Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9)

by Smartypants Romance

  “Should we help Maura put the boys to bed?” she questions.

  “Probably,” I mutter but don’t move to lead her upstairs. Instead, I whisper, “Put me to bed, darlin’.”

  “Where?”

  I slip my hand down to hers and lead her through the dining room, across the kitchen, and into a room kept for me. It isn’t large or flashy—just a bed with a nightstand and a small lamp. I don’t need anything else in here, but I need this woman.

  “This isn’t just sex,” I say to her, reaching for her blouse and fumbling with the tiny buttons in my thick fingers.

  “Okay,” she replies, watching me undo her shirt.

  “I need you in my bed. Not just occasionally, but all the time, Scotia. Do you understand what I’m saying, darlin’?”

  She looks up at me with those silvery eyes. “You want us to be together?”

  “On the regular,” I clarify. “Dates. Dinner. Sleepovers. Preferably nightly.”

  Scotia softly laughs as I brush back her shirt, revealing a pretty peach-colored bra. My woman loves pretty things. “I really like you like this,” she says.

  “I really like you,” I say and then lower my mouth to hers, tired of talking and thinking and other -ing thing. The only thing I want is to be with this woman.

  Chapter 30

  Pillow Talk

  [Scotia]

  After spending the night at Harper House, I woke early, leaving a sleeping Chet in his bed to have a long talk with Maura. I’d already planted a seed with her a few weeks back, and finding Omari solidified my plan. The boys were going to be moved to an alternative placement until a family member could be contacted, and emotional evaluations given. It broke my heart to learn they were leaving Harper House, but the house was only licensed for six, and Omari made number seven. No one wanted to separate the brothers now that they’d found each other again, so they left together. However, I was confident I’d see them soon.

  Within two days, the Green Valley Ledger highlighted the news of a woman found in the valley who kidnapped two boys. Their identities will remain protected until they are reunited with their family. If there is family, I consider. Hennessy Miller’s life was splashed across the pages, along with the sad history of her husband and sons perishing in the automobile accident near the valley. The article explains how she will be charged with two counts of child abduction, again without mentioning the boys’ names, but it did include their ages—nine and six.

  I climb the stairs to my room and slip out of my clothes after the second day of restlessness. I’ve had trouble concentrating on work and spent hours on the phone. I pull on a favorite nightie and slide into my bed. I miss Chet, but he’s had so much on his mind as well. He’s working with authorities to figure out how Malik and Omari were abducted. He’s leaving the emotional welfare of the boys up to Maura and Veronica, and it’s just as well because I don’t want him to know my plans until they are solidified.

  I quickly drift off to sleep but toss and turn, restless and anxious for some reason. I’ve never felt so out of control. Malik and Omari. Chet. Harper House.

  At some point, I wake with a start, sensing the presence of someone in the room.

  “Karl?” I call out although it’s a silly reaction. Not only has he been dead all these years, but I’ve also never felt haunted by him.

  “How is it you’re always calling out his name in my presence, darlin’?”

  I shift at the too-familiar male voice and glance toward the door. A large, able-bodied man stands inside the frame, leaning casually against the jamb with his arms and ankles crossed. I smile in spite of myself.

  “How did you get in here?” I ask, thinking I’m dreaming the beautiful, solid man taking up space in my bedroom doorframe.

  “Picked the lock,” he teases.

  “Do I even want to know?” I chuckle, turning completely on the bed to face him.

  “My past isn’t roses, darlin’,” he says, his voice turning serious. He’s told me about Davis and Harper, his foster home upbringings, and Hennessy Miller and the heartbreak of loving her. There can’t be too much else to shock me.

  “You’re a good man, Mr. Chesterfield,” I say, tucking my hands under my cheek as I stare at the outline of him.

  “What about the other guys?” he questions.

  “I think Chet has a heart of gold, and Big Poppy . . .” I shrug. “He has a nice tiny house.”

  Chet hangs his head and laughs. I reach out a hand, dangling my arm off the bed.

  “How come you’re so far away?” I ask, keeping my voice low. He presses off the jamb with the question and crosses to the edge of the bed. I roll to my back, keeping my eyes on him as he kicks off his shoes and untucks his shirt. He pulls it over his head by the back of the collar, and I hold my breath when I see the expanse of hair and the breadth of his pecs. He’s such a beautiful man. Solid in every way. Physique and heart.

  He crawls over me but tumbles onto his back next to me, and I rotate to face him. He has something on his mind, and I wait for him to speak.

  “Henny’s been charged with two counts of child abduction.”

  I sigh. “I read that in the paper.”

  “She confessed to taking the boys off a school lot. They were sitting outside after hours. They lived in the same neighborhood. Her boys didn’t go to the public school, but Malik and Omari had heard of them.”

  My heart patters in my chest. It’s frightful to consider.

  “Their parents are dead. Killed in a small aircraft accident. Their closest relative was a great aunt on the mother’s side, so the state asked her to take them in. She’s in her eighties and did it for the money. She’d forgotten them at school.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” I whisper. How do you forget two small children? My heart hammers harder, upset on their behalf.

  “Henny admitted she offered the boys a ride when she saw them on the school steps. It’s how she got them in the car.”

  Goodness.

  “Malik didn’t want to take the ride, but Omari was sick. It was raining, and he didn’t want to walk home in the rain.”

  Though frightening, it’s an honest mistake. If the boys thought she was someone’s trusted mother, well . . .

  “Did Malik confess these things?” I ask, surprised by what I’m learning but equally surprised Malik spoke.

  “He wrote it out on paper. He’s being assessed for speech although the social worker believes he can talk. He’s just traumatized. His parents’ death. Living with an elderly aunt. Kidnapping. Running away. Losing his brother.” Chet exhales. It certainly is a lot for a little person. For any person.

  “How did he get away from Henny? Why did he leave?”

  “The deputy and forensic investigator have made up a scenario. They both think he saw an opportunity to escape and hoped to get help. Maybe got lost and wandered up the mountain until the boys found him. He didn’t know where he’d come from or how to get back to his brother. Chances are, he thought all hope of finding his brother was lost.”

  “Poor precious,” I whisper, and Chet turns his head to face me.

  “He’s going to need a lot of psychological help, which we can’t offer at Harper House.”

  I understand. I do. Maura has explained.

  “I don’t like it,” I say, keeping my voice quiet as I swallow the lump in my throat. The boys are being moved again, and with Chet revealing the great aunt, I panic. “Will they be returned to their aunt?”

  “No. One strike against her is her age. She already lost them once, proving she had difficulty caring for them, and then, she never reported it. It’s pretty clear she’s not capable of parenting two small boys. Chances are they’ll remain in the foster system, preferably together. Hopefully, they’ll get adopted, but these cases are hard, and they’ll have intense emotional scars to battle.”

  “They weren’t physically harmed?” I question, suddenly feeling sick to my stomach.

  “Not that we know of. Yet. Let’s hope for th
e best there, darlin’.” Chet shifts on the bed and mirrors my position. I’m lying on my right side, but he wiggles his finger into my hair and curls the strands he likes best around his finger, finding comfort in the movement, I suspect.

  “A group home isn’t ideal for every kid,” he says by way of explanation. “A single-family home is considered the best setup. But even then, I know the system can be rough.” He’s speaking of his personal experiences growing up. While he’s playing with my hair, I reach for his jaw, stroking over his beard with my fingertips. It’s almost time for a trim, though there seems to be no rhyme or reason for how or when he’ll do it. It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll take him either way—burly or bare—although I can’t imagine him without facial hair.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  One brow arches encouraging me to ask.

  “Why don’t you live with the boys all the time? Especially Davis’s sons.”

  “Darlin’, I should not be in charge of children.” He chuckles with the dismissive statement, but I disagree.

  “You’re amazing with those boys, and they need a strong male role model. You’ve shown them compassion, sacrifice, devotion, determination, and love.”

  Chet stares at me a few seconds before turning to face the ceiling and blowing out a breath.

  “You know, Scotia, you’re the first woman to know anything about those boys other than Maura.” He rolls his head to face me once more. “First woman to connect with them outside of her and Savannah.”

  I smile slowly, proud that I’m included on the list.

  “Remember when you said you didn’t want to share me with anyone and keep me all to yourself? That’s how I felt about them. I didn’t want to share them because I didn’t want anyone to hurt them. I couldn’t bring a woman into their life if she didn’t love them.”

  “I love them,” I blurt, enthusiasm filling my voice.

  Chet chuckles. “I know you do, darlin’, but let me finish. I couldn’t risk their hearts after losing their parents, and honestly, I didn’t trust a woman to love them like I do. I mean, Maura does and Savannah, too, but I mean someone along with me. Someone like a partner in life.”

  A partner in life. The words whisper through my head, but I stumble on the thought. I was Karl’s partner—we were equals, friends, comrades in our secret—but I wanted passion. I wanted purpose. I wanted love.

  “I see,” I whisper, and Chet rolls to face me.

  “Do you? Do you understand that it’s a risk to bring someone into their life? If that person leaves me, she leaves them, too, because I’m a package deal. You can’t have me without having them.”

  I stare at him, completely puzzled. “I don’t understand.” What is he saying to me? Is he breaking up with me? I just told him I love the boys. I understand he comes with them, and they come with him.

  “What I’m trying to say, and apparently not doing a good job of, is . . . I love you. I love that you love them. And they love you, and I’m hoping you might—”

  I cut him off with my mouth plastered to his. I rise up, partially covering his body and kiss him, over and over again. I turn my head to angle better, taking his lips with mine and sucking at him. My heart races. My mind blown.

  Then he chuckles against my mouth. “Darlin’?”

  I don’t let up. I need to kiss him. I need to feel him. My hands cup his face and stroke down his neck. My body is on the move, straddling him. My fingers find his chest and rake through the hairs on his firm pecs.

  “Baby,” he mutters, changing up the endearment, and I stop.

  “Say it again,” I whisper.

  “Baby?”

  “The other thing.”

  “I love you?” He softly chuckles, and my body vibrates over his. My hands cup both of his cheeks, and I lower my mouth toward his lips but stop just short of kissing him.

  “Say you belong to me,” I whisper to his lips.

  “I belong to you, darlin’. And you belong to me.”

  Tears threaten my eyes. “I love you, too,” I whisper with a soft breath, and he lifts his head, capturing my mouth and taking over control. I’m flipped to my back, and his hands wander up my sides, pushing up the nightie.

  “I love how you love pretty things, darlin’.” He returns to my mouth as his hand lifts the silky material until I’m naked. “But you’re the prettiest thing I like to look at.”

  He’s too much, and I can’t get enough. His mouth lowers to a breast, sucking at me, swirling his tongue around the nipple and then giving me a nip. I arch into him.

  “Again,” I groan, and he repeats the action on my other breast. While his mouth works my upper body, his fingers lower. Tender fingertips find sensitive skin, and he easily slips into me. I’m on sensory overload as he laves one part of me and teases the other.

  “Chet,” I groan, tugging at his hair. He smiles against my breast, rubbing his rough chin hair between the valley of them.

  “Gonna take my time tonight, darlin’. Gonna discover every part of you.”

  “You already know every part,” I tell him. My head tips to the side and I sigh at the movement of his fingers at my core. Oh God, that feels nice.

  “I want every part of you, Scotia. Body. Heart.”

  I turn my head back to him, meeting his eyes. “You have my heart, Chet.” I purr after he twists his fingers in a way I don’t recognize but appreciate. I have so much appreciation for his touch.

  “I like you like this,” he says, keeping his eyes on me while he lowers his mouth to a breast again.

  “I love you like this,” I admit. Chet moves down my body with those words, pressing open-mouth kisses along my skin until he gets to my center.

  “I—” I choke on whatever I intended to say to him as his tongue flattens, and he licks me. He’s tasted me before but not like this. Not by taking his time with me, torturing me, drawing out the deliciousness of his tongue over folds so sensitive and ready for him.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” I whimper.

  He laughs against me, and the vibration adds to the building tension. His tongue returns, and all thoughts are lost. I break apart, my body melting into the bed with the bliss of this man pleasuring me. Slowly, he lifts his body, holding himself up with one hand and undoing his pants with the other. He shoves them down only so far, and I hook my feet into the waistband, forcing them farther down his thighs.

  He holds himself outside of me, toying with me, dragging himself through a place ready to accept him.

  “You gonna be good to me, Chet Chester Chesterfield Big Poppy?” I flirt.

  “So good, darlin’. You just wait and see.”

  He slides into me with those words, filling me like he does, and I marvel that each and every time seems better than the last. It makes no sense. Then again, neither do we—the biker-bar-and-motel-owning oil man with a past and the socialite pickle princess—but we’re going to make it work.

  Because I’m Scotia Simmons, and I always get what I want.

  The next morning, I wake to the smell of bacon. Slipping a sweater over my nightie, I slide on thick socks and traipse down to the kitchen. Before me stands Chet clad in his jeans from the night before and a T-shirt. His backside is so fine in those pants, and the pull of his back muscles makes me want to curl into him. I hesitate only a second before walking up behind him and slipping my arms around his waist.

  Standing in my kitchen, I press a kiss to his broad back, and he stills under my lips. Our position feels intimate in a new way. We’ve had sex. We’ve cuddled. And now, we’ve shared tender moments and precious words. A big hand covers my forearms, and he rubs his warm palm down my skin.

  “Mornin’, darlin’.”

  “Good morning. How are you today?”

  “Feeling grateful,” he states, and he spins in my arms. “Which reminds me, Thanksgiving is in a few days. What are you doing for it?”

  “Oh, I . . . um . . . I didn’t really have plans. My Darlene is going to visit h
er new man’s family, and I don’t want to intrude on my sisters. This is their first year with their men.” Naomi and Nathan married last Christmas while Beverly and Jedd got engaged in the spring. They need time to continue basking in the glow of new love, and I don’t want to encroach, even though I know they’d both include me if I asked to attend dinner.

  “Come to dinner with me at the House, and then let me take you somewhere.” He isn’t asking as much as telling me, but I don’t mind.

  “Where?” I ask coyly, leaning into his chest.

  “Just something I do every Thanksgiving.” His head lowers, and he twists his lips from side to side as though he’s anxious about his invitation. I cup his jaw, lifting his heavy chin as best I can.

  “Whatever it is, I’m going to love it.”

  “I love you,” he says, his voice quiet, and I recall how I went into overdrive when I heard those words last night. Karl and I said them, but it was in more a casual, best friend manner. Love you, Scotia. Love you, too. The full phrase did not exist. There was no depth of meaning behind the words.

  “I love you,” I say, confident and louder than him. I tip up on my toes and press a kiss to him. Quickly, it heats, and as I try to pull back, he catches the back of my head to hold me to him.

  Suddenly, I’m being lifted by the backs of my thighs. A yelp escapes me as Chet takes two steps and sets me on the island across from the stove. His mouth comes close to mine, but he doesn’t kiss me.

  “I like how you kiss me,” he mutters.

  “And how’s that?” I question, breathing him in.

  “Like you can’t get enough of me.”

  “Hmm, that’s what I was thinking.”

  A crooked smile tips the corner of his mouth, and he closes the distance. Our mouths meld together, slowly savoring one another in a lazy morning connection. I’ll take these kinds of kisses any time of the day. My thighs spread, and he steps between my open legs. With my hands circling his neck, he slips his hands to my backside and tugs me to the edge of the counter. My heat meets his excitement, straining behind his zipper.