by Kaliana Cole
Jory called the funeral home and notified the lawyer in town of his father’s passing. The quicker everything was settled, the quicker everyone could get on with living. By the time he had finished with his calls, Bailey had run a tub of steaming water and poured a generous measure of whiskey in a glass. He stripped and slid into the hot water. Bailey pulled up a footstool and sat at his back, leaning over the edge of the old claw-foot tub with her arm draped across his chest. He swirled and sipped the liquor, welcoming the burn.
“The phone is going to start ringing soon.” Bailey’s voice was quiet, her breath warm on his shoulder.
“Not tonight it won’t. I left it off the hook.”
“People mean well, Jory. They just want to know if they can do anything for you.”
“I know, but I just want a little peace and quiet at the moment.” He felt Bailey stiffen and go to withdraw her arm. He swiftly took hold of her hand, anchoring it where it was. “Not you, baby. I want you right where you are. I have never had anyone to lean on before. I mean, in this place there’s always someone there if you need a hand, but I have never had anybody to simply be there. I’d watch men go home to their wives or girlfriends after a shitty day instead of to the bar and think they were pussy whipped”—Jory sipped the amber liquid, trying to find the words—“but coming home to you today showed me just what I’ve been missing. I’m glad you’re here, Bailey. I’m sorry it has taken so long for me to give in. If I knew just how right it feels to come home to you, I would never have turned you away all those years ago.”
The soft press of lips to his shoulder closed his eyes. He felt Bailey take a deep breath before she spoke. “No regrets, Jory. You were right. I was a kid. I needed to get out and live. I’ve got a beautiful little boy, and I know who I am now and what I want. My life hasn’t been easy, and the rough stuff isn’t over yet, but whatever it brings now, I know I’ve got you.
“Did you think it only cut one way, that you were the big tough man that had to be there for the little woman?”
Jory smiled ruefully. “That’s the way I was raised.”
“I wasn’t. I grew up without a dad, but I had Pete and I had you. And you both taught me that things cut both ways. If I wanted respect, I had to give it. If I wanted a friend, I had to be one.”
“And the only thing I thought you learned from us was how to wrap us around your little finger.”
“That cut both ways, too. I was only a brat because you indulged it.”
“And now?”
“Now I do it because you wouldn’t know what to do with me if I acted any other way. Would you like it if I suddenly became miss-goody-two-shoes, jumping to your every wish?”
Jory chuckled. Like that was ever going to happen. “Sometimes I could hope.”
“Hope is a virtue.”
“Just in vain, huh?”
“I knew you’d understand.” Her lips caressed his shoulder as she stood. “I’m going to put some dinner on.”
Jory sat there for a while, lost in thought. Bailey was the best thing that had ever happened to him. There had been plenty of times over the years he’d wished she had picked Ty to go to. He’d been standing right there beside him at the fair when Grace Verne’s pig-tailed little girl had come over with blood running down her shin and tears in those big blue eyes. But she had chosen him.
Fate was a fickle bitch. It had just taken so damn long for the fifteen years between them to mean nothing. He felt like a monster when he thought that the little girl he’d picked up, bandaged, and returned to her mother twenty-five years ago was the same person as the woman he’d tied up and flogged last night. The same one he’d been sleeping with for the last five days.
Five days. He couldn’t believe it was only that short of a time. Bailey felt like a part of him, vital and necessary to his very existence. She showed him just how empty his life had been without her. He’d move heaven and earth to keep her with him now.
He tossed back the rest of the whiskey and rose from the bath. As he dried himself he noticed a pack of tampons on the bench. He smiled as he put them in the drawer. That must be Bailey’s subtle way of letting him know it was that time of the month. He wasn’t feeling that way inclined at the moment anyway, but it was a hell of a shame to waste a wax job.
* * * *
Bailey stood at Jory’s side for the simple graveside service, her hand meshed with his. The whole town had turned out to say good-bye to Grant Raines. Bailey knew most of them were here for Jory. A small cluster from the logging company Grant had worked for were the only people Bailey didn’t know on sight. Andy, the Whelans, Beth, Ron, and Joe made up the front row. Behind them the Keenans, Danny Blake and Jack Taylor from the garage, Aiden, the Marshalls, and then she nearly fell over as she spotted Connie Jamieson with her ten-year-old son standing tall and straight beside her.
The last time Bailey had seen Connie had been across another grave. They had laid Connie’s husband Jake to rest in a spot not twenty yards away. That had been four years ago. Bailey remembered travelling through driving snow to make the funeral and heading straight back to Denver afterward. Nathan had only just been weaned, and she hadn’t liked being away from him.
She had never seen a love like that of the Jamiesons. Jake had returned out of the blue with a young bride from Montana and taken her to his beef cattle spread up in the hills. Connie had devoted her life to the man with the same absolute certainty that had gripped Jake the first time he had laid eyes on Connie. She wondered how Connie had found the will to go on after losing him, but looking at the replica of Jake standing beside Connie now, Bailey could understand.
The closing of the service brought Bailey’s attention back to Jory. She stood at his side as he thanked the preacher and the people filed past to give their condolences. Most would head for the bar and raise a glass or two to Grant Raines. Others had to return to work. Jory had an appointment with his father’s lawyer.
Bailey stopped outside the door, beside the lawyer’s shingle. “It’s your business, Jory. I can wait down at the diner.”
“I want you to come.”
His pale blue eyes held the plea that wasn’t in his simple words. Bailey couldn’t refuse. “Okay.” She walked in through the door he held open.
Hector Prior hadn’t beaten them back to the office by much. His rotund face was still florid from the two-hundred-yard hike. He waved them through to the inner office. He didn’t have a receptionist. His wife sometimes came in to help in that capacity, but she wasn’t in today.
“Jory, welcome. Take a seat. Bailey.” His nod was suitably somber. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
He sat himself behind the desk with the huffing and puffing of a man with high blood pressure, sixty extra pounds, and a wary tightness around the eyes that made Bailey hold Jory’s hand a little firmer. “Your father’s will was very straightforward and worded in such a way that there can be no contesting. His possessions, including the house and land and vehicles registered in his name, are bequeathed to one Dale McCabe. All personal effects are yours to, and I quote, ‘keep, burn or give away, I won’t give a shit’.”
Bailey felt Jory freeze. “Dale McCabe? I have never even heard Dad mention him.”
The way Hector blew the air out of his lungs had Bailey bracing once more. He reached into a manila folder and pulled out an envelope. “Grant didn’t want me to explain it. He just asked me to give you this. That’s it, Jory. I’d like your keys by the end of the week if it is not too much trouble.”
Bailey rose beside Jory and followed him from the room. The way Hector was tugging at his collar made Bailey think Jory had taken it better than the red-faced man had expected.
In the Jeep, Jory opened the envelope and withdrew a handwritten letter. Bailey watched his face. She saw surprise and pain, but only brief flashes. His poker face wasn’t quite so perfect now that she had spent so much time with him, or maybe he let his guard down around her now. She saw his eyes return to the top and reread the e
ntire page.
He passed it to her and started the vehicle. “Jory, this is personal,” she protested.
“Read it.” It wasn’t his “master and commander” voice, but it was damn close, only bleaker.
She let her eyes go to the sheet.
Jory,
If you’re reading this, son, the mountain finally got me or I was unlucky enough to turn my toes up in bed.
By now old Hector would have told you what’s what. Bet that put a burr under his saddle. He thought you would rant and rave, but I know the man you are, and that ain’t your way.
You grew into a man I am proud to call son. I can’t take any responsibility for that, it was your mother’s doing, but I can say your Ma would be proud, too.
But some things a man has to take responsibility for, and I am doing it the only way left to me. I met a woman when I went to Washington when I got that first lot of long service leave. Rose was the first and only woman I so much as looked at after your Ma died.
She wouldn’t leave the city and move back here with me so I left. I tried to track her down after I came back. Took me years. I hired a PI in Washington, found out I had a little girl. Rose wouldn’t have anything to do with me. Wouldn’t let me have anything to do with little Dale. Ain’t that a funny name for a girl? Anyhow, Rose wouldn’t even take money to help bring her up. I put every cent that was rightfully theirs into an account. They are the reason I have kept working instead of taking retirement.
I kept tabs on them and found out Rose died when Dale was nineteen. Both of my children lost their mothers at the same age, talk about a cruel coincidence. I don’t know what kind of poison Rose filled Dale with, but she wouldn’t accept me or my money either. So I am leaving her that damn house so she will know that I did care and I am the kind of man that takes care of what is his.
You don’t need my house or my money, son.
I am real proud of what you have made of yourself, Jory. I just hope you find the special woman who makes it all worthwhile, because living alone in that big place you built ain’t really living.
Go down to Denver and haul that little wildcat home that used to follow you around. She’s the only thing I ever saw that made you smile.
And if you do meet your sister, and she is ready to listen, can you tell her my side of the story?
Your proud father,
Grant.
Bailey blinked back tears. The taciturn old man had deserved more of her respect than she had ever shown him. She wasn’t surprised when Jory drove straight through town and home. She needed time to digest things—she could only imagine what Jory was thinking.
“Was I the only one who didn’t see that you were the one for me?”
That wasn’t what she had expected to hear first. “Apparently so.”
“Why did he have to do this, Bailey? I could have gone on quite happily thinking he was a cranky old fool who didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. Turns out the old bastard had a heart after all.”
“What are you going to do about Dale?”
“What is there to do? Hector gets in contact with her, and it’s in her court from there. If she comes here, I’ll deal with it then. If she just sells the joint, I won’t have to. I’m not going to chase her. It sounds like Dad did enough of that.”
“It’s kind of scary thinking that there’s a girl version of you running around out there somewhere. She probably dresses in black and carries a whip.”
Bailey was relieved to see him truly smile for the first time in days. “Grant was right, you know. You are the only thing that puts a smile on my face. I didn’t realize how much of a grumpy bastard I was until you came back.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my grumpy bastard now.” Bailey leaned over and kissed him as he pulled up in front of the cabin.
“Come on, brat. Let’s get inside. I feel a need for some of that life-affirming, after-funeral sex people talk about.”
Bailey raced him to the bed.
Chapter 7
“Nathan is a great kid. You should be proud of him.”
Bailey turned to where Jory stood at the window, looking out over Denver from their hotel room. “I am. It’s a shame he looks so much like Mark.”
“I saw plenty of you in him, brat. He’s got your eyes and the same mischievous little grin you still get.”
“I was pretty proud of the stunt with the beetle. You wouldn’t think the little shit knew just how scared of bugs that woman was.”
Michele, Mark’s new wife, had supervised the visit, which they’d had at a park. Nathan had whispered a “watch this” to Bailey when they’d found the poor hapless creature climbing up a tree, before running up to the woman with a “look what I found, ’Chele.” The woman had damn near had a heart attack, screeching loud enough to startle the birds from the trees. Nathan had stood there with innocence painted all over his little face and watched her reaction with glee.
Jory laughed. “I don’t think that one will be around long if Nathan has anything to do with it.”
Bailey glanced at the clock, which only showed half of seven. “What time are we heading out?”
“Not until nine. Even that’s early. These places don’t start hopping until midnight. Are you getting nervous?” Bailey could see the concern in his eyes. “We don’t have to do this.”
“I know, but if it is the only way to see you in those leather pants I saw in your bag, I’m in.”
A wicked smile graced his lips. “Not until after dinner. Do you want to eat out or in?”
“I don’t want to eat at all with what I’m wearing tonight.”
“I saw that little scrap of Lycra. Is that supposed to be a dress?”
“It is, and it is completely unforgiving of large meals. I’d prefer to wait until we get back.”
“I’ve got other plans for when we get back.”
Bailey smiled at the heat in his gaze. “You’ll just have to feed me first.”
“Why don’t you start getting ready? I’ll still have enough time to eat and be dressed and ready before you’re ready to go.”
“It doesn’t take me that long. Well, not quite anyway,” Bailey amended at the look of disbelief Jory shot her. “Okay, okay! I’m going.”
Jory was right. He had eaten and was already dressed and waiting when she put the last lick of mascara on and gave a final adjustment to her dress. The stretchy white fabric had grand delusions of aspiring to be a dress, anyway. From the front and back it was quite decent. White and formfitting, it wasn’t too low in the neck or too high in the thigh-hugging skirt. But the front and back panels were only joined by thin laces every so often that spanned the four-inch gap between the two halves. Underwear wasn’t an option.
She was glad for every hour she had found to bask in the sun by the river. The flesh visible down her sides was lightly tanned with the contrast of the snowy fabric. The stretchy bodice was tight enough to give her breasts a bit of a flattering boost, but perkiness was never a problem with Jory about. The damn things sat up and begged whenever he was near.
She grabbed a long-line leather coat from the bedroom and went to find Jory. And those leather pants she had yet to see.
He was getting a drink from the minibar when she walked in, and her jaw damn near hit the ground. The man was fucking magnificent. The buttery soft leather of his pants cupped his mouthwatering ass like a loving hand. Fine black cotton draped the width of his broad shoulders and enhanced the long line of his back. The shirt was of a shorter length and tapered, not to be tucked in, but sat at a flattering hip height and didn’t hide his ass. The black boots beneath his pants were made for sin.
The look on his face when she reached it was gratifying, damn gratifying. He looked as pole-axed as she felt.
“Christ, I can’t take you anywhere looking like that! You’re going to cause a riot.”
“I’m not the only one. I want you to stop at the park on the way. I’m going to need a really big stick to keep all the skank-hoes away
from you. No one gets to touch you, Jory, no one.”
“Possessive, aren’t we?”
“Don’t you forget it. Turn around.” A growl rumbled in her throat as he put his hands out to the side and did a slow pirouette. He didn’t look a day over thirty until you looked at his eyes. There was no way a thirty-year-old could have all the wicked knowledge the pale blues shined with. “Two sticks. I’m gonna need one for each hand.”
“Come here.” His beckoning finger felt like it was buried deep inside her as he encouraged her closer. Big hands came to rest on her sides, branding them both with the heat. “I’m all yours, baby. And I’m glad Beau finished my collar, because there is no way you are walking out that door without it.” He reached to the counter and picked up a box. A blue velvet jeweler’s box. Bailey’s heart pounded as he opened it. Antique silver and black onyx flanked the darkest blue sapphire she had ever seen. “Will you wear my collar, Bailey? Not just now, but always?”
She hesitated, caught by the “always.” She loved Jory with all her soul, but she wouldn’t give up being her own person for anybody. She saw the flash of pain her indecision caused—an unperceivable tightening of his jaw. She laid her hands along the firm, tense, smooth-shaven line, wanting to take away his pain. “I love you, Jory. Never doubt that. You told me I had to behave a certain way when I’m wearing your collar, and I love our play time, but it would kill something in me to do that twenty-four-seven. I would lose a part of me.”
“I’d lose a part of me, too, Bailey. I wouldn’t have you any other way than just how you are. We have gone beyond that stupid list I wrote. None of the rules apply anymore.”
“None of them? That’s disappointing.” She dropped her hands to rest on the thick column of his neck. “I like your rules when it’s time to play.” She tugged insistently until he lowered his head. She kissed him gently, mindful of her makeup. “If it means I can still be me, Jory, I’d love to wear your collar.”