Guilty of Love

by Pat Simmons

  “These concoctions, as you call them, are not stale or leftovers. No woman could’ve prepared me for you. My motives are as original as you are unique.” He held her stare.

  “O-okay. She untied a satin ribbon holding the paper like a diploma. It was no bigger than half the size of a business card. She unrolled the paper. Happiness is yours.

  “That’s one of fifty love notes that represent all the wonderful emotions locked inside you. I’ve got your key, baby.” He memorized a moment of surrender. “You don’t have to go looking for whatever is in that bottle. I’ll bring it to you. I love you, Cheney.”

  “When did you fall in love with me, Parke? Last night?”

  “The evening at the library, the makeshift picnic, the walk in the snow, the—”

  Cheney jumped up with the bottle in one hand, balling her other hand in a tight fist. “Are you crazy? What part of I am not the one do you not understand?” she yelled. “I can’t have children,” she emphasized the last word. “Love with me? My peace, dreams, and world died the day I allowed my baby to be ripped from me.”

  With measured slowness, Parke also stood, using his inches to tower over her. He let her fume as she slapped a hand against her hip, but he didn’t back down.

  “Did you put a baby in that jar? That’s the only way you’ll get one from me.”

  Grinning, he stepped closer. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did, more than one.”

  “I’ve lost my baby, but clearly you’ve lost your mind.”

  “No, Cheney, I’ve found the only woman who I can love.”

  “What about your bloodline? I can’t believe you’re willing to give that up.”

  Tenderly, Parke pulled her into a non-threatening embrace. “I’ve already made reservations for you in my life. I’m relinquishing my birthright to Malcolm. You don’t need the foster kids. You’ve got me.”

  Her jaw dropped. “I think you’re a sensitive, foolish, and handsome man with a fascinating family history, but I can’t mess up your life just because I messed up mine.”

  He tightened his hold. “You aren’t going to push me away.” Cheney jerked out of his arms as if to prove some type of point. He didn’t get it.

  “Who and what tribe is going to stop me?”

  “Me.” He scowled. “If you’re looking for a fight, you’ve met your match, baby.” Parke reached for his leather coat and marched to the door, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Dress for battle, very warmly. The fight is on.”

  ***

  Perplexed and amused, Cheney watched Parke storm out of her door before she stomped upstairs to change. Why do I put up with him? she thought as she got dressed. Because he puts up with you, a small voice whispered. “Who does he think he is?” she mumbled, not knowing what he had planned. Inwardly, she enjoyed his challenges.

  True to his word, Parke returned minutes later, dressed in snow gear. After locking her door, Cheney climbed into his Envoy, wearing so many clothes that the seat belt barely accommodated her. She observed Parke as he steered his SUV, no music, no conversation, just his stern expression, which she found comical.

  “Where are we going?” Cheney finally asked.

  “Forest Park,” he answered without looking at her.

  Soon, he parked in front of Art Hill across from the art museum. The large hill was home to snowboarders, sled riders, and anyone who enjoyed tumbling in the snow. He opened his door, and walked around to Cheney’s side, all without saying a word. When he released her seat belt, he gripped the sides of her coat and lifted her out.

  Without knowing what he had planned, Cheney was suspicious. “Let me down!”

  He ignored her outrage as he stomped hard, carrying her to a tree. “This is your side, mine is over there.” He pointed a few yards. Parke planted his hands on his waist. “Whoever wins the fight, wins the other’s heart, totally.” He marched away.

  Were Paki and Elaine this focused, headstrong and crazy romantic? she wondered.

  “You have ten minutes to stockpile your weapons. Remember, winner takes all.”

  Was he serious? Cheney watched as Parke rolled snowballs, then she hurriedly made her own pile. She didn’t realize she had run out of time until the first snowball whizzed by her head.

  Laughter echoed through the air. “That was just a warning. C’mon, sweetheart, give me all ya got.”

  Armed with two snowballs in each hand, Cheney shot daggers. No, he didn’t almost hit her then call her sweetheart. It was on. She launched snowballs like she was loading a cannon.

  He had hit her everywhere, but her face, because she wasn’t ducking fast enough behind the tree. When her competitive spirit kicked in, Cheney granted no mercy as she aimed to wipe off Parke’s silly grin. Despite the cold temperature, the snow, and standing in a park on Christmas Day, she was having a ball. Out of nowhere, several preteens approached and offered Cheney reinforcement. She grinned. “Sure, why not?”

  Parke began running and ducking as one snowball after another clobbered him until another group of kids came to his rescue, attempting to even the score. As the crowd grew to a mob-like proportion, he tried to signal a time-out. It didn’t work. Failing to call a ceasefire, they met halfway, making themselves targets.

  Grabbing Cheney’s gloved hand; Parke tugged her out of harm’s way. “We better get out of here before they make us a pair of snowmen.” They dashed to the Envoy torpedoed by snowballs. As Parke disarmed the alarm, she assumed they would jump in and take off. Instead, he took his time opening her door and lifted her onto the seat, shielding her from more blows. “The battle is over, Cheney. It’s time to let it go. You’re no match for the warrior. What I conquer, I keep.”

  “You didn’t conquer me.”

  “Didn’t I?” Parke closed his cold lips over hers. It wasn’t the same tender kiss he’d bestowed on her the night she went ballistic after hearing Larry’s name. Cheney should’ve taken issue with him then, but the gesture was so comforting that she welcomed it. She heard the snowballs hitting the door and Parke’s back, but that didn’t stop him from branding her. When he pulled away, he whispered, “That should convince you.”

  Stunned and dazed, she didn’t respond. On the ride home, Parke blasted the heat and filled the air with musical instruments that tested the depths of love and passion through high-pitched notes. Parke was becoming addictive and had more strategies up his sleeves than Brian and checkers. She could never predict his next move.

  As he slowed in front of her house, he silenced the music. “Merry Christmas. You’re going to have to accept my love.”

  His playfulness was gone, replaced with serious brown eyes that were soft and inviting. Retreating, Cheney admitted she had lost the battle. Her heart was settling into a comfort zone. Expecting Parke’s comical antics, he showed her his tenderness and gentleness, which were incredibly soothing. Yes, he was beginning to melt the ice that covered her heart. She smiled. “Merry Christmas, Parke.”

  He stared at her lips. “If I walk you to your door, I promise you, you’ll be kissed again.”

  Giddy with anticipation, she raced out of the vehicle. She heard Parke’s laugh fade as she jumped onto her porch. Once inside, she tugged out of her snow gear and changed clothes. She was in good spirits when she picked up the phone to call her parents, and then realized they had left her a message. Cheney, I called to invite you over for Christmas bunch, but I see you aren’t there. Maybe next year. She replayed the message three times, she had heard. Punching in her parents’ number, her mother answered. “Mom, I just got in, I can be there in about an hour,” Cheney said hopeful. This would be their first Christmas together since she returned home.

  “We all have eaten and are on our way to the theater. We did get you presents. I’ll drop by tomorrow. Got to go. The movie starts in thirty minutes,” Gayle ended the call.

  Cheney wiped away a lone tear. “Whew, I must’ve been a witch five years ago.” She was so removed from her family circle, with all
the power God supposedly had, even He couldn’t fix that. Cheney showered, dressed, and went next door to have Christmas dinner with Mrs. Beacon.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Hallison sorted through the sale items at Bath & Body Works, overfilling her basket with mix-and-match scents. After leaving the store’s check-out line, she grabbed Cheney’s arm and scurried to the after-Christmas sale at Victoria’s Secret before zigzagging across the mall to a used book/CD store.

  “Hallison!” She frowned.

  “What?”

  “Thanks for inviting me to go bargain shopping with you, but so far I haven’t been able to keep up with your safari hunt.” Cheney panted.

  “Oh, sorry,” Hallison apologized, chuckling. “I’m trying to keep my mind off Malcolm. I’ve been avoiding him, yet I crave him like a hot bath.”

  “Considering every other word is Malcolm, I’d say you’re torturing yourself.”

  “I know. He’s been calling, but I haven’t answered. I thought I could handle Malcolm Jamieson, but his skills are no match for me.”

  “Really? I didn’t get that impression when I first met you. Can’t say I’ll give sound advice if you want to talk about it. I feel like my head isn’t screwed on tight.”

  “Thanks.”

  As the women entered an “oldies but goodies” book/music store, beautiful lyrics serenaded customers while they browsed.

  “I think I’ll get Grandma BB a Boyz II Men CD…wait.” Cheney paused. “Is that Patti?”

  Tilting her head, Hallison listened. “Yeah, it must be her Love Songs CD.”

  “I like that song.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s You are My Friend. After so many years, that woman has held on to her diva status,” Hallison said.

  “The words remind me of Parke. The man has been there for me, whether I wanted him to or not.”

  “Ah, the royal Jamieson prince. Since meeting you, he’s changed. Whoa, here’s Freddie Jackson’s new CD.” Hallison pulled the CD from a stack. “Malcolm seems more determined now than before our big argument. I suggested we cool off.”

  “You know, I was a little jealous when I first met you and Malcolm. I saw how much you two adored each other. I thought I had that once. I was wrong. I don’t know if I can survive another risk like that again. Parke’s playfulness pulled me out of my slump. Now, his seriousness is scaring me.”

  “Believe me I know it doesn’t seem as if we can live without them. Let’s pay for these and grab a bite to eat. Bargains make me hungry. I wanted that man so much.” Hallison sighed and mumbled. “Demons.”

  “Demons,” Cheney repeated.

  They entered the madhouse of the food court. With their orders in hand, the two found seats, and offered quick prayers. Hallison feasted on McDonald’s while Cheney had Chinese bourbon chicken.

  “I’m so glad we got together. This was perfect timing since I’m on vacation this week with nowhere to go and nothing to do. My best friend is somewhere in China. I do have family, yet I’m alone, and I have a twin, but our conversations are few. Maybe it’s my imagination that he’s just tolerating me because we’re connected.”

  “Don’t let Parke know that. He’s very resourceful in finding activities.”

  “Yeah, don’t I know it? I’ve already experienced one. The other day, he branded me, and I’ve been a basket case ever since.”

  “What do you mean branded you? Tattoos?” Hallison stopped chewing.

  “No, the man kissed me senseless. For Christmas, Parke gave me one gift that was this little bottle filled with handwritten notes. It was kinda cute, so Christmas night, home alone, wanting to know what else Mr. Jamieson has in store for me, I untied a scroll. The message read Seductive smiles and drugging kisses. Mr. Jamieson delivered.”

  Hallison had a knowing smile before draining the last of her soda. “I know Malcolm’s lips are pure seduction. That’s what started my internal battle.”

  “Honestly, Parke overwhelms me. Girl, I thought I was deep-frozen, numb, and practically heart-dead to experience any emotions because of a crushing breakup years ago, but Parke said his kiss was a Diomande courting tradition.”

  “Don’t have me falling out of this chair waiting for you to explain. What did Parke Cuckoo Jamieson VI do?” She made Cheney laugh. Hallison was glad.

  “First, we had this big snowball fight on Christmas Day, a sort of battle for our relationship.” Cheney blushed. “It was fun. I was cold, but while I was sitting in his SUV, he kissed me and the meltdown began.”

  “Maybe Malcolm gave him some pointers,” Hallison teased, winking.

  “I don’t know, but Parke’s lips descended on mine with so much gentleness, I wanted to cry. After all that horseplay, he was delicate.”

  Cheney leaned across the table. Hallison eagerly met her halfway. “I don’t remember his lips leaving mine, but the next thing I knew, he was placing soft kisses against my ears, he said, so I can recognize his voice. He confessed my brows had hypnotized him long ago. He branded them, so I’d see and desire only him.”

  “Stop,” Hallison interrupted. “I’ve been holding my breath. I need to swallow this food caught in my throat, so I can breathe.” She turned her head and noticed a young woman at the next table, reading a Bible while eating lunch. Feeling uncomfortable, Hallison refocused her attention on Cheney. “Wow. For the record, he didn’t get that from Malcolm. Were you still conscious during this branding procedure?”

  “I must’ve been in a trance because I couldn’t move to slap him, but there’s more.”

  “I’m listening and learning.” Hallison nodded.

  Cheney picked at her food. “He called it tribal worship, kissing my nose so I could inhale his closeness, then his lips lingered on my forehead so my mind would understand him.”

  Making a time-out signal, Hallison eyed her eating companion. “Whew! That’s romantic.”

  “Wait. I lost it when he kissed my fingers so I can touch his soul.”

  Hallison fanned her flushed face. “So why the sad face?”

  “Because he wants and deserves so much more. Those demons you mentioned earlier, well, mine won’t let me give him what he wants.”

  Demons and angels. Hallison stole a peek at the woman who was reading the passages like they were an action-packed adventure. “Yeah, I’m fighting my own demons from the past, too.”

  “Do you really think Parke branded me?”

  “African or African-American, yes. Tag you’re it.”

  ***

  Parke grinned at the thought that Cheney was still playing hard to get. For three days, he called her, leaving sweet messages and encouraging her to keep shaking the bottle for her dreams to come true. She hadn’t returned his calls. He snickered, recalling the snowball fight. He hoped Cheney believed that Diomande tribe stuff he made up. Free the rest of the day after meeting with clients, Parke decided to cruise by her house.

  Bitter wind chills wreaked havoc on the city. Temperatures plummeted so fast, residents were caught off guard. As Parke turned the corner, he could see Cheney down the street, walking a circle around her car. He pulled into her driveway and got out. Cheney’s panicked expression alarmed him. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “My locks are frozen. I’ve got my first orientation meeting with the foster care people in forty minutes. It won’t look good if I’m late or miss it.”

  Reaching for her hand, Parke pulled her closer. “Hop in. I’ll drive you. You should’ve called my cell. Where are we going?”

  He could tell she was about to protest, but didn’t. Opening the passenger door, Parke ushered her inside, then brushed a soft kiss on her cheek. Cheney relaxed. “The Division of Family Services in Clayton.” She whispered, “Thank you.”

  Tracing her eyebrows, Parke couldn’t believe how silky they were. He smiled as he backed away, grinning. “For the kiss, or giving you a lift?” He shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

  “The lift i
s definitely more valuable to me, right now.”

  “I’ll make you pay for that comment later.”

  As Parke drove, he snuck glances at Cheney while she fidgeted in her seat. Grasping her hand, he linked his fingers through hers, before kissing each finger. “So, you’re really going through with this. Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yes. I think it’s a sign from God for me to be a mother, even if I’m on loan.”

  “I wish I could convince you otherwise. Foster children may not give you your happy ending. I can.”

  “Can you?” Cheney faced him, seemingly challenging him. “I’ve already had an unhappy ending that I wrote with my own sins.”

  Parke’s heart sank. His mind screamed, Annette, help. Parke groaned, the things he was about to do for love, but he loved her and would do everything in his power to make her whole again.

  ***

  Without a good-bye or thank you, Cheney hastily exited Parke’s SUV before it came to a complete stop at the curb. Gusty winds propelled her toward the revolving doors of the Missouri Division of Family Services building. She inhaled the cold air. “I can do this despite you, Rainey.” Cheney couldn’t believe her twin wouldn’t vouch for her as a reference. She figured she couldn’t depend on her sister or parents, but Rainey?

  “You sure can,” Parke whispered close to her ear as she neared the elevator. “What does your brother have to do with this?”

  Cheney whirled around. “What are you doing?” Her heart pounded against her chest. She didn’t know if it was from her nervousness about the program or the fact Parke had been her rescuer ever since she had moved back home. She recalled one of his notes: Let me rescue you. “And how did you get in here so fast? What did you do, park on the sidewalk?”

  “Nope, across the street, a guy was just pulling out. I made a u-turn and—”

  “Never mind.”

  “Okay, now tell me what’s going on with your brother.” His intense stare said Parke would patiently listen. She hadn’t really looked at him when he picked her up. Scanning his attire, she hinted at a smile. It was the hat he removed that she liked. “You look nice.”