by Sarah Curtis
Deputy Williams flipped a switch in the back and the melody to "When You Wish Upon a Star" filled the room.
"Does it open?" Cole asked, pointing to a hairline crack down the middle.
"There's another switch back here." The deputy said.
"Flip it," said the sheriff.
The egg split apart and in the center was a small ballerina. "What the hell?" Abby was pretty sure that was said by Cole, but her attention was so riveted on what was in front of her, she barely paid notice. Everyone seemed to lean in a bit closer to get a better look.
A delicately thin piece of rope was tied around the ballerina's crossed ankles and short pieces dangled from each wrist. The eyes were covered with a blindfold. Abby took a step back from the table, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt a sudden chill as if the temperature had just dropped twenty degrees in the room, but knew the coldness didn't come from without, it came from within. She wouldn't panic, but she couldn't help the slight tremble of fear coiling in her belly.
Cole's deep, demanding voice vibrated through the small room. She tuned into the conversation, realizing she must have missed part of it. "So what? We're supposed to sit around twiddling our fucking thumbs until he does something that puts Abby's life in danger? I don't fucking think so, Sam. You and John need to do your jobs and find this asshole."
The deputy took an angry step in Cole's direction, pointer finger out. "Fuck you, Cole, don't tell us how to do our jobs. At least we aren't washed up–"
"Enough!" the sheriff intervened with a yell. He looked at the deputy, "John that's not helping." He looked at Cole. "I know you're upset. We're doing everything we can to find this guy. In the meantime, we'll all keep a tighter watch on Abby. We won't give him a chance to hurt her and eventually he will fuck up."
She saw Cole's chest rise and fall as he took a deep breath probably in an effort to control his anger. She took the few steps to his side, placing her hand on his arm to get his attention. "Will you take me home now?"
All traces of anger melted from his face as he looked down at her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, kissing her on the forehead. "Yeah, let's get out of here."
* * * * *
"Talk to you a minute, Cole?" Sam asked, taking hold of Cole's arm to stop him from continuing down the hall.
"Now's not really a good time, Sheriff." It came out with more bite than he'd intended, still upset at what he'd just seen and pissed at John for being an ass.
"It'll only take a minute. It's important."
Cole read the note of gravity in his expression, the hard set of his jaw, the thin line of his lips, the glint in his eye, and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.
Abby had stopped halfway down the hall and had turned to look at him. He gave her a chin lift. "Give me just a second, Darlin'."
"Come into my office," Sam said, holding the door open for Cole.
Cole gave him a brief nod as he slipped through the door, taking a seat in one of the chairs sitting in front of the big, oaken desk.
"This is a picture of my daughter, Rachel, taken 6 years ago right before she disappeared."
Cole took the picture the sheriff held out. Pretty girl, long brown hair, blue eyes. She had a similarity to Sam but what worried him most was the similarity to Abby. Not that they could ever be confused for one another, but he knew to a sick, twisted mind like the guy they were dealing with, the similarities would be enough.
"I never believed she ran away." The sheriff collapsed into his chair looking defeated and older than the forty-seven years Cole knew him to be. "She was a good girl. I know all parents say that, but in her case it was true. Good grades, head cheerleader, always helping the community.
"She dated a few boys here and there but mostly hung out with her friends. She was a good girl," he stressed, once again, "and would never have run away." Leaning forward in his chair, he placed his elbows on his knees, looking down at his feet. "But I couldn't find her. I couldn't..." His voice broke.
Cole looked away, out the window that had an uninteresting view of the parking lot, giving him a moment to compose himself.
The steel in the Sheriff's voice drew Cole's attention back. "When Abby first started getting the gifts, I couldn't help but recognize the similarities between her and my daughter. It made me wonder if Rachel had gotten gifts but if she did, she never mentioned them. If it's the same man stalking Abby that took my daughter, maybe we can figure out a pattern, find out who this guy is."
"Why are you just now showing me this?" Anger coursed through his veins at the thought of this missing puzzle piece he wasn't previously offered.
"I've been working the angle, but now felt this knowledge was pertinent."
He made his hands into fists and took a deep breath. Fighting with him at this juncture would be a complete waste of valuable time the sheriff could be using to find this guy. He slid back his chair and stood. "You'll call me as soon as you get any information?"
"Yes."
"I mean anything, Sam. I don't care what the fuck it is, I want to know everything." He didn't wait for the sheriff's response, just strode out the door.
* * * * *
Abby opened her eyes to a view she was becoming increasingly familiar with. Same wall holding the same window that housed the same blinds. Only now instead of disorientating, she found the view comforting. The only thing missing was the male presence with his strong, masculine arm hugging her around her waist that was usually at her back.
She rolled over, finding Cole's side of the bed empty. She flung out her arm. The sheet was cold. Bright sunlight filled the room, and she sat up, reaching for her phone on the nightstand so she could check the time. Quarter after eight. Not too late, but later than she liked to get up on a weekday.
After making a pit stop in the bathroom, she threw on a pair of jeans under the T-shirt of Cole's she'd slept in and padded barefoot down the stairs in search of her elusive bed partner.
He wasn't in the kitchen but half a pot of coffee was, and she greedily poured herself a large cup. She took a grateful sip, cupping the mug close to her lips as she slowly and carefully trekked her way into the living room. The set of French doors, bringing in warm sunlight drew her attention, and she made her way to them on autopilot desperate to soak up some of the heat. What she saw when she looked through the glass, held her spellbound.
Cole, sitting atop a big, black horse, his face shaded by the brim of his cowboy hat, every visible muscle flexing as he worked. The sunlight glistened off the light perspiration that covered his forearms, calling attention to his glove covered hands—hands that created such delicious magic when they touched her body—wrapped loosely in the reins, controlling the powerful beast.
Her vision grew blurry, and she was embarrassed to note her breath had caused condensation fog on the glass from how close her face had grown to the windowpane, eyes straining to get a better look at Cole.
She opened the door, taking a step out into the bright summer morning that warmed her chilled, house-cooled skin. Lucky appeared, tied to a long rope attached to a porch rail, yapping at her feet. But her attention was still solely affixed to the man atop his mighty steed inside the corral.
She wasn't sure how long she watched before he noticed her, calling her to him with a curl of his finger that she blindly obeyed without a seconds hesitation. Was she that enamored of him? She didn't care, let him know she was at his beck and call, the rewards were worth it.
Placing her coffee cup on the porch railing, she made her way to the corral, the rough planks of the porch turning into warm, soft dirt under her feet. He'd dismounted by the time she'd reached him, his long strides eating the distance to the enclosed fence.
He removed his hat, wiping his brow on his sleeve and raking his hair back before replacing it. He gave her a knowing smirk. "You like seeing me sweaty and dusty?" He pulled off his gloves, shoving them into a back pocket.
She shrugged, refusing to take his bait. "I like seeing you."
His eyes traveled to her bare feet. "Climb in."
Abby eyed the fence. Although it was tall, at least five feet, it only consisted of three rails going up. One about a foot off the ground and one at the top with a rail going through the middle leaving at least a two-foot gap she could easily slip through. Next, she eyed the giant horse standing patiently in the center of the corral.
Following the direction of her eyes, Cole looked over his shoulder then back to her. "That's Blue. Been working with him a few months now. He'll be a perfect gentleman."
She hesitated one last second before slipping through the rails. Cole took her hand. "Come on." He guided her slowly toward the stallion, and Abby had a feeling it was more for her benefit than the horse's.
"Blue, this is Abby. Abby this is Blue," he said, stroking the shiny mane. "Hold out your hand so he can smell your scent."
She tentatively held out her hand. She wasn't sure why she was so leery, other than the fact, she stood in front of an animal taller than her by a good foot and weighed god knows how many more pounds than she did.
She felt pressure on the back of her neck as he guided her to the side of the horse. "If you're unfamiliar with a horse, you'll want to approach and mount it from the left side. Grab the reins and a large portion of the mane with your left hand."
"Won't that hurt the horse?"
"No. Horses don't have nerve endings at the base of their hairs like we do. They feel the pressure of the tug, but it doesn't hurt them. When mounting, if done correctly, most of the force should come from your legs, using the mane only to keep your balance."
"Why not use that little knob thingy on the saddle?"
Cole gave her a smile. "That's called a horn, and you don't want to use it to mount because that will cause the saddle to slip harming the horses back. Watch me."
Cole put his left foot into the stirrup and executing a little hop, swung his right leg up and over the back of the horse. The horse didn't move a muscle, and Cole made the whole process look ridiculously easy.
He effortlessly swung himself down. "I don't want you mounting from the ground though, either I'll help you up, or you'll mount from a block. You're too short and don't have enough leg strength so will either hurt yourself or the horse if you try."
Abby nodded because what he said made sense, not that she could ever see herself willingly mounting a horse. She squeaked as Cole lifted her by the waist nearly throwing her over the horse, tossing all her plans of never mounting a horse out the window. "Hey," she yelled, but he was behind her in the saddle before she could demand he pull her off. She quickly changed her mind, losing her fear when his arms and legs surrounded her, feeling secure even though, from up on the horse's back, the ground looked a long way down.
His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest. "You always want to keep your back straight," he said in the sexy-gravel voice she loved so much. "You want to keep your hold on the reins light, most direction will come from your legs. A gentle squeezing of your knees while leaning slightly forward will prompt the horse to walk."
His thighs squeezed her about the hips as his hand found the hem of her shirt, sneaking under to caress the bare skin of her belly. Her heartbeat picked up speed, and it wasn't just because the horse started moving at a slow pace.
"Remember, you always want to sit square in the saddle, back straight but remain relaxed."
His voice drifted into her ear, but she could hardly pay attention as his fingers unbuttoned her jeans and wiggled down the zipper. The rough, calloused tip of a single finger played along the edge of her panties, tickling the delicate skin of her abdomen and caused goose bumps to break out along her arms. She forgot all about keeping her back straight and slumped against his chest.
"Back straight, head up," was said in a low growl.
Fingers dived under the waistband of her panties, skimming through her folds.
"So wet for me." His fingers dived deeper, lightly stroking at her entrance. "Are you sore?"
She was a little tender but no chance in hell, she was going to admit that. What he was doing felt too good.
"Cat got your tongue, Little Mouse?" A single finger entered her, curling to hit just the right spot.
She ground the back of her head into his shoulder and clutched at his thighs.
"Tell me, Little Mouse. Tell me to make you come."
Oh so slowly, that single finger stroked up through her folds, finding and circling her clit before slowly gliding back down. Up, circle, down. So agonizingly slow. The pressure of his fingers along with the rocking motion of the horse bringing her so close to the edge.
His lips found the exposed skin at her neck, driving her crazy with his tongue and his teeth. "Please." God, she was so close.
He licked a path up her neck to her ear, capturing her lobe between his teeth before whispering, "Tell me."
"Please," she panted. "Please make me come."
His finger found her again while his thumb circled her clit at a steady pace. She clutched at his thighs harder while her body soared higher.
"That's it, love, come for me." His teeth grazed the juncture where her neck met her shoulder, and he bit. Then she shattered.
Chapter Eighteen
Abby watched her hands shake in the mirror as she executed a complicated twist in her hair. It was the first day of school, and she was nervous. Having only been a substitute teacher, she'd never had her own class before and worried what the kids would think of her.
She secured her hair with a few strategically placed bobby pins to keep the whole thing from toppling down her back then headed out to her living room where Cole waited for her. When she'd mentioned she needed to go home to get ready for work, he'd insisted on accompanying her, then proceeded to inform her he would drive her to the school.
They'd spent a relaxing weekend mostly in bed, but she'd also learned a few things about Coleman Garrison. First, he was insatiable. His cock—she blushed just thinking the word, but Cole had insisted she call it that, stating the word penis made him cringe, which Abby promptly laughed at him for—always at attention. He informed her he'd never had that problem until he'd met her. She wasn't sure she believed him, but it was fun to pretend.
Next, he liked scary movies. Not being a fan, she'd curled herself up at his side, burying her face in his chest every few minutes. He'd later informed her that was why he liked them so much. She didn't like to think about how he discovered he liked them so much nor how many women he'd snuggled up to while watching them, so again, pretended she didn't hear that part.
Last, he was a lot more famous than she'd realized, and she discovered this when she stumbled across a small study at the back of his house. Granted, she didn't know how famous his was because she didn't follow the rodeo scene, but any who did were sure to know Cole. Trophies, awards, and belt buckles lined the shelves while news articles and photos lined the walls. So many photos. Cole riding horses and bulls, Cole holding up the trophies he had on display, and pictures of him with other cowboys, his arm always firmly around some random girl. She pretended not to see those as well.
She'd been pretending about so many things the last few days, she was starting to wonder what was real. When had she turned into this girl? Granted this was her first relationship, there was bound to be a learning cu
rve, but why did the thought of Cole with other women have to hurt so bad? She also wondered how it would feel, becoming one of his women that got cast aside.
"I'm ready to go." She came to a halt in the middle of the living room to concentrate on fastening the band of her wristwatch.
Cole moved her fingers away and deftly did up the clasp. "Darlin', you know I think you're beautiful and sexy no matter what you've got on, but when you dress in your schoolteacher duds, it's hard to control the urge to throw you over the closest piece of furniture and fuck you hard."
Not really paying attention, still lost in thought, Abby barely smiled.
Cole's fingers tilted her chin so she had no choice but to look at him. "Hey, what's wrong, love?"
It was the endearment—an endearment he'd taken to calling her more often lately—that had her blurting, "How many women have you said that to?" She suddenly didn't feel well, dreading his response. A lead bubble seemed to sink into the pit of her stomach, making her nauseous, her throat clogged, making it difficult to swallow, and her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. She blinked rapidly, willing her eyes to dry and the tears not to fall.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she quickly held up her hand. "Wait! Don't say anything. I don't really want to know the answer." Because if she knew the answer, she could no longer live in her pretend world.
Cole took her by the hand and led her to the couch, pressing her shoulder, so she would sit. He squatted in front of her, clasping both her hands. "I've wanted to talk to you about this for a while now, the timing just never seemed right."
Abby peeked at her watch. "We really should get going. School will be starting soon, and I don't want to be late for my first day of class."
"We've got time still, and what I have to say won't take long. You said something the other day, about me having hundreds of women. I should have cleared up that misconception then, but I didn't want to talk about other women right after the first time I made love to you."