Unexpected Family

by Molly O'Keefe

  Ben’s eyes opened wide, and that smile was real, no longer a twitch, and Walter felt something warm and strange in his chest. Like the sun coming up after a long cold night. “Keep working, now,” he chastised, and the boy got back to scrubbing. “And I’ll tell you what I remember about your momma and that Pirate.”

  * * *

  JEREMIAH DROPPED OFF THE BOYS at school, like he did every morning, no matter what was going on. It was something Annie had always done and he’d worked really hard to make sure he could do it, too. The boys took the bus home in the afternoon, but he drove them, every morning, twenty minutes into town.

  Today he raced back to the ranch to interview a new housekeeper. They had a little cottage out back. Hopefully he could convince someone to come and live on the land. He didn’t know how the boys would react, but he couldn’t do this alone anymore.

  Halfway over the pass he dug out his cell phone and called Lucy.

  “Hey, cowboy,” she answered, and blood pooled below his waist.

  “Hey, yourself. I’ve got to cancel Ben coming over to your place today.”

  “Why?’ she asked, quickly. “Did he say something?”

  “Ben? Say something? No. He has a thing to attend after school. Could we maybe do it Monday?”

  “Monday? Sure—”

  There was something odd in her tone. “Is that a problem? Are you…?” He swallowed, forcing himself to address something he wanted to ignore. “I know you guys aren’t staying indefinitely. Are you…you making plans to leave?”

  “No. No plans. Walter’s stopped drinking, but he insults every person who comes over to apply for the housekeeper job.”

  “Well, that’s good.” He winced. “I mean, not that Walter is difficult. But that you’re staying.”

  She laughed and he wondered what kind of magic this woman had to make him feel so childish.

  Enough, he thought. He was Jeremiah freaking Stone and she might not know it yet, but there was a king-size bed in their future.

  “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out tomorrow night,” he said, getting to the real reason he called.

  She laughed and he heard the jangle of jewelry against her phone. He imagined those silver feather earrings she wore. He liked them, liked how they gleamed against her skin.

  “Let me check my calendar,” she joked. “Nothing, totally free.”

  “I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “Sounds good.”

  They hung up and with his chest getting tighter with every breath he called Dr. Gilman and canceled his appointment for Saturday. It was one appointment, he told himself to ease the strange guilt that was suffocating him. And she was the one who told him to go out and have some fun. Hell, she’d probably approve.

  It didn’t change the fact that it felt like he was doing something wrong.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LUCY STARED DOWN AT the drawing she’d made on the paper towel. A wide silver cuff with delicate cutouts of roses and pistols, and skulls.

  Weird, she thought, twisting it around. Not at all like her usual work. Usually she worked in delicate wire, pieces that looked as if they floated against a woman’s skin.

  This was heavy. The pistols and skulls were dark.

  “Hey,” Mia said, stepping into the bathroom behind Lucy. “My jewelry-designing sister is designing again.”

  Lucy fought the urge to crumple up the towel. “A little, I guess.” She didn’t know what this meant for her. But that was the nature of her days right now. She barely knew herself.

  This thing with Ben.

  Lying to her family. To Jeremiah.

  Fooling around outside bars. Casually dating a man she feared she didn’t feel at all casual about.

  Who am I?

  “That’s a cool bracelet,” Mia said, pulling the paper towel closer to her. “I would wear that.”

  “Where?” Lucy laughed. “The high pastures?”

  “Jack takes me out. In fact, that’s why I’m here.” Lucy met her sister’s eyes in the mirror. It could have been a snapshot from their childhood. The two of them getting ready for something in the same bathroom. Lucy fussing over her makeup and hair. Mia putting her hair in a ponytail, making fun of Lucy for all her girlie primping.

  But marriage had changed Mia and primping was something she did now. Not very well, or often, but she was learning. And Lucy was delighted to be a part of the process.

  “You want to borrow some clothes?”

  “Did you bring a dress?”

  “Just a yellow sundress.” Lucy started walking toward her room and closet of clothes. “The rest are in storage—”

  “Storage?”

  Lucy closed her eyes. Shit. All she needed now was her sister asking questions about the condo. “I put some stuff in storage before I came. Let’s see what I’ve got—” She bulldozed her way through any questions Mia might have had, not giving her a chance to talk.

  She pulled out the yellow sundress and Mia made a face. Lucy gave it a quick glance, though. Jeremiah would like this. With cowboy boots, Jeremiah would really like it.

  “This is pretty hot,” she said, pulling out a thin white top, clingy in all the right places. “You’ve got the right chest for it, that’s for sure.”

  Mia lay across Lucy’s bed, ignoring the clothes.

  “Have you noticed Mom acting strange lately?” Mia asked.

  “Yeah, pretty much since the moment we got here.”

  “No. I mean…she hasn’t come out of her room all day today.”

  “Is she sick?”

  “I asked earlier and she said she was just tired.”

  “She’s dealing with Walter—” She felt a little sick speaking ill of a guy who’d helped her out on Thursday, but one good deed could not erase years of mistakes.

  “But she’s not. He’s not letting anyone help him. Especially her.”

  Lucy paused, an animal-print chemise in her hands. “Maybe she’s depressed. Missing Dad.”

  Mia shook her head. “Usually when she’s sad she wants us around. I knocked on her door tonight and she snapped at me to leave her alone.”

  Lucy collapsed on the foot of her bed. “We should have left weeks ago.”

  “Do you think she liked it better in the city?”

  Lucy shook her head. “Honestly, no.”

  “I didn’t think so. I don’t know, Lucy, I feel like it’s something else. She’s mad about something.”

  “Mom? Mad?”

  Mia shrugged. “Stranger things are happening around here. Walter’s still not drinking. And now you’re designing jewelry again.”

  Lucy grinned at Mia. “What you need to do is have a kid. Give her some babies to hold.”

  Instead of protesting Mia blushed.

  “No…” Lucy gasped.

  “No, I’m not. But…we’re trying.”

  Lucy howled and hugged Mia. “What a ridiculous thing to call lots and lots of unprotected sex. But I’m thrilled for you.”

  Mia squeezed her and then snatched the white tank top and the filmy camisole. “This should help.”

  “Go get him, sis.”

  Mia headed for the door and stopped. “Why…why are you all dressed up? You doing something tonight?”

  “I—” Lucy stood and pulled down the hem on the thin red sweater she wore with her jet necklace. Beneath she wore her favorite black bra. She called it her Betty Boop outfit.

  “Have a date.”

  “With who?”

  “Jeremiah—”

  “Stone?”

  Lucy nodded, her smile fading fast the more solemn Mia’s face got.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing…I just… You’re, like, a relationship person, Lucy. And I don’t know whatever crisis you’re having with your design and your business. But I’d hate to think of you using Jeremiah as a substitute—”

  “How can you say that?” Lucy asked, but wondered if Jeremiah thought the same thing. “I’m a grown woman,
Mia. I know my mind. My life.” My heart. And my heart is slipping into familiar territory.

  “Really? Because you’re not acting like it. Look, I love you both, and I don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

  “We agreed it would be casual.”

  “Yeah—” Mia lifted her eyebrow “—that sweater looks real…casual.” And she was out the door. Lucy turned to face the mirror over her dresser and considered the V-neck of her sweater. After a moment she pulled it down a little farther.

  She’d hate Jeremiah to get the wrong idea.

  * * *

  JEREMIAH COULD NOT STOP talking. He was listening to himself ramble on about restaurant choices and he honestly wanted to punch himself in the mouth.

  “The Roundup has a pretty good steak if you don’t mind listening to the band they’ve got there. Or if you want down by the highway, I think there’s, like, an Applebee’s. They’ve got salads and stuff. You like vegetables. Right?”

  He glanced over only to see her propped up against the passenger’s side door, laughing at him. “I do, Jeremiah. I do like vegetables.”

  Was he sweating? He was. It trickled down his hairline, got caught in the band of his hat. Frustrated, embarrassed, he pushed it off his head.

  “You got any better ideas?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She dug into her back pocket. “I got you something.”

  And she pulled out a long strip of silver.

  Condoms.

  A bunch of them.

  “Dinner later?” he asked.

  “Dinner later.”

  And he pulled a U-turn and headed out toward the highway and the hotel reservation he’d already made.

  Fifteen minutes later he stood at the front desk very conscious of the fact that they didn’t have any luggage.

  Classy, Stone, he told himself, very classy.

  He wondered if Lucy felt awkward as they walked down the carpeted hallway, silent and not touching. Maybe this was more of that slightly dirty stuff she wanted, something wild. Something to relieve the stress of her life.

  Be grateful, he told himself when the thought rankled. It’s not like you have anything else to offer her. He wasn’t even sure if he could offer her something dirty and dangerous. More like quick and sweaty.

  We should have had dinner, he thought, this would be a whole lot easier with a couple of drinks under my belt.

  “Here we go,” he said, and slipped the key in the door. The light flashed red and he did it again. No luck; he swore and tried harder.

  “Calm down, cowboy,” she murmured, and took the key card out of his hand. She swiped it, the light flashed green and the door popped open under the flick of her wrist.

  She slipped past him, grinning over her shoulder as she walked into the dark, slightly sterile hotel room. The red of her sweater, her eyes and smile—they glowed in the room. A beacon in the shadows.

  He followed—the room could have been on fire, or filled with bees, and he would have followed. He would have followed her anywhere.

  The door shut behind him and she lifted her hand to the tiny buttons at the bottom of her thin sweater. Slowly the material parted to reveal the tops of her tight jeans, the sweet curve of her tummy, her belly button, the bottom of her ribs. And then finally the sweater slipped off her shoulders, revealing her breasts, lovingly cradled by black lace.

  “You going to help me out here?” she asked, her fingers dropping to the button on her jeans.

  “You are doing great all by yourself.” His mouth was a dust storm.

  “Maybe…I’m shy.” Her hair fell over her eye as she pretended to play the maiden.

  Good Lord, she is hot. The act, the game, all of it—she made the air sizzle, his body burn.

  He pulled his T-shirt up over his head and threw it backward over his shoulder, eyes on her fingers as they toyed with the zipper of her pants. He bent over and pulled off his boots, barely noticing that his socks didn’t match.

  Slowly she pushed down her pants, easing them over hips revealing black lace and satin.

  “Turn around,” he said, and for a moment the game waivered. She didn’t give up control easily, he realized. She liked to choose what and how she revealed herself.

  But then she turned, bending over as she pulled down her pants the rest of the way. Beautiful, sexy. She grinned at him over her shoulder and that was it. All he could stand.

  He stepped up behind her. She wanted dark. Dirty. She wanted wicked.

  He could give her all of that.

  Slipping his hand around her waist he pulled her up tight against him. In lock step, he crossed the room to the desk and spread her hands out there.

  She chuckled low and deep in her throat, pushing back against his erection. “I thought you wanted a bed.”

  “We got all night.”

  He shoved down his jeans with one hand while his other hand slid over the satin skin of her tummy into the lace edge of her underwear. She gasped, groaned, arched against him.

  “Too fast?” he asked, and she shook her head, her black hair drifting across her shoulders.

  “Hurry.”

  He didn’t need another invitation and pulled the condoms she’d brought out of his back pocket. While she pushed her underwear down to her ankles, he used his teeth to rip open the condom. He fumbled slightly, panting, dying.

  And then…yes…oh, yes…he was inside her. All the way.

  Inside, her muscles clutched and she whimpered and he pushed as high and as hard as he could into her. She pushed back and he couldn’t have said who was

  inside who.

  And then…she laughed. Dark and dirty. The laugh crept over his skin like fingers.

  The moment was suddenly transcendent, he was inside his skin and at the same time watching himself. Loving all of it. This moment, the two of them, made sense in a way he’d never expected. In a way he’d never had.

  Sex was sex for Jeremiah, even with women that he really liked, but somehow, with Lucy, sex was different. Sex was an extension of who they were, of what brought them together. The sadness and heartache and desire all snowballed inside of him.

  No, he thought, his panic buttons screaming. Too much. Ease off. Make a joke.

  He desperately wanted to find the shallow pools he was used to, but Lucy wouldn’t let him.

  She groaned and cried, pushing herself on her tiptoes so that, impossibly, he sank even deeper into her, finding a friction that lit up the night. All of him, that’s what she wanted, what she expected.

  Can I do that? I’ve…I’ve never done that.

  “Jeremiah.” She sighed. “Please. Stay with me?”

  Enough of his own head games. Enough of his own fear. He wasn’t going to waste a second of his time with Lucy because without a doubt she would be gone soon. And he’d be right back where he started.

  Alone and lonely. Probably lonelier for having had her, but that was a problem for a different day.

  He slipped a hand up under hair to her neck and tipped over farther across the desk.

  “Jeremiah,” she gasped slapping her hands against the wood.

  He grinned in the half dark and set about being as wicked and dirty as he could.

  “I’m with you. Right here with you.”

  * * *

  LUCY DOZED SLIGHTLY, her head buried in Jeremiah’s armpit. Their skin was stuck together with sweat and when she could move again, and decided to, it would hurt peeling herself away from him.

  In more ways than one, she thought in a rare moment of total honesty with herself. All of her excuses and pretences, her rationales and justifications, they’d abandoned her in the past few hours. Run out of her life by Jeremiah and his endless, bottomless, control.

  “You won that round,” she muttered. Her body stretched and pulled, boneless. He’d been…amazing. She was no slouch in the sex department, but he… She was going to make him a love-god T-shirt.

  His laughter shook her head. “I’d say it was a tie.” His fingers lazily walked u
p and down her spine, coercing goose bumps all over her skin, but she didn’t tell him to stop. Just like she didn’t move.

  I don’t want this to end, she thought, sighing deeper into her doze.

  Suddenly, from the utter blankness of her thoughts sprang the idea for a ring. Wide, wider than most, masculine almost. Hammered gold. And another one, a thin braid. Silver? No, she recast it in gold. White gold. And wider, Celtic in flavor. Or Viking… Oh, cool.

  “Wedding bands,” she murmured.

  “What?” howled Jeremiah, jerking away from her.

  Their skin split apart and both of them winced. “Did you say…?” He stared at her, horrified, and honestly, she couldn’t blame him. But she also couldn’t explain it, not until she sketched the ideas down before she lost them entirely.

  Naked, she bounced out of bed and toward the desk. The pen was on the floor, the little notepad shoved up under the phone.

  While sketching the hammered gold ring, two more ideas came to her. A wide white-gold band with a garnet in a thick circular setting. Medieval-looking.

  As if it were someone else doing it she watched what appeared under her pen.

  Five rings. Wedding bands for both the bride and the groom. One-of-a-kind pieces.

  Meredith Van Loan, a boutique owner in Santa Monica, would love these. Too bad Meredith Van Loan wasn’t speaking to her after that mass-produced horseshoe necklace debacle.

  “Lucy?”

  She turned back to the bed and the cowboy sitting in pooled sheets. The moonlight filtering through the windows cast the muscles of his chest and arms in shadow, making him look as if he’d been dipped in silver.

  She smiled at the thought. This was the way her brain used to work, everything was an extension of her work and her materials.

  “You all right?” Jeremiah asked.

  “I…I think I am. Or maybe I will be. I’m not sure yet.”

  “You’ve lost me, Lucy.”

  You found me, she thought but didn’t say. Perhaps the argument could be made that all she’d really needed was a few weeks away from her work.

  Away from that city I never loved and that never loved me. Perhaps the argument could be made that she only really needed to be home again. Back where inspiration struck the first time.