“No.” She got in his face. “Maybe I’ll just get a little taste from you.” She pressed her lips to his. Licking and teasing until his mouth opened and her tongue snuck inside.
Rory moaned softly at the smoky mix of scotch and Dalton. She sought out every taste, keeping the kiss easy.
His hands slid up her back and curled over her shoulders, pulling her closer so they were chest to chest. Then those wonderfully rough-skinned, highly skilled hands were in her hair.
The man had such a thing for her hair.
The kiss didn’t catch fire; it stayed on the sweet side, the comforting side. The I-love-you-and-I-don’t-know-how-to-help-you side.
Dalton moved his lips to her ear. “I’m glad you’re here, Rory.”
She angled back to look into his eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’d ask you to get drunk with me, but I hit it a little hard earlier so I’m done for the night.”
“Are you hungry? I could make you something to eat.”
He smoothed the strands of hair he’d tangled up. “Come to think of it, I haven’t eaten all day.”
“Let me fix you a quick sandwich.”
“I’d like that.” He didn’t loosen his hold on her so she waited. “Can you stick around a little longer after that?”
“Of course.” She left a lingering kiss on his lips before she retreated to the kitchen.
Her stomach growled so she made an extra grilled cheese sandwich for herself. She heated up a can of tomato soup, found the crackers and set everything on the table.
She draped her arms around his neck from behind and kissed his temple. “Soup’s on.”
Dalton ate most of the meal. He didn’t speak besides to tell her thanks for cooking for him a couple of times.
Rory couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so helpless. But she wouldn’t push him to talk even when she wanted to know everything running through his brain. Every weight on his heart.
He stood. “I’m gonna hit the shower.” His gaze swept over the stove and returned to her. “Don’t even think about doin’ them dishes.”
“Quit bossing me around and take your shower.”
As soon as she heard the water kick on, she loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen. She poured him a glass of iced tea and left it on the coffee table next to the scotch.
She didn’t have a change of clothes and she’d worn her uniform long enough, so she grabbed a pair of Dalton’s athletic shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt and a pair of socks. She was in her bra and panties when he walked into the bedroom, holding a towel around his waist.
A little drool might’ve slipped out the corner of her mouth. As many times as she’d seen his sculpted body, as many times as she’d had her hands and mouth all over those cut muscles and pressed herself that warm male skin, she should be used to the rolling wave of lust whenever she caught sight of him nude.
But she hoped she’d never get used to it. Never take for granted this sexy hunk of man was with her. And if he had his way, he’d be with her for the long haul. Rory had started to believe that might actually be possible for them.
Then he dropped the towel and that tight round butt was within reach.
Under normal circumstances she’d play grab ass with him. Scrape her nails down his back while her mouth attacked the back of his neck. Or she’d drop to her knees.
Rory did none of those things. “I borrowed some clothes if that’s okay.”
Dalton spared her a glance. “Anything I have is yours, so no worries.” He slipped on a pair of flannel pants—he’d gone commando, no surprise—and a white T-shirt.
The man rocked a plain white tee like no one’s business. She could see the muscles in back ripple. The flex of his arms showed off those biceps, triceps and forearms. Not to mention his shoulders seemed nearly as wide as the doorframe.
“While I love how you’re lookin’ at me, sugarplum, I don’t think I’m up to takin’ you for a tumble.”
She saw he’d been watching her in the mirror. “I was just admiring you.” She walked to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting her chin on his shoulder. “No pressure to get naked with me. But I won’t hide my lustful thoughts from you either.”
Dalton lightly brushed his lips over hers, and said, “I love you. It’s there. All the time. Like your lust. And I won’t hide it from you or anyone else either.” He planted a chaste kiss on her forehead and grabbed her hand. “Watch some mindless TV with me?”
“Sure.”
In the living room he flipped on the TV and stretched out on the couch. He patted the cushion and she stretched out in front of him so their bodies touched from head to toe.
He wasn’t the guy who clicked through channels. He picked a channel and stayed there. Some sitcom was on but Rory had no idea which one and she doubted Dalton would know either.
Talk to me. Please.
Rory felt his lips on her crown. The random kisses and constant caresses were the only sign of normalcy in him. She had no idea how much time had passed and she’d started to drift off when he spoke.
“The funeral is Friday.”
Her tongue seemed frozen.
“Will you come with me?” he asked softly.
“Of course.”
“Did that just sound like I asked you on a date to my father’s funeral?”
“No.” Rory rolled over and looked into his eyes, repeating, “No. We’re beyond dating anyway.” She placed her hand on his heart and snuggled into him.
A moment later he said, “It was seriously fuckin’ bizarre today. Even now I can’t believe it’s happening.” He talked in a monotone, detailing the events. She remained still, tucked against him, her thumb sweeping back and forth over his pectoral.
“After the meeting with the pastor at the apartment we went to the funeral home.” A shudder worked through him. “Creepy fuckin’ place. Since my dad had made arrangements beforehand, it was just some weird formality. Like if there were additional charges who’d pay for them and all that bullshit. I mean, what kind of charges can a dead guy rack up?”
She barely stopped herself from flinching at his flip response.
“So then this mortician asks if we want to see him, since there wouldn’t be visitation.”
“What’d you say?”
“Brandt turned green like he was gonna pass out. Tell shook his head. But I…” He swallowed hard. “I said yes.”
Oh, baby, no.
“Sounds fuckin’ horrible, but I had to see him for myself. That he really was dead, not just playin’ some big goddamned joke on us, to see if we’d mourn him when he was gone. And how fuckin’ pathetic is it that’s even a possibility? That he’s such a mean bastard he might actually do something like that?” He took a breath and exhaled with frustration. “So I followed the guy back to the viewing room or whatever the fuck it was. And it smelled…” Dalton shuddered again. “I don’t even wanna talk about or think about that. Anyway, there he was, on a steel table, just like on TV, with a sheet covering him. Only part of him I could see was his head. And even though I felt like I was gonna throw the fuck up, I got close enough to look at him. Really look at his face. His skin was this pasty gray, but it was him. The only thing I could think of was he carried that goddamned sneer of his into death. So I got the hell outta there. I don’t even remember what I said to Brandt and Tell. I just know when they dropped me off the first thing I did was crack open the scotch.”
“I think it’s good you got a final look at him. You’ll never have to wonder.”
“Except wonder what the fuck is wrong with me.”
“Dalton—”
“I felt nothin’ when I looked at him, Rory. Nothin’. Not sadness or anger or even relief. What kind of cold bastard does that make me?”
Her heart was breaking for him but she managed to keep her voice from cracking. “Sweetheart, you’re in shock, okay? Give yourself a break. It’s only been about twelve hours since you found out.”
“So this next stage. Am I supposed to cry?”
Tread lightly. “I think so. Why?”
“What if I don’t? Does that make me an unfeeling bastard? Especially when after Luke died and all that shit went down I swore the man would never make me cry again.”
“Everyone grieves in a different way. You won’t grieve for him like you did your brother. And your brothers won’t grieve the same way you do either.”
He remained quiet, but tense. The way he rubbed her back fluctuated, too, between lazy and fast. Then he quit touching her entirely.
“I didn’t expect my mom to be upset,” he said after a bit. “Brandt called her and he said she started crying so hard he couldn’t understand her. I guess Dad’s girlfriend had a hard time too. Then she asked if she could sit with the family during the service and how the hell are we supposed to make that decision? My mom was married to him for forty years. By all rights she should get the goddamn sympathy from people, not some do-gooder chick Casper picked up in church. So see? I hear myself say shit like that and I feel like an asshole.”
“Dalton. It doesn’t make you an asshole if that’s how you feel.”
“And I really don’t wanna talk about this. I don’t. Knocking back the scotch did shut off the goddamned voices in my brain. I just wanted to pass out. Wake up hung-over as shit tomorrow because then at least I’d feel something.”
Rory placed her fingers over his lips and tilted her head back to look at him.
But his eyes were squeezed shut.
“Maybe we should down that bottle of scotch.”
He smiled slightly and her hand fell away.
Then those blue eyes were open, open in so many ways.
“Screw the scotch. I’ve got you. You’re more potent than a barrel of any booze.” Dalton pushed her hair behind her ear. “And when I drink you down, you fill me up. You don’t leave me feeling empty.”
A weird booze analogy but she’d take it. He kept staring at her. “What?”
“I need you.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I need you to take me to the place where it’s only us. Where no one else can get in. Where nothin’ exists but you and me.”
“I can do that. I’d love to do that. But I have to be sure you won’t use the fact we made love on the day your dad died as another mark against yourself today.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She touched his face. Outlining his jaw. The wide-set cheekbones. The pillow of his lips. “Okay.” Rory turned her head so his mouth connected with her cheek. She didn’t have to say anything, he just seemed to know that she needed the connection of his lips on her skin.
He trailed soft kisses down the side of her jaw, adjusting the angle on the way back up so he was kissing her neck. Then he retreated and his fingers were tugging and twisting her hair. “Bedroom.”
They undressed quietly, separately.
Dalton wrapped his arms around her and lowered them onto the bed. He held onto her for the longest time. She wondered what he was thinking about, if he was already regretting this, but she didn’t want to break the moment. Then he stretched his body on top of hers. “I love you. So fucking much.”
Rory ran her fingers though his hair. “I know. So please let me be what you need.”
His stormy blue eyes bored into hers. “You are everything I need.”
Then Dalton kissed her so sweetly, with such surety that Rory finally believed him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dalton decided it’d been smart for Aunt Carolyn and Uncle Carson to hold the family get together after the burial at their place. That way he, Brandt and Tell and their families could leave when everything got to be too much.
He was wound as tight as a top. Shocking to see so many people at the service. Although Dalton suspected the funeral attendees were there to support the living and not pay respect to the dead.
He’d kept his hand in Rory’s throughout the service. When the pastor went on for ten solid minutes about the good Christian man Casper had become. How he’d turned his life over to serving God. How he’d proven no one is ever too old to change. And the whole time, Dalton’s resentment built. His father hadn’t apologized or asked for forgiveness from the family he’d wronged over the years. He’d added to his list of horrors he’d inflicted on his sons after getting sober and finding Jesus.
Just when he decided he couldn’t sit through another minute, the sermon ended. The final hymn was sung. He did his duty alongside his brothers and cousins as a pallbearer. He suffered through the endless parade of parishioners who expressed condolences and spoke highly of Casper to the point Dalton wondered if he’d somehow ended up at the wrong funeral.
And even when he knew how wrong it was, he couldn’t keep the thoughts from taking over his head.
So needing a minute or ten, Dalton practically sprinted outside. He stared across the pasture, wondering what happened now. Knowing the numbness he felt wasn’t from the cold.
Rory wouldn’t chase him down to chat. His brothers might. But they were busy wrangling kids and talking to various family members.
So color him surprised when he heard footsteps. He turned to see his Uncle Charlie ambling toward him. “So this is where you wandered off to.”
“I needed some air.”
“Can’t say as I blame you. Hard to hold a conversation in there.”
“That many people makes me a little on edge…not that I don’t appreciate the family’s support.” Dalton sighed. “Been livin’ alone in the woods too long I guess.”
“I’d rather have it loud like that than if everyone was sitting around staring at each other not sayin’ a word.”
“True.” He figured his uncle had a specific reason for tracking him down.
“Any word on the elk farm permit?”
“Nope. Rory’s got a couple places left to inspect. And just because we’re together don’t mean she’s gonna pick my land for it.”
“I don’t envy her, havin’ to make that decision. Even if you are the best candidate folks around here will believe you were picked because of that relationship.”
“Other people’s opinions ain’t something either of us can control.”
“True. So much stuff in our lives is out of our control, ain’t it?”
“Yep.”
“Look, there’s something I hafta say to you.”
Dalton’s gut tightened. “About?”
“What Casper done to you. And I don’t want you getting pissed off at Ben.”
Shit. “When did he tell you?”
“A while back. He needed a couple of days to cool off before he brought it up with me. And lemme tell you, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen my even-tempered son that upset.”
Dalton said nothing.
“Suppressed rage ain’t really something me’n Vi have had to deal with when it comes to our sons, either when they were younger or now. Don’t know if that comes from me bein’ a lot more laid back than Carson, Cal or Casper. Or if it’s just plain dumb luck. Alls I know is if I’d heard a whisper of the beatings my brother doled out to you, I would’ve dealt with it.”
“Which is why I never told anyone.”
“Your mom never knew?”
Dalton shook his head. “Casper always knew exactly what to say to get me to fall in line. He said if I told her, he’d turn the strap on her, since it was her fault that I’d become a lazy mama’s boy.”
“How old were you when it started?”
“Seven. Old enough to take the punishment and old enough to keep quiet about it.” He shifted, leaning over the fence—not like he was trying to jump it and get away or anything, but it was damn tempting. “Mom had to go to work around that time, remember? Luke had gotten sick with pneumonia and the hospital bills were bad and we didn’t have health insurance. I know Dad got pissed off at Luke like it was his fault
. Anyway, with Mom workin’ at the nursing home and Luke, Brandt and Tell doin’ most of the chores after school, it was just me’n Dad at home. Most the time he yelled at me. Or ignored me. It wasn’t like he beat me every week or every month. That’d be too predictable. He liked the element of surprise. His punishment tool of choice was a thin black strap. He never put the marks where anyone could see them.”
“Might’ve been better if he had because then maybe your mom or brothers or someone at school would’ve seen ’em. Maybe one of us would’ve seen them.” Charlie fiddled with his hat, a sure sign of nerves. “We shouldn’t have let you be. None of you boys. No excuses. No matter if we couldn’t stand Casper, we should’ve done more to protect you from him.”
“My brothers didn’t need protection. And there’s no way you could’ve known. My own mother lived in the house with me for years while it was goin’ on and she didn’t know. If someone had seen the strap marks, we both know Casper would’ve said it wasn’t your business on how he disciplined his sons and that would’ve been the end of it.”
The silence that followed probably meant Charlie understood but was frustrated by the truth of the long ago situation. Dalton hadn’t told him that to alleviate Charlie’s guilt—his uncle’s guilt wasn’t his problem.
“So you’ve just accepted that your dad beat the shit outta you on a regular basis?” Charlie demanded. “Christ, Dalton, you don’t think you somehow deserved it, do you?”
“Back then? He had me convinced I did. Now? I know he was an abusive asshole who got off on a mindfuck. One thing I’ll never do is make excuses for him for what he did to me. The past is the past. But I’ll be damned if I’ll let the memory of that consume me. Ruin me. Ruin my future. Make me into a bitter motherfucker who uses verbal and physical abuse on the people in my life. That means letting this go. I’ll never be like him. Never,” he repeated hotly. “I’ve had a lot of years to come to terms with this, Charlie. While I appreciate your concern, I’m dealing with enough shit right now without havin’ to revisit this.”
“Sorry. It might be old news to you, but it ain’t to me.”
“Did you tell Uncle Carson and Uncle Cal?”
Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders) Page 34