When they got into town, she pulled herself together enough to say, “Park at the shop. The downside of my surprise is, you’ll have to dress in your dirty clothes again afterwards. The upside is, you probably won’t care.”
He didn’t argue. He just parked the car. It was nearly two. Perfect. She said, “I’m going to be a princess, though. Just give me one second.” Inside the shop, she grabbed her working dress and a pair of slides, chose a couple items off the rack, put them all into a tote, and ran outside again, where she locked the shop door and took Rafe’s hand, feeling a little breathless. “Hailey’s right,” she told him. “You do stand out.” He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, but they could only do so much. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Notice how I’m not even asking where we’re going?” he said, as she pulled him around the corner and down the street. “That’s because I’m flexible.”
“Really?” she asked, then stopped in front of a storefront flanked by huge log pillars, a sign hanging from chains above it. The Sinful Float. “Personally, the last thing I feel at this moment is flexible. Hence my surprise.”
“Well, that too.” He looked at the sign. “What is this?”
“A hippie thing,” she said, then smiled, because she wanted to laugh. Because she wanted to sing. “A sinful thing. A great thing. You’ll see.”
Bailey started out by eating some of Lily’s cereal. There was a container of strawberries and raspberries in the fridge, and she put those on it. Berries didn’t last, Lily had told her, and neither did goat milk, so it was good to use it all up. Anyway, she could pick some more berries for Lily today. There were tons of raspberries, all against the fence, more than anybody could ever eat. Lily had said they could make jam next Monday, on her day off. That would be cool. That had been before Clay had been her boyfriend, though, so maybe they wouldn’t.
After breakfast, she left Chuck inside, even though he barked, and went out to the garden. She picked raspberries first. That was the hardest, because of the stickers, and because the vines were in the sun. Then she scratched the goats for a while before she got the little cultivator from the shed and started weeding around the peas and beans the way Lily had shown her.
She ate as many peas as she wanted. Ever since she’d started coming to Lily’s, she’d been full, because Lily had so many things to eat, and it seemed like they never ran out. Lily had said she’d take some pots and dirt down the mountain to Bailey’s grandma’s, though, and they could plant a miniature garden right in front of the trailer. They could transplant from Lily’s garden. Easy things like carrots and spinach, and some peas, too. All you had to do was put a stick in the pot so the peas had something for their vines to curl around, and Bailey could grow her own.
It wouldn’t matter if her grandma couldn’t take her to Walmart very much for grocery shopping if they had vegetables, especially if Lily still gave her eggs and cheese and goat milk. Lily had even given her a loaf of bread the other day from her machine, and she’d said she’d teach Bailey how to make that, too, so she could take it home with her.
Should she ask Lily today if they could start doing the planting thing? She’d probably forgotten about it, because of Clay and riding horses and everything. Lily never got mad when you asked things, so maybe she wouldn’t care if Bailey asked about it.
She thought about it for a while, about which things would grow the best in pots, and when she went inside for lunch, she pulled her garden book out of her backpack and looked it up. They could try tomatoes, even, she saw, if the pot was big enough. That would be cool. She sat on the floor so Chuck could put his head in her lap, and he fell asleep. He was probably tired from barking so much.
It was warm in Lily’s house, and really quiet. Chuck was snoring, and Bailey leaned back against the couch and kept her hand on him. Her eyes opened, and she read some more, and then she closed her eyes again. Just for a second.
“WOOF!” The noise was right in her ear, and when Chuck jumped to his feet and banged his cone against her face, she almost fell over. It took her a second to figure out what was going on. Chuck had run to the door and was barking some more, and somebody was knocking hard on the door. Bailey shook her head, tried to wake up, and scooched on her bottom over to the window to look out.
It looked like a social worker. A lady wearing a red jacket and a skirt. She was blonde, and Bailey had never seen her before, so she was probably from the county. There was a guy there, too. With a camera. Like for evidence.
She could hear her own breath, even though Chuck was still barking. The lady was knocking on the door again, and there was another car pulling up. An SUV. Like a sheriff’s car.
Social workers. And cops. Bailey crawled into the kitchen so they wouldn’t see her, going as fast as she could. Chuck was still barking back at the front door, and she didn’t want to leave him alone, but she couldn’t help it. She snuck to the back door, crouching down low, then stood up fast and peeked out the window. Nobody back here, not yet. Cops always came to both doors, though, so they’d be coming soon. She took a few breaths, and then she did it really fast. She shoved the door open, pushed the button to make it lock behind her, jumped off the back porch, and ran.
There were more people in the driveway, and she didn’t want to go there, but that was where her bike was. She ran as fast as she could, right up to all the people, grabbed her bike, and tried to jump on it. Her feet got tangled in the pedals, and she fell over and skinned her knee.
A lady grabbed hold of her. She was saying something. Bailey ducked down, and the lady let go. She jumped on the bike again, and this time, she stayed up.
She rode down the hill as fast as she could go. Maybe forty miles an hour. And nobody chased her.
Rafe had no idea what to expect. He hadn’t exactly thought that Lily would be taking him to a sex club, but when the dreadlocked bloke came out from behind the desk and led him into a little room containing a shower, a bench, and a giant white egg, he balked.
“Uh…” he said, eying the handle that opened the egg and hoping there was one on the inside. “What’s it for?”
“You float, man,” the bloke said. “Like the sign says. After you take a shower, because I don’t want to say anything, but…”
“Yeah,” Rafe said. “Horse.”
“I got that,” the bloke said. “That’s why I’m not down on the farm anymore. Here’s how it works. You’ve got a thousand pounds of Epsom salts dissolved in water that’s heated to your body temp, and you float in it. That’s it. That’s the whole deal. Closest thing to being back in the womb you’re ever going to experience.”
Rafe considered telling him that his desire to get back to a womb was limited to getting as close as possible to Lily’s, but he didn’t think the joke would go over. You had to read the room. “Right,” he said. “And the fact that I’m closed into a giant egg in the dark?”
“If you get scared,” the bloke said, “you get out. Or you could lie there, let the silence and the darkness fill up the spaces in your mind that you usually fill with stimulation, and see what happens. Your choice. Lily paid for two floats. I wouldn’t give anybody else’s money back, so don’t spread it around, but I’ll do it for her.”
“You like her, eh,” Rafe said, possibly because he was stalling.
“Man,” the bloke said, “I’d do just about anything for Lily.”
That one made Rafe blink. “You would?”
Intensity, now, instead of chilled-out serenity under the dreadlocks. “You kidding? Yeah, I would. When my girlfriend lost our baby last year? Everybody else maybe said they were sorry and moved on like it never happened. Lily brought me eggs for her, and a card. After that, when I told her how hard Gwen was taking it, she brought other things. A homemade lavender scrub. Honey. A beeswax candle she’d made. Not just the first day. For a whole week afterwards, she brought some little thing over here every single day for me to take home for Gwen. She asked me how I was doing, too. She gets it,
man. There aren’t too many hearts like that in the world.”
“True,” Rafe said. “I guess I’d better do this thing, then, and make her happy. How hard could it be?”
Pretty bloody hard, he thought when he’d taken his shower, climbed into the warm water, and closed the pod on the light. The foam earplugs blocked any sound, and the darkness, as he slid down and tested the flotation power of the water in a gingerly fashion, was absolute. The worst part, though, was his skin. It stung like fire wherever he had a graze, not to mention a burning sensation from the chafing on his inner thighs that made his eyes and mouth open in shock. He may even have yelped.
Serenity? Not so much.
Pain is temporary, he reminded himself, gritting his teeth. Sure enough, it eventually subsided, and he took some deeper breaths and let it go.
The floating part was weird, but nice. You couldn’t go under, he discovered, and unless he spread out like a starfish, he couldn’t feel the sides of the egg. He’d have to trust that it would help with the soreness.
What were you meant to do in here for an hour, though? He sang in his head for a while, all the songs he’d sung to Lily on the trail, and remembered how she’d sounded when she’d joined in, and the tears in her eyes afterwards. He thought about what it would feel like to watch a grizzly charging you, and what you’d do if it attacked. Especially if you had somebody else with you, somebody you loved. That led him to the new role, his sheriff, and made him think about whether a combat veteran would find physical danger easier to cope with, or harder. He didn’t think the answer was as obvious as it seemed.
Both, judging from Jace’s experience. Easier at the time, of course, because you’d know what to do, and uncertainty was the scariest thing in the world. Action would always feel better than hiding or running away, even if action was more likely to get you killed. Witness Lily’s remembered fear. It wasn’t the jumping out she remembered, it was the hiding in the closet.
It would be harder afterwards, though, especially for that trained combatant, when you added the latest blow on top of what you knew very well was a pathetic illusion of safety, and it triggered the memory of every other danger you’d faced. Every other death you’d seen. Every other death you’d caused. Death left a mark, and death by your hand? That left a scar.
If you were a good man, all of that would make you quieter, surely. Harder skinned on the outside, and more thoughtful underneath. And if a woman got under that hard skin and into your heart all the same, after all those episodes of frozen horror, those explosions into action had turned you into that kind of man? Surely, if she got there, she’d tend to stay there.
A woman, or a child. You’d hold harder to what mattered most, become more protective of those souls you loved, because you’d know exactly how fragile life was. You’d know what was in your control and what was out of it, and you’d seize hold with both hands to the things you could hang onto. You’d know that dying for something important—somebody important—wasn’t the worst thing, because everybody died. Failure wouldn’t be the worst thing, even if you survived. Everybody lost sometimes.
Surely, the worst thing would be knowing you hadn’t tried hard enough. That you’d chosen wrong. That you’d chosen yourself.
Pain is temporary. The man in the mirror doesn’t go away.
His mind circled around it, and then, because there was nothing to distract it, no sound, no sight, not even the touch of solid surfaces on skin, it dove deeper. Into the walled-off places.
After the snakebite. A twelve-year-old Jace in khaki shorts, sitting by Rafe’s hospital bed, looking awkward, saying, “I should’ve grabbed the snake, mate.” And Rafe, drugged up as he’d been, mumbling, “I was the one who saw him, though.”
He hadn’t wanted to be a hero. Anyway, he’d known he wasn’t. He’d just wanted to go home.
Another memory, too. The sound of his mother’s voice before he’d opened his eyes, day after day, and the way his whirling, confused thoughts had settled every time to hear it, like she could reach inside him, put her loving hand straight onto his fear and pain, and send them packing. And the security of knowing that she’d be there the next time, too.
A woman, or a child.
What mattered most.
Even when the soft light came on inside the tank, it took Lily a while to wake up. Her consciousness floated to the surface the same way her body was floating in the warm water, and all she wanted was to stay there. She sighed, stretched, then opened the door, climbed out, and headed into the shower, moving slowly because there was no other choice. She didn’t seem to have any muscles left.
Stroking over her warm body with lotion, feeling her thirsty skin drink it up, then a brief stint with the blow drier to get some of the water out of her hair, and finally, she was putting on the new pieces she’d picked out, then fastening her dress over them.
She thought for a moment about the extravagance of buying things she didn’t need, then opened her hands and let that worry go. It was worth it. Rafe had provided the trail ride, and she’d provided the float, and having it that way felt good. Felt…mutual. She hoped he’d loved his float as much as she’d loved riding with him. Bear and all.
When he’d sung…that had been a moment. Something to hold close, to bring out and look at again the way you’d hold a polished shell in your palm, long after the ocean had receded from view, and remember the sight and sound of it, the salt tang and the cool touch of the water. A memory, rare and precious.
As for the lingerie? That was an indulgence. Yes, it was. But maybe she needed another treat, too. Maybe she needed to take every bit of the pleasure of this day, wrap herself up in it like a cashmere robe, and let herself own it. She had sinful desires of her own, and she had a good man in the next room who was more than happy to help her satisfy them. She was going to take all of it.
When she emerged into the reception area, Rafe was leaning against the wall, holding his T-shirt in one hand, wearing dusty jeans and a collared Western-style shirt and looking as relaxed as she felt. She had just about enough energy to smile at him, and he smiled right back. Crinkles around his blue eyes, and warmth in his face. Not just another beautiful actor.
She could have apologized for keeping him waiting, but she didn’t. She just said, “Thanks, Andy. That was amazing. I don’t get to do it enough.”
“Any time,” Andy said, and Lily headed out the door with Rafe behind her.
She took him down the alley instead of around on the sidewalk. She wanted him to hold her hand. She wanted him to kiss her in that alley if he felt like it. But he didn’t.
She used the back door of the shop, locked it once they got inside, and didn’t say anything she’d planned on. She didn’t ask him whether he wanted a cup of tea, and she didn’t even ask him whether he’d enjoyed the float. She just dropped her tote to the floor, stepped into him, pulled his head down, and kissed his mouth.
Feel this. The warmth of his body, the sweetness of his mouth on hers. The size of the hand cradling the back of her head, and the strength of the arm that circled her waist.
When he dropped the T-shirt he was holding and his mouth strayed to her neck, she managed to say, “Uh…take this off,” and to start undoing his shirt, too. When she did, she sighed with pleasure. It was a Western shirt. Meaning it fastened with snaps, and whatever men thought about the pleasures of undressing their partner slowly? Personally, she wanted it to happen faster. She wanted it to happen now.
Pop. One snap open, and she was pressing her lips to his chest and pulling on that shirt some more, yanking the tails out of his jeans, then getting her hands in there, popping the rest of the snaps one after the other, and sliding her fingers over the warm, deliciously muscled skin of his back. Her hands were greedy for him, and as for him? His lips were still at her neck, and she was shuddering.
“Hang on,” he said, his voice coming out strangled. He stepped back, yanked off his boots and socks and that shirt, and then he was wearing only his je
ans. Rafe in jeans was pretty much a perfect sight, but she didn’t just want to look. She wanted to feel.
He said, “Hang on,” again, then took her hand, opened the door to the shop, and pulled her over to the fitting area. To her pink velvet husband-couch, where he’d sat once before and wanted to kiss her.
The shop window was right there, just around the corner. Pedestrians going by on their way for coffee, for appointments, for business or for pleasure. Stopping to look at the displays, wishing they could go inside, could look and touch and have. And here, only a few feet away, it was just the two of them, a couch and a carpet and a three-way mirror.
She’d barely thought it when Rafe sank down onto that couch, pulled her down into his lap, smiled into her eyes, and said, “Oh, yeah. One pretty girl. One lucky guy.” His hands were at her hair, and he was pulling out the elastic. Carefully, so he didn’t hurt. And when her hair fell down, he sighed.
“Wet,” she said.
“Oh, baby,” he said, “I hope so. But if not?” He kissed her again, long and slow, his hands under her hair this time. “We’ll work on it.”
His chest was so hard, and his arms were so wonderfully strong. She could sit there and slide her hands over him forever.
She wasn’t the only one who could take off clothes, either. He had his hand on the first bow, the one at the shoulder of her pink dress, and now, he pulled it, and she felt the material fall back.
His lips at her shoulder, soft there. “This is pretty,” he said, pulling another bow open and running his hand down her arm, then back up again, making her tremble.
“My…” She was having a little trouble with her talking. “My shop dress. For when I want to be comfortable, when I’m here late. Almost a robe.”
Tempting as Sin (Sinful, Montana Book 2) Page 26