs. MacClain, where do you want me?” He asked in his lush baritone.

  “Up the stairs, second door on the right,” she said flatly.

  As he moved off, he looked back at her in time to catch tears streaming down her tired face. She turned away from him and he wondered whether she was sad or scared and why he even cared.

  The dark stained oak banister was a simple guide to follow. The stairs showed wear in a satisfying, homey manner. He passed an open door on his right and briefly gave it notice. A large sleigh bed filled the distance between the room’s two windows. Lavender and pink colors gave the room away as decidedly feminine.

  The room he’d been assigned was more masculine in tans and blues, the same large sleigh bed in the center of the room. The bed was neat and freshly made. So different from the cool, calculated décor of his room in his father’s mansion. No electronics and no remote for the drapes; he would miss that.

  Emotionally drained, Derrick tested out the center of the bed. It would do. His thoughts muddled together until he closed his eyes and drifted off.

  __________________________

  “Mr. Jones, MR. JONES!” Derrick awoke with a start, recognizing his new surroundings. He lifted his head to peer at Laurel with one eye partially open.

  “Mr. Jones, you slept through evening chores. Dinner is ready anyway.”

  “Evening chores—what?” He scowled at her. Then it occurred to him that this, middle-of-nowhere hellhole he was banished to, was indeed a farm and he knew that probably meant physical labor. He groaned, and plopped back down, as he watched her spin around in a huff and retreat back down the stairs.

  The incredible smell of fresh baked biscuits, and fried chicken, made his stomach growl. He was up, quickly ditching his suit in favor of some open leg sweats and a tank; he descended, barefoot, down the stairs.

  The dining room housed a long farmhouse table with black, worn arrowback chairs. Supper was laid out on the island of the kitchen. Laurel had already filled her plate and was sitting as she had before, at the end of the table looking out toward the deck.

  Derrick sat down to her left. She looked at him blankly with a bite of biscuit in her mouth. When he didn’t move, she shooed him away with her hand.

  “Help yourself,” she said dryly. He looked at her in amazement. Laurel continued her dinner in silence. Finally, out of hunger, he shoved back hard, and got up to fill his own plate.

  “You need to get something straight, Mr. Jones; I’m not your maid, personal chef, server, hooker, chauffer or any other damn servant you are used to. Tonight, you’ll do the dishes and you better be up for breakfast by seven-thirty in the morning or you’ll miss it.”

  She pushed away, put her plate in the sink and moved to the living room. Resting in the soft leather loveseat, she drew her feet up beside her. She flipped through channels to find a baseball game, and did her best to ignore the man in her kitchen.

  __________________________

  Since her cell phone was dropped purposefully into the Mississippi after being crushed, Laurel looked at the time on the watch Jake had given her. “I think that’s a good place to stop for now, Jen. It’s a long story, but if you are going to see me as anything else other than criminal, I guess you probably need to hear the whole thing.”

  Laurel opened the invitation for dinner again. “Well at least you will be dining with a gentleman,” she smirked. “Jake is an ass.” They both chuckled.

  “Aww, come on. He’s a guy!” Jen chuckled softly.

  “Dang. Why does everyone let him off the hook?” She knew Jen didn’t know the whole story.

  Chapter 15

  Jake received a cool, but cordial reception from Laurel when they met for dinner. She had to admit, the guys had gone above and beyond with the arrangements. It grated her though. He grated her. He’d said he was sorry, and she knew he meant it, but the wound was deep, even if it
was old. Just being around him made it raw. What was he trying to prove?

  They’d almost made it through dinner when she snapped.

  “Candlelight on the lanai,” she started in a mocking tone. “If I didn’t know better I’d say somebody is trying to get laid.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. He’d fired right back, trying to make light of the accusation. Jake hoped somehow to defuse the situation before Laurel started throwing things again.

  Jen and Adam looked at each other a little nervous and then both, smiling, burst into laughter. “Okay, so we don’t have any more property damage for me to report, can you two get a room already?” Adam mischievously attempted to fan the flames.

  “Adam! Really?!” Laurel’s jaw dropped and she bolted up, her napkin falling to the floor.

  “Look, I know the entire story. I’m good with it, really. Shit, I look just like him. I look just like Jess, except for the hair! Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out someday? I miss Dad and I know you do too, but you have to—,” Adam’s throat was tight, “—you have to move forward with your life. You need to be happy; Dad would want you to be happy. He loved you that much.” Adam took a breath and looked between them, “You loved Captain, uh, my father, —Jake.” Adam stumbled with the difficult words, but was determined. “You loved him, once; I don’t think you ever stopped Mom. It’s obvious you still care and so does he. Please, just stop burying yourself in pain. Give him a chance!”

  Laurel, for once, was speechless. She knew Adam was right, but was still mad as hell, and shocked that he knew the truth.

  She waivered with the candlelight, feeling the walls of life closing in to crush her. Everything was fuzzy for a minute. She had been holding her breath for too long, and she gasped to gain her bearings so she didn’t pass out. Her eyes were like torches. She was furious with Adam, and with Jake.