“This never happened. We don’t talk about this – ever - I will deny, deny, deny.”
She flinched. He struggled to bring some normality back.
“Amazon!”
“Viking!”
They both spun around and walked in opposite directions.
Chapter 6
Back in the hospital room, Donavan stroked her hair, amazed by the softness of it.
She’s off limits McClain!
Why exactly? The devil on his shoulder asked.
If he ever kissed her again, which he vehemently doubted, Donavan wanted her sober for it. He knew it was wrong to pry, but he had to ask.
“Harper?”
She snuggled as close to him as physically possible. “How many – who have you slept with?”
“You,” she said, “We sleep now.” Donavan smiled in her hair.
You have no right McClain!
The hell I don’t!
This is invasion of privacy!
Donavan ignored his conscience. “Who have you had sex with?” Could be any of the firefighters in her station or the police officers in town. Yet they all treated her like one of the guys. Harper stroked Donavan’s chest. His heart slammed against his ribs. Her touch stirred his blood. His conscience was furious.
Leave her alone!
“No one,” She yawned.
Donavan frowned. Did her hazy mind understand the question? “What do you mean no-”
“I’m a virgin, silly.”
What?!
“But you’re twenty-eight years old!”
Harper shrugged. “Waiting.”
“For what?”
“You.”
He couldn’t breathe. A tremor ran through him. Stunned beyond belief, Donavan could only lay there, thunderstruck.
What? What did she just say?
“Harper?” he said her name harshly. She snored softly. With her injury he couldn’t exactly wake her up and demand clarification. It can’t be true! She took a blow to the head. That had to be it. It was the concussion and the pain meds talking. He never met a twenty-eight year old virgin and he sure as hell couldn’t believe she was waiting for him.
But if it’s true…
No, it can’t be. And yet his arms contracted around her. Sometimes, he secretly thought of her as his. Something primitive inside him growled, Harper Grant belongs to me! He fought the ferocious possessiveness until he was mentally exhausted. Finally, Donavan drifted off into sweet oblivion.
The nightmare chilled her to the bone. The man loomed over her with a smirk on his rugged face. Not the bank robber, someone far worse. He didn’t need a gun to threaten Harper with. He had his fists for that. He used his tongue like a whip to slash and draw blood. Eyes the color of storm clouds held the fierce promise he made her long ago. I’m coming for you.
Harper opened her eyes a crack. Her heart shook in her chest. She took deep, gulping breaths. The only thing that kept the blinding panic at bay was the warm hand in her hair and the gentle touch stroking her back. Startled, Harper looked up.
Donavan.
For an unguarded moment, she could look at him, drink him in, and adore his chiseled, handsome face. The long sweep of his gold eyelashes as he slept. His full lips, strong jawline. Oh God, why did he have to be so beautiful?
Donavan murmured in his sleep. “Okay, baby?”
Harper felt tears sting her eyes. He’d never spoken to her with that gentle tone before. The man was sound asleep. He probably thinks he’s in the Bahamas, in bed with big boobs Kimber.
On that depressing note, Harper savored the feeling of safety, warmth and love, just - being in his arms. Donavan stirred, framed her face between his hands and kissed her hungrily as if he’d never get enough. Harper kissed him back with all the pent up longing in her heart. He abruptly stopped, eyes still closed and settled her head on his chest. “Mine,” he whispered.
Harper felt hot all over. She trembled in the aftermath. Her mind shied away from what her heart already knew. She loved him! Harper blinked, wide eyed in the dark like an owl blinded by the light. The yearning for him was so strong she could hardly breathe. Harper cursed under her breath. How could this happen? It was like some cruel cosmic joke. Donavan McClain would never look twice at her. She wasn’t his type, not even close. He liked slender, blond, big titty women. His dates looked like supermodels. Harper felt down right inferior next to them. It was hard not to feel inadequate as a woman when she towered over most men and other women looked at her with pity or ridicule. Then there was that sinister voice, the man from the nightmare telling her. You’re worthless Harper, unlovable. Sometimes it was hard not to believe the monster in the memory.
Donavan was universally loved by beautiful, petite, glamorous women. She didn’t know how to be a girlie girl. Harper ruefully supposed she didn’t have a feminine bone in her body.
Her mom was afraid she was a lesbian but promised to still love her if she ever wanted to come out of the closet! That mortifying conversation ended with her mom in tears begging Harper to wear cosmetics, dresses and high heels like a normal girl. Donavan dated women who looked the polar opposite of Harper. She had inky black hair. He loved corn silk blonds. Harper’s eyes were an odd shade of forest green. His dates usually flashed baby blues framed with long fake eyelashes and pretty eye shadow. Harper never wore makeup. Donavan’s harem were itty bitty. She was gigantic in comparison. She had a fat, round ass. His women were flat as pancakes. Donavan’s type wore cut off tops to show off their flat abdomens and pierced navels. Harper’s idea of fashion was military tactical gear, camouflage, tee shirt, jeans, boots. In short, Harper didn’t have a chance in hell with Donavan McClain. She tried to ease away from him. He grunted in his sleep, his arms tightened around her like steel bands. Harper closed her eyes. She knew she would likely never be in his arms again. She inhaled him, touched him, and snuggled against him as close as she dared. She savored every second of sheer bliss. Then Harper fell asleep in his arms.
Chapter 7
Lindsey and Carl Grant stood at the foot of the hospital bed. They stared at their daughter sleeping in the protective arms of Donavan McClain. Lindsey gasped with a shocked whisper, “My God, they love each other.”
“Yep,” Carl said.
“You knew?”
“I suspected in the First Grade, by high school I knew for sure.”
“But, they’re always at each other’s throats,” Lindsey said in dismay.
Carl chuckled. “Donavan would walk through hell and back for her.”
“Let’s hope there will never be a need.”
A few days later, Donavan parked the police cruiser in the circular drive of the Tudor mansion. The oval door flew open. Mrs. Gilbert, the housekeeper, beckoned him inside. Her beloved face lined with worry.
“How bad?” Donavan asked.
“He’s hit a rough patch, to be sure,” she said fretfully. Her blue frosted hair, winter eyes and squat body made her look like one of J.R.R Tolkien’s Hobbits. She ushered Donavan inside. The house always felt suffocating to him, a marble tomb with rooms full of dusty treasures.
While growing up, Donavan wanted for nothing materially. He had all the latest name brand clothes, a mountain of toys, video games, vacations to exotic locales and unlimited money. On the surface, he had an enviable childhood. He certainly enjoyed it. The part that sucked happened to be the man singing buck naked on the terrace. Allister McClain weaved across the Mosaic tile singing the 1970s song Baby Come Back at the top of his lungs. He cradled a bottle of imported Scottish brandy to his chest like a lover.
“Oh ho! There he is!” Allister bellowed. “How’s my boy?”
“Traumatized at the sight of your pale, flabby ass this early in the morning.”
“Ha-ha!” At least his dad was a happy drunk.
Mrs. Gilbert shielded her eyes with one hand and held out a robe with the other.
“Oh come on Donnie, do I
have to put it on?”
His father pouted like a petulant, fat toddler. Donavan helped his dad into the plush, Turkish robe.
Mrs. Gilbert sighed her relief. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked them hopefully. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than feeding the McClain men. It’s a wonder Donavan wasn’t five hundred pounds by now. “Yes, thank you.”
She beamed at him, reached up on the tip of her toes and pinched Donavan’s cheek. “Oh you handsome devil.”
Then she disappeared through the art gallery to the cavernous kitchen beyond. Donavan stared hard at his father. The older man’s skin looked pasty, blue eyes sunken in with purple shadows beneath, lips wet and raw from alcohol, silver blond hair matted. He reeked of unwashed skin and brandy fumes.
Donavan assumed the familiar role of parent. He pried the bottle from Allister’s fingers. “Come on, you’re taking a shower.”
“Aw man, do I have to?” his dad whined.
“Yes damn it, you stink.”
“You don’t have to be so mean.”
Donavan walked him through the sunken living room, up the grand staircase and into the oak paneled bedroom. He waited in the two story library as his father took a shower. “And wash your hair!” Donavan yelled.
“Okie dokie,” Allister called.
Minutes later, Donavan forced his father to eat freshly baked bread, scrambled eggs and bacon. “Drink the coffee,” Donavan ordered. He winked at the housekeeper. She was really like a surrogate mother to him. “Mrs. G, thank you.”
“Anything for my boy,” she said. She left father and son alone. Donavan glared at the view of acres of manicured lawn, infinity pool and tennis court.
“I heard you played cops and robbers the other day, bang, bang.” Allister said with a goofy grin.
Donavan ate without tasting his food. He knew it was only a matter of time before his dad drank himself to death. “Is she really worth all this?” Donavan asked quietly.
Allister stiffened. Something desolate flashed in his eyes and faded to nothing. “Your mother was one of a kind.”
The older man’s shoulder’s shook with heaving sobs. He burst into tears. For a second, Donavan could only watch. For a grown man to act this way was just pathetic.
“Wives leave their husbands every day. It’s been fifteen years, get over it.”
“You don’t understand,” Allister wailed. He wiped snot with his trembling hand. “Cindy was my life, I can’t go on without her.”
Donavan’s jaw clenched. He hated the shadow of a man his once vibrant father had become. Cynthia McClain was a caring, attentive mother until the day she kissed Donavan on the cheek, told him she was going to the grocery store and never came back. He was ten years old. Within twenty-four hours, his mother filed for divorce, moved to Europe and shacked up with her lover. She never looked back.
The emotional wreckage she left behind took years to heal. Donavan had Mrs. Gilbert, a few good teachers and friends to get him through. Fighting with Harper helped him snap out of a deep depression. Their fierce debates, arguments and practical jokes gave him something to look forward to every day. In a real sense, Harper saved him during the worst days of his life. As a result, he survived his mother’s abandonment fairly unscathed and he buried himself in academics and football. His father wasn’t so lucky.
Allister literally fell apart. He resigned from the Fortune 500 Company he ran for years. He slept all day and only woke up to drink, eat junk food and pee. He shunned his society friends and relatives, never left the house. He crawled into a bottle and drowned in the amber swirling depths of brandy. For Donavan, he lost the mother he loved and the father he always looked up to. The man sitting across from him was a weak, watered down version of the father Donavan once knew. Downright pitiful.
“I know you hold me in contempt.”
Oh ya think? Donavan took a long sip of black coffee. Allister sniffed, his eyes bloodshot with tears and alcohol fumes. “I loved her,” his father said. “When you fall in love son, then you’ll understand, she was a part of me. How can I function when a vital part of me is gone?”
Donavan stared at his father as if looking into a mirror. This is why he’d never get married. He’d have his fun with girls like Kimber. The fact remained, there were a million Kimbers out there. They usually came onto him, boldly asking him out, slept with him without drama or complications. He liked it that way. He never kept them for long. A month or two at the most, then onto the next sweet thing. If one left, who cares? She could be replaced in a heartbeat. There was no danger of emotional entanglement. Allister was living proof that loving a woman could bring a man to his knees. No way in hell was Donavan going down that dead end road.
“It’s been fifteen years,” Donavan repeated. “She’s moved on, why can’t you? Instead of crying like a little bitch, get up and live your life.”
Allister’s shoulders slumped. His bottom lip quivered. “I still love her,” he whimpered.
Utterly disgusted, Donavan rose from the table. He’d had enough. This useless shell of a man was obliterated by the so called love of a woman. Well not him. Nope. No way. Donavan kissed the crown of his father’s wet hair. “Bye dad.”
Kimber was getting tiresome. When she whined about their canceled trip, he had to cut her loose. He wasn’t sure who the next flavor of the month would be until Emerson Riley cruised back into town. They met again at a routine traffic stop. His buddy, Dylan Chambers was sweet on her back in the day. He wondered if Dyl knew she was in town? And would he mind if Donavan asked her out?
Chapter 8
Harper stood in the fire chief’s office, feet braced apart, hands behind her back and stubborn jaw set. “I know everyone in the department thinks you walk on water, myself included, but I’m begging you, please, don’t run this guy off.”
Harper shrugged. “Send me a partner who’s worth a damn and we won’t have any problems, chief.”
The fire chief groaned. He rubbed a hand over his grisly beard. “His name is Andy, he was an Army Medic.”
That piqued Harper’s interest. “I’m sure Andy and I will get along just fine.”
Harper left the chief’s office. Some of the firefighters slept on cots, others ate in the kitchen or hung out in the garage.
“Yo Grant!” Firefighter Samson called.
“Hey,” she said.
“If you were a man, would you go for Shakira or J-Lo?”
“Shakira.”
“Nice!”
“But J-Lo’s got that ass,” Firefighter Jacobs said.
“Yea but Shakira’s butt is on remote control, she can shake it in any direction,” Harper said.
“Oh you got a point there,” Samson agreed.
The guys drooled over Shakira’s new YouTube video. Harper’s cell rang. She grinned when she saw the number.
“Girl!”
“Hallooo darling!”
Harper laughed at Emerson’s fake British accent.
“Hey sunshine, you made it home yet?”
“Yeah, I was in town all of two minutes when I got pulled over.”
Her voice sounded so irate, Harper could just picture the cute strawberry blonde with the pixie face. Pulled over?
“For what?”
“My music.”
“Oh that stupid noise ordinance. I swear the city council has collectively lost their ever loving minds.” Harper huffed. “They’ve passed a bunch of so called laws lately. I wanna bash them all over the head.”
Harper leaned against her rig, ambulance 41. She loved being outside, feel the sun on her face, watch the small town come to life. Tourists strolled in and out of quaint antique shops. The Red Hat Senior Ladies Club were having brunch in the park gazebo.
Emerson said, “Hey back to my cop or should I say yours?”
Harper growled, it was a reflex reaction. “Thor?”
“Yup, why didn’t you tell me how freaking gorgeous he is?”
Harper inwardly groaned. “Eew, take that back.”
“Donavan McClain is fine as vintage wine.”
Harper didn’t know how to handle the burning jealousy that felt like a kick to the stomach. “That’s it, you’re fired. I’m rescinding my friendship effective immediately.”
Emerson wasn’t fooled. “Harper, when was the last time you really looked at him?”
“When he yelled in my face just the other day, he’s a Neanderthal, a caveman, a f-ugly Viking.”
“Forget I said anything.”
Harper grunted. She pressed her rig’s siren. “Oh, gotta go, see you babe.”
“Bye sugar.”
Harper ended the call. She leaned against the ambulance and tried to breathe. She could handle the Kimbers of this world but if Donavan took up with her good friend she didn’t know how to cope with it.
Donavan decided it was high time someone shook up the unflappable Mayor Dylan Chambers. They were really close back in high school. Ever since Dyl went into politics he became lifeless, there was no fire in the belly. Donavan remembered how it was between Dylan and Emerson back in the day. He wondered if the spark was still there? Only one way to find out. He mischievously crashed Dylan’s lunch date with his mother.
Donavan strolled on in to The Dixie Pixie. The bell chimed over the door. The waitress, Miss Viola, waved a greeting. “Hey Officer McClain!”
“Hey Miz Vi.” Donavan pulled up a chair to their booth, uninvited.
“Good afternoon Mrs. Chambers.”
“Hi Donavan sweetie, how are you?”
“Mighty fine.”
“And your dad?”
“Fat n’ sassy.”
She smiled. “Give him my regards.”
“Will do.”
“Hey Mr. Mayor.”
“Don, what’s up?”
“Guess who I just pulled over?”
“Who?” Dylan asked.
“Oh, someone famous?” Ava chimed in.
Dylan took a long sip of sweet tea.
“Emerson Riley.”
Dylan choked. Donavan pounded him on the back. “You okay bro?”
“Who’s Emerson Riley?” Ava asked.
Slow Burn: A Texas Heat Novel Page 3