Break Every Rule

by Francis Ray

  There was no need to clarify. “She left me clean and in a new diaper and blanket in a hospital bathroom, with a note that said, ‘Keep him safe. I can’t. Tell him I loved him. I did, but he won’t remember.’ They think she was in an abusive situation. I work with a lot of kids. It’s no secret that I grew up in foster care. Isaac guessed right that my mother didn’t want me.”

  Indignation flashed in her eyes. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you. Isaac was trying to hurt you in the only area where he sees you as vulnerable, the only area he has something you don’t—a mother he knows. Don’t let him succeed.” Tears crested in her eyes. “Do you know how hard it must have been for her to give you up and not know if the people who found you would be kind, or indifferent, or cruel?”

  “Shush. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I don’t think about her very much anymore.”

  Dominique heard the words “very much” and she fought to keep tears from falling. “Did you ever try to find her when you were an adult?”

  “Yeah, but no luck.”

  “My cousin, Luke, might be abl—”

  “No,” Trent stated flatly. “It’s over.” As if to punctuate his words, he stood and sat her on her feet. “How about going to a movie, then out to dinner?”

  She lifted a brow. “Is that how you end a discussion when you don’t want to talk? By changing the subject?”

  “Seems it might not work with you.”

  He wasn’t ready, and she wasn’t about to push the issue. She knew how difficult the past could be to look back on. “It might if I can have buttered popcorn, a hot dog, and a large drink.”

  “You don’t come cheap.”

  “Nope, and don’t you dare forget it.” Lifting on tiptoe, she kissed him on the lips and started for the door.

  This time she noted the polished hardwood floors, the Turkish area rug in front of the white traditional sofa, the rich bronze, floor-to-ceiling, custom swag drapes over sheers, the pair of graceful wing chairs framing the windows. Across the hall in the formal dining room, a sparkling crystal chandelier hung over a floral centerpiece on the double pedestal dining table.

  “I like your place.”

  “Thanks, and thank Janice.” He chuckled. “Once we got to know each other, she politely suggested my house needed a few things and volunteered to help.”

  “That’s our Janice. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “Dominique?”

  She turned.

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” The door closed softly behind her.

  * * *

  The movie was a popular sci-fi one that had been in the top ten for months. The monsters were grotesque, quick, and deadly. The first time one popped out unexpectedly, Dominique screamed and wrapped herself around Trent’s neck. Since her scream wasn’t the only one she heard in the crowded theater, she hadn’t felt bad. By the third time, she decided she liked where she was and stayed there.

  “You want to see another movie?” Trent asked, his lips brushing against the top of her head.

  “I’m enjoying this one,” she said.

  He angled his head down to look at her in puzzlement. Another chorus of female screams and a few male gasps went up. Although Dominique wasn’t watching the screen, she dutifully buried her face in the side of his neck.

  Chuckling, he kissed her on the forehead. “You’re right. This may be the most enjoyable movie I’ve seen in years.”

  “Definitely,” she agreed, chancing a one-eyed glance at the screen. Not a monster in sight. Smiling, she snuggled against Trent. They never stayed gone for long.

  Almost two hours later the hero and heroine finally dispatched the last pesky monster, save one for a sequel. Trent and Dominique filed out of the theatre along with the rest of the audience into the cool night air.

  “I still owe you, since all you had before the movie was a hot dog and a cola. What would you like to eat?” he asked, opening the door to his Lincoln.

  “Chinese.”

  “I’m lousy with chopsticks,” he confessed.

  “I’m an expert,” she said, getting into the car. “Since you protected me, the least I can do is feed you.”

  “You’re on.”

  Good at her word, Dominique handled the chopsticks as if she had been born with them in her hand. Trent didn’t like the look of some of the food she put in his mouth, but since Dominique was feeding him he ate it, anyway.

  Too soon they were back at Janice’s house. Silence fell between them as Trent cut the motor and switched off the headlights. Dominique pulled her lower lip between her teeth, her hands curled around the small, red, calfskin bag in her lap. Her legs shifted and the sound of her red gabardine pants rubbing against the seat seemed unnaturally loud.

  “Don’t get nervous on me,” Trent said, his strong fingers circling the back of her neck beneath the collar of her white, appliqúed linen blouse and turning her toward him.

  “I just don’t know what to expect. What to do,” she admitted.

  “What would you like to do?” Her gaze went to his lips. “Come here.”

  She went. No sooner had his lips settled on hers than a bright beam of light engulfed the car. They both jerked apart. The lights shut off. Doors slammed.

  “Stay here,” Trent ordered and got out of the car. He might as well have been talking to the wind.

  She almost beat him out of the car. She watched his tense body relax as Janice and a distinguished looking black man got out of a 850 BMW.

  “Trent, who did you think it was?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t hurt to be cautious,” he told her and curved his arm easily around her slim shoulder and pulled her to his side.

  “Dominique, Trent. We’re sorry,” said Janice, hurrying to them, looking beautiful and flustered.

  “Please accept my apology,” said the gray-haired man with her.

  “I’m the one who should apologize to you and to Dominique, for acting like a teenager.” Trent held out his hand. “Trent Masters, and this is Dominique Everette.”

  “Paul Osgood.” He smiled warmly at Dominique and shook hands with Trent. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “Paul was coming inside for some coffee. You two want to join us?” Janice asked.

  “No thanks,” Trent said. “I’d better be going.”

  “I’ll move my car.” Keys jingled in Paul’s hand.

  “Don’t bother. I live next door. I’ll just walk over in the morning and pick it up, if it’s all right, Janice?” Trent asked.

  “You know it is.” Janice’s gaze switched between him and Dominique. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a little while?”

  “Yes, thanks.” With a brief kiss on Dominique’s cheek, he walked away.

  Dominique stared after him, and was glad she had when she saw him point to the backyard. With a secret smile on her face she headed inside. Paul, his hand on Janice’s elbow, followed.

  As soon as they were in the foyer, Dominique yawned. “Goodness. I’d better not drink any coffee. Nice meeting you, Paul. Goodnight to both of you.”

  “Run along, Dominique,” Janice said, her look knowing. “I wouldn’t want you to miss any sleep, or anything else important.”

  Trying not to laugh, Dominique quickly went to her room, threw her purse on the bed, then raced to the window and lifted it. Trent was there. Trying not to giggle, she leaned over and he lifted her out.

  “Do you think we fooled them?’ he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then we might as well make this worth it.” His lips took hers and the world around her receded. He was the focus of her universe.

  His tongue expertly probed and searched the sweet, dark interior of her mouth. His hands were no less busy, seeking and giving pleasure as they skimmed and teased and pleased.

  When both were near their limit, he tore his mouth from hers, their breathing ragged and harsh in the cool night air. They clung to each other until their breathing
slowed, the throbbing of their bodies dulled.

  “Maybe we should have said good-bye for real.” His lips nibbled her neck, her ear, as if he could not force himself to stop tasting her, stop touching her, stop kissing her. “Neither one of us is going to sleep worth a damn.”

  “I—I could come over after she’s asleep.”

  Finally he lifted his head. “No. This is the limit of our sneaking. We’re definitely not sneaking into each other’s beds. Besides, if I correctly read the gleam in Paul’s eyes, Janice might be spending her nights someplace else soon, too.”

  “You think?” Dominique asked excitedly. Janice deserved a man to love and cherish her. Funny, the words didn’t seem so impossible anymore.

  “I think.” Trent kissed her on the lips, picked her up and sat her back inside her room. “Tomorrow after church we can go pick up your props.”

  “Thanks for a wonderful evening, Trent.”

  “Goodnight, Honey. Sleep tight.” He shut the window and waited until she closed the latch and pulled the curtains.

  * * *

  Trent thought he might get used to seeing men get that stunned look when they saw Dominique, and hoped it would be soon. He wasn’t used to being possessive or jealous. He was both with Dominique, pitifully so. This morning at church had tested his endurance, when men he barely knew had clustered around him after the service to greet Dominique.

  Considering how fantastic she had looked, in a rose pink suit with a fitted short skirt, he had tried to remember where he was and not to glare at the men waiting to be introduced. It had helped that Janice was there, and that Dominique had treated them all with polite courtesy and nothing more.

  But he had stayed by her side.

  He hadn’t thought that would be necessary at the small bait store on Lake Ray Hubbard he had taken her to after they had lunch at Paul’s seafood restaurant with him and Janice. Now, Trent wasn’t so sure.

  Casually, he leaned against the scarred, plywood counter of Travis Bait Store, a twenty by fifteen wooden structure with a tin roof, and listened as the elderly owner told Dominique more than she’d ever need to know about picking out a cane fishing pole. She didn’t appear to mind.

  Considering Travis had a belly from years of drinking too much beer and doing too little exercise, a total of five, scrawny, white hairs sticking up on the top of his otherwise bald head, and only came up to Dominique’s shoulder, Trent wasn’t worried.

  The other two men in the store were a different matter.

  Both were in their early thirties, had all their hair, and concave stomachs annoyingly displayed in their shorts and unzipped windbreakers, and—from what Trent could determine—were almost as tall as he was.

  They had told Travis they had come in for lures. The only lures they were interested in were ones with which to catch Dominique’s attention.

  Not in this lifetime, thought Trent.

  But they were trying. If he heard one more inference about how much money one or the other had made, or how fast their world-class boats could go, or about the customized work added to their new luxury sports cars, Trent was going to stuff cotton in his ears. Since there was no cotton in sight, he decided leaving might be a better idea.

  “Travis, I really appreciate you taking time to help, but she just needs one for a picture. She’s not writing a book on the subject,” Trent said.

  Both Dominique and Travis turned to Trent with a frown. “Information is never wasted,” Dominique said, then smiled brilliantly at Travis. “You were saying?”

  The elderly man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He’d once told Trent while they were trading fishing yarns and sipping beer that looking at a beautiful woman made a man feel ten years younger. Gauging from the rapt way Travis was staring at Dominique, he had regressed to puberty.

  “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but did I hear that you do portraits?” asked the taller and more boisterous of the two men.

  Trent came away from the counter. He couldn’t believe the audacity of the man, but he planned to set him straight about trying to pick up Dominique.

  “Yes,” Dominique said.

  Trent stopped midway across the room and glared at Dominique and the man. Didn’t she know when a man was trying to hand her a line? He thought of lures, and his jaw tightened.

  “What kind?” the stranger asked.

  “Photography.”

  “She’s buying a cane pole and a minnow bucket for a portrait tomorrow,” Travis supplied, his voice rich with pride.

  “Really,” the man said, walking closer. “This is fortunate. My mother has been after me to send her a portrait. She’s in Europe on an extended vacation. Do you have a card?”

  Dominique opened her oversized bag and rummaged inside. “Sorry, I appear to be out. I can write out the number.” Walking over to the counter near Trent, she took out a pen, scribbled on a small notepad, then ripped out the sheet. “Here.”

  “Thanks. You’ll be hearing from me.” He strode to the door and turned. “I almost forgot. What’s your name?”

  “It’s on the paper. It’s French.”

  The man glanced back at the paper, frowned, then smiled. “Oh, yes. I didn’t see it.” The door closed behind them.

  “I’ll wait in the truck,” Trent said, his expression sour.

  “I shouldn’t be much longer,” she told him.

  “Take your time.”

  “Trent,” she called as he reached the door. “Is something wrong?”

  His gaze flickered to Travis. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Travis hadn’t lived to the ripe old age of seventy-five without knowing when to make himself scarce. “I’ll go restock the cooler.”

  Neither seemed to notice the store owner leaving. “That man was trying to pick you up and you gave him your number. He could be a maniac, for all you know.”

  Dominique folded her arms across her chest, tightening the yellow T-shirt across her breasts. “And you think I’m too naive or too stupid to figure that out for myself? Or maybe both?”

  Trent had always thought of himself as a smart man—at least, until Dominique. How had he been put on the defensive with such a no win question? “I didn’t say that.”

  “You implied it,” she said, her black eyes narrowed.

  “You’re in that studio by yourself. I simply meant you should be less trusting.” He tugged on his baseball cap. “I was worried about you. He had shifty eyes.”

  Dominique’s lips twitched. “Shifty eyes?”

  “He did, and when you schedule him make sure someone is there with you,” he said.

  She placed both hands on his chest. “I gave him a wrong number, and the words in French were ‘no sale.’”

  Trent brightened, his hands settling on her narrow waist. “That’s my girl.” The doorbell chimed and a customer came in. “Pick out your pole so we can go. I have a surprise for you.”

  “What?”

  “If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Laughing at her mutinous look, he pushed her toward the cane poles.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dominique couldn’t quite believe it when Trent drove beneath a sign that read Lowell Riding Stable. She stared at him, then back to the stables directly in front of them. “Does this mean what I think it does?” she asked.

  “Why do you think I insisted you wear jeans and boots?” he asked.

  She bit her lip, but laughter bubbled forth, anyway. “I thought the bait shop might be in a swampy area and you were worried about snakes.”

  “The two-legged variety sure put in an appearance at the bait shop,” Trent said, and pulled to a stop.

  “Hello, folks,” greeted a bowlegged young man of about twenty, a wide grin on his face and an even wider straw hat shading his freckled face. “What can I do for you?”

  “Hello. I’m Trent Masters. I reserved a few horses for this afternoon.”

  “A few?” Dominique repeated incredulously.

  Trent shrugged. “I didn
’t know what kind of horse you were used to riding, so I reserved the entire stable.”

  She gasped. “You didn’t.”

  He looked embarrassed. “Afraid so.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him before she could think of a reason not to. “Thank you. I don’t think anyone has ever given me anything nicer.”

  “I was just thinking the same thing,” he said, his arms going around her waist.

  “If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you the horses,” said the young man.

  Trent reluctantly released Dominique and pulled her from the cab. “I hope he’s not as longwinded as Travis.”

  Dominique curved her arm unconsciously around Trent’s waist. “No need. This time I’m the expert.”

  Minutes later Trent knew Dominique had spoken the truth. She and the young man—who identified himself as the owner’s son, Johnny—threw out words like deep chest, strong foreleg, and long neck, which all obviously meant something to them, but nothing to him.

  The closest he had gotten to a horse when he was a child was seeing one in the pasture as he passed on the highway. His adult association was about the same.

  “I’ll take this one,” Dominique said, stroking the white face of a huge, black gelding.

  “You have a good eye, Ms. Everette. He’s the best of the bunch,” commented Johnny, opening the stall and leading the horse out. Head high, his velvet nostrils drinking in air, the animal pranced behind Johnny.

  A frown of uncertainty on his face, Trent stepped back as they passed. “You’re sure? He’s kind of big.”

  “Don’t worry. I was riding before I was walking. Did you decide which one you want?” she asked, glancing around the stables again.

  “I, er think I’ll just watch,” he said evasively.

  Her attention came back to him. “You aren’t going with me?” Disappointment coated her words.

  Somehow he managed to hold her stare. “No. I’ll just wait here.”

  Her midnight-black eyes studied him for a long time, noting his hands stuffed in his front pockets. She remembered his quietness once they entered the stables. “You don’t ride, do you?”

  “I’ve never been on a horse in my life,” he admitted.