Zane

by Dale Mayer

  Katch just looked up at her. Instead of being in pain, he looked exhausted.

  “No,” she announced. “He just needs to go to bed.” She tossed Zane a sideways look. “Like I think we need to do.”

  He was on his feet. “You won’t get an argument out of me.”

  She chuckled and called Katch.

  Katch struggled to his feet and stood, swaying.

  Zane gave a strangled exclamation, swooped down and gently scooped his arms underneath the dog’s chest and belly and lifted him carefully. The trio slowly walked up to the house.

  “Bring him to the master bedroom, and I’ll make a bed for him on the floor there. I don’t really want to leave him alone.”

  “Lead the way,” Zane said.

  She shut the back door in the kitchen, locked it and headed up the stairs ahead of him. “I hope he’ll be okay,” she whispered.

  “If you’re that worried, do we need to check him out further?”

  “No, I can see it’s sheer exhaustion. He’s done too much,” she said, fretting. “He really needs several days’ rest and lots of nourishment. I’ll mix up some vitamins in a bit,” she said, looking down at the dog. “It would be hard for him to eat anything right now.”

  She grabbed extra blankets out of the top shelf of her closet and laid them on the floor. Gently Zane lowered the dog, and Katch didn’t even murmur. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable and then stretched out and closed his eyes. Just to reassure herself, she bent down and checked his pulse and then his chest.

  “His pulse is strong. His breathing is regular. He’s simply exhausted,” she announced. She stood back up and stepped away.

  Zane’s arms came around from behind.

  She leaned into them and whispered, “It feels like we have a family all of a sudden.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t have half a dozen animals,” he said. “You always loved them.”

  “It was part of what we had together,” she said. “But, if you remember, Brody didn’t like animals. They were dirty. He had a lot of the family opinion about that.” She was grateful when Zane’s body didn’t stiffen at the mention of his brother.

  “I remember that,” he said in a lazy voice. “I was always the crazy animal-loving brother.”

  “Apparently still are,” she said with a light chuckle. She turned in his arms to look up at him, sliding her hands up over his chest to gently stroke his neck. “Did I tell you how glad I am that you came back into my life?”

  “No,” he said, his tone picking up with interest. “I have to admit that makes me curious.”

  “Curious?” she asked, a tiny frown playing at the corner of her lips. “How does that work?”

  “That’s what I was going to ask you.” He nudged her toward the bed. “I was wondering just how grateful you are.”

  Instantly she understood, and laughter bubbled up and out. “Very grateful.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss his chin. “Even more grateful than I could imagine.” She added kisses down his neck. Her hand slid from his chest to his waist and under his T-shirt, coming up to stroke his belly. When he sucked in his breath, she smiled and leaned back. “Still so ticklish?”

  He glared at her mockingly. “No,” he said.

  She tickled the inside of his belly, and that got him started.

  He picked her up and tossed her on the bed. “Oh, no you don’t. Of course I’m still ticklish.” He grinned. “Are you? As I recall, you have several ticklish spots.”

  She backed up off the bed, screaming in laughter. “No, no, no, no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I won’t tickle you.”

  He just smiled. As he stood in front of her, he slowly pulled his T-shirt up over his head.

  She stared, fascinated, wincing as she saw the scars and scrapes on his body. She kneeled on the bed, her fingers stroking the wounds from the years he’d spent away from her. “I don’t even want to ask how you got these. But back to that being grateful part.” She leaned forward and kissed a particularly large and rigid scar. “Grateful you’re alive. Grateful you survived all these traumas. Grateful your body healed as well as it did.”

  He shuddered and pulled her chin up. “I’m glad for all the gratitude because, at the moment, I’m feeling pretty damn thankful myself. But you’re wearing an awful lot of clothing.”

  She smiled. “You took off your T-shirt, so I could do the same.” She crossed her arms, grabbed her T-shirt and pulled it over her head.

  “That doesn’t quite work,” he said, “because my chest is bare.”

  She raised her eyes at his logic, looked down to see the lacy scraps covering her breasts and snickered. “I could take this off, or I could leave it on.” She bounced to her feet so she stood on the bed. Her fingers went to the clasp of her jeans.

  His hands went to his jeans. Together they slowly lowered the material, both of them kicking their pants into different corners of the room.

  She smiled. “Now I’m down to two pieces.” She motioned at him. “You’re down to three.”

  He chuckled. “That’s cheating. You weren’t wearing socks to begin with.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but I had more under my T-shirt than you did.”

  He took off both socks and then stood there, waggling his eyebrows at her.

  She smiled, reached behind her and loosened the clasp on her bra, letting the material fall forward. She still stood on the bed, while he stood on the floor, putting her slightly taller than him.

  He stepped back for a moment, his breath releasing in a slow and heavy exhale. “I’d forgotten,” he whispered, his hands reaching up to cup her breasts. “I forgot just how absolutely perfect you are.” He leaned forward and kissed first one breast and then the other, his hands gently stroking, caressing, lifting the weight in his palms and just loving the feel of her breasts.

  When his hand stroked to the side of her ribs and down, slipping inside the scrap of lace at her hips, she murmured, “You first.”

  He removed his hands and dropped his drawers. But he was back in position before she even had a chance to take a look.

  She whispered, “That’s not fair. Maybe I want to refresh my memory too.”

  He gave a strangled laugh. “You may not do that for a bit,” he said. “As you stand here before me, I realize how much I’ve forgotten, and yet, how much I couldn’t forget. And all I want to do is bury myself deep inside.”

  She moaned as his words rolled over her, dropping to her knees, then collapsing backward on the bed. She raised her arms to him. “Come to me then. I’ve been empty for far too long.”

  Slowly he lowered himself to lie down beside her, his fingers gently moving up over her cheeks and her mouth, dropping kisses on her lips, down her neck, then her breastbone, gently taking first one nipple, then the other in his mouth, laving them with his tongue.

  She twisted and moaned, whispering, “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “And I you,” he said, rearing up to kiss her hard, long and deep.

  When their tongues slowly separated, she realized he was sliding up and down against her body, his erection prodding her belly and the hollow between her thighs. She lifted her hips, trying to grab him and to hold him tight forever.

  He nuzzled the underside of her neck and whispered, “You’re still wearing a piece of material.”

  “Then you should take it off,” she said, groaning as he trailed a row of kisses along her belly, down to the curls hidden underneath the scrap of material, his tongue gently seeking and finding the nub between the folds of her skin, the scrap of material somehow mysteriously gone.

  He kissed her intimately once, twice, only to replace his lips with his penis as he gently kneeled and lifted her hips higher. He slowly entered, lifting her upright to sit on his knees.

  She straightened to wrap her arms around his neck, her lips coming down hard on his.

  “Golden girl,” he whispered. “What was your favorite hobby growing up?”

  Her voice broke as
she whispered, “Riding.”

  “Then ride, beautiful one. Just ride.”

  As he kneeled, her legs behind him, together they set a motion that reminded her of crossing the meadows with her beautiful mare beneath her thighs, her legs clasping as she stroked up and down, deeper and deeper, the movement increasing as he held her hips and helped her to increase the pace until she cried out. Her body arched back, and still her hips kept moving, pulsating, plunging him deeper and deeper.

  When she cried out his name, he whispered, “It’s all right, sweetie. I’m here.” He leaned forward, taking a nipple in his mouth, sucking deep.

  Her belly responded, and way below too. And a heat rose, twisting and twisting, higher and higher, until she climaxed in his arms.

  She knew he was watching. He wasn’t quite ready. Then he slowly lowered her to the bed and dove in, twisting his hips as he groaned, diving deeper until he was seated right at the entrance to her womb, and she could hear the guttural groan as his own release overwhelmed him.

  When he slowly sagged down beside her, she wrapped her arms tightly around him, holding him close.

  “Just sleep, sweetie,” he whispered. “Just sleep.”

  She didn’t realize how tired she was. But, after this, exhaustion once again rippled through her body, taking her back under to the point of losing control, and, already under, she could hear herself ask, “Are you leaving now?”

  He whispered back words to remember, “No. I’m not leaving again.”

  Zane held her close in his arms, willing the moment to never end. His answer had been heartfelt, but he also realized it was true. He was done walking away. He was done leaving. Somehow Badger had known this was where he belonged. With her here in Maine, come what may, this would be Zane’s home.

  He would get resistance from his father and brother. He didn’t know if there would be resistance from anybody else. His family hadn’t cared about him for a long time. He figured his joy in being with Holly would make up for all of that and much, much more.

  It was hard to remember the details of their breakup from a long time ago because that was what it was—a long time ago. They weren’t those people anymore. He certainly wasn’t that young man. And the fact that they’d found each other at this point in their lives was something extraspecial. He wouldn’t begrudge himself this second chance.

  He’d spent a lot of years traveling, searching, looking for where he belonged and who he belonged with. He thought he’d found it a couple times, but they’d never been anywhere near as close or as special as Holly was to him. Having her back in his arms was a gift—a gift he had never expected.

  He cuddled her close and let her sleep. She needed it. At the same time, he wanted to stay awake and watch over her, just watch her. He loved the way her breasts rose, that small fine-boned chest, in a smooth and even rhythm. The way the breath eased out between those plump lips, the rosy glow on her cheeks.

  He leaned over and kissed the cheek closest to him. “I put that there,” he whispered more to himself than for her ears. “There is such good between us.”

  He knew there was a lot of good here. More than to be expected, more than he ever thought he would have found.

  He wondered at all the reasons why he had refused to come home and knew none of them were any use anymore. None of them were valid because, once again, he and Holly weren’t the same people. He didn’t carry the same fears and insecurities he’d had before, and neither did she. She’d put his kid brother into her past, and that was what Zane would do too.

  And he’d meant every word he’d said outside.

  He lay thinking about his options and what he could do until he heard a noise downstairs. He looked over to see Katch, having rolled over to lie on all fours. His ears pricked up, but he wasn’t growling. It was just a noise to him.

  Zane slid out of bed and pulled on his boxers and jeans, looking out the window. He couldn’t see anything. He walked down the hallway and looked out one of the front windows. And groaned. Dad, what do you want?

  Zane didn’t see his dad leave the vehicle because he was already on his way to the front door. He ran down, hoping he could get the door open before his father knocked and woke up Holly. As he opened the door, it kicked open right in front of him.

  He stared at his very drunk, boozy father weaving at the front step. “Dad, what are you doing here?” he snapped.

  His father looked at him blurry-eyed and lifted what Zane hadn’t seen in his hand before. A sawed-off shotgun.

  “Dad, what are you doing?” he cried out, hoping to reach him through his alcoholic haze.

  “Where’s that goddamn dog?” he roared.

  Zane tried to take the shotgun away, but his father’s finger was on the trigger. Any attempt he made to pull it free would make it go off and likely hit him.

  “He’s responsible for all this. If he’s dead, you’ll leave, just like you should have never come back.”

  Dazed and hurt by his father’s words, Zane stared into his dad’s drunken eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “You came here for the goddamn dog, and you’re still here because of the goddamn dog,” his father snapped. For being as drunk as he was, his words were incredibly clear. “And you need to leave. The only way you’ll leave is if that goddamn dog isn’t around for you to look after anymore.” He shoved Zane with the butt of the gun. “Now where is he?”

  “He’s at the clinic,” Zane said, improvising. “He’s not likely to make it through surgery.”

  His father froze and stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “No, no,” he said. “I don’t believe you. I spoke this morning to Mittle. She said the dog was doing well.”

  Inside Zane swore. “Yeah, that was probably yesterday,” he said, trying to pacify his father. “We had a really shitty evening last night because somebody came into the clinic and tried to attack the dog.”

  His father poked him again with the butt of the gun. “You always were one son of a lying bitch,” he said.

  Zane stared at him, not sure what this side of his father was all about. “Why do you want me to leave so bad?”

  “I want you to stop sniffing around your brother’s wife,” his father said. “It’s disgusting.”

  “Holly?” Zane asked, trying to dampen his own ire. “Have you forgotten? She was my girlfriend for years before she married Brody.”

  “Don’t you say his name,” his father yelled. “You’ve got no business living when he died.”

  The small part that somehow still held some hope his father loved him just completely shriveled up and died. “I know,” he said, his voice going hard. “You always liked Brody more than me. And you hoped with all the years I was in the service, I would have gotten killed. Instead, it was our beloved Brody who died and from a stupid reason like a staph infection. And I know you’re overcome with grief, Dad, but this is hardly the way to handle it.”

  “I’ll handle it in any way I want to,” he said, roaring.

  A voice behind them called out, “Jeffrey, what are you doing here?”

  “Go back upstairs,” Zane told her. “My dad is here to kill Katch.”

  Just then Katch hobbled down the stairs and froze, seeing the tableau in front of him. He looked hesitant, not sure where to go.

  Holly dropped to the ground in front of Katch, blocking him from Jeffrey’s view. “Jeffrey, you’ve got no business coming in here with a gun.” Her voice was surprisingly calm. “I want you to turn around and leave now.”

  He raised that gun and pointed it at her.

  That’s when Zane lost it. He slammed his hand up underneath the shotgun, hearing it fire as his father’s finger pulled the trigger as a reflex. Thankfully the bullet plowed into the rafters above. Zane took the butt end of the gun and smacked it hard against his father’s jaw.

  His father looked at him, a wounded look in his eyes as he fell to his knees, then face-planted hard onto the floor.

  With the gun now remo
ved from his hands, Holly ran forward and dropped down beside him. “He’s alive,” she said, looking over at Zane. “What the hell do we do now?”

  He stared down at his father, shaking his head. “We’re calling the cops,” he said. “This has got to stop.”

  She reached up a hand, grabbing his. “I’m sorry. I heard what he said.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he said. Call them. My father is a lot of things, but a loving, compassionate man he is not.”

  While she called 9-1-1, Zane called Butch. When he explained what had happened, Butch started to swear on the other end. “That goddamn fool,” he said. “I’m surprised he hasn’t killed someone by now.”

  “Well, he came here attempting to kill a dog,” Zane said wearily. “But it’s really me he hates. It was me he would have been happy to take down.”

  Butch hesitated, then said, “I know we’ve never been close, Zane, but he’s not been the same since Brody’s death. I don’t even have much to do with him. I keep a wary eye on him, knowing he’s a time bomb ready to go off because I don’t really have a whole lot of choice.”

  “I know,” Zane said. “And I don’t hold that against you. He said some pretty hard things to me today, but they’re nothing I didn’t already know.”

  “You can’t listen to him when he’s drunk. You know that.” Butch’s voice hardened. “Hell, we learned that on his knee. If it wasn’t a physical beating, it was a verbal beating, so don’t you listen to anything he has to say.”

  “I needed to let you know I called the cops,” Zane said. “Not necessarily my choice, but this has to stop. Next time he won’t be coming after the dog. He’ll be coming after me.”

  “He’s not likely to be coming after anybody,” Holly said.

  Zane turned to look down at her. “What are you talking about?”

  She studied his father’s features. “If I’m not mistaken, your father’s a very sick man.” She looked up at him. “We need to get him to the hospital.”

  “Are you saying I did this?” He squatted beside his father.

  In his ear his brother said, “You just defended yourself and your family. I’m sorry it had to be the old man who put you in this spot, but you are not to blame.”