Corbin's Bend Homecoming

by Ruth Staunton

  To his complete surprise, he’d found the people of Corbin’s Bend to be warm, friendly, and extremely discreet. In point of fact, Corbin’s Bend became one of his favorite places to work. Jim was easy to work with, and the raving and tantrums that often went along with building projects where clients had completely unreasonable expectations were almost nonexistent here. As long as he didn’t think too hard about why that was the case, everything was fine. However, working alongside them was one thing; living the lifestyle himself was another thing entirely. That would never happen.

  “All I’m saying is you never know,” Jerry went on. “It could happen.”

  “No,” Caine said flatly. “It couldn’t. Not for me.” Please, Jer, just let it go. There were too many things he couldn’t explain. Memories he should of buried years ago. Scars on his body and his mind. Just drop it, please.

  Thankfully, Jerry seemed to take the hint. “So what did you do with Mav, anyway?”

  “What I always do,” Caine told him, breathing a sigh of relief now that the conversation was headed onto more neutral ground. “I dropped him at your place with Elly. The weather is still too hot for me to leave him in the truck.”

  “Oh good,” Jerry said, “I’m sure Jack will be thrilled.”

  “Jack maybe,” Caine agreed, “Muffy, not so much.”

  While Jerry’s black lab relished the opportunity to play with another dog his own size, Jerry’s wife’s little poodle had a grudging relationship with Maverick, meaning she just barely tolerated his presence and maintained the peace by studiously ignoring him. Maverick was simply too big and too energetic for her to be bothered with. This, in turn, drove Maverick absolutely crazy. The medium-size mutt, who was at best guess some kind of border collie/cattle dog mix, loved to play, and couldn’t understand why anyone, animal or human would ever not want to play with him.

  Jerry laughed. “You may have a point there,” he conceded, “but she should at least be used to it by now.”

  From there, the meal progressed with companionable ease. Jerry shared funny stories of his most recent adventures with his patients. Caine told him about a custom bathroom vanity he was building for one of his regular customers back in Denver. By unspoken agreement, they left the subject of the new bookstore owner severely alone.

  For that, Caine was grateful. He could admit, at least in the privacy of his own mind, that he found her attractive, but that was irrelevant. He’d worked for attractive women before. He’d even had a few try blatantly to come on to him. He knew better than to even contemplate it. He was better off to avoid it like the plague, and this woman was no exception.

  If she happened to come to his mind several more times over the course of the rest of the week, that was to be expected. After all, her bookstore would be the focus of his work for the next two months or so. It was only natural that the store, and by extension the owner, would be on his mind. Wasn’t it?

  Chapter 2

  Waking on her first morning in Corbin’s Bend was a surreal experience. The first time she had woken it was still in the pitch black predawn hours despite her body’s insistence that it should be morning already. In spite of having spent several days in Denver already, her body clung stubbornly to the East Coast schedule she had been following for most of her life. She rolled over to her other side, adjusted her pillow, and tried to will herself into going back to sleep. She failed miserably. As excited as she might be to be here, this house just didn’t feel like home yet. Everything was foreign and unfamiliar. The dim shadows and shapes in the darkness surrounding her had not yet become instantly identifiable as they would have been in the apartment she had left behind. Even the mattress beneath her was new. Though she had a sales receipt somewhere in the muddled mass of paperwork she’d left somewhere in the kitchen or living room that said it belonged to her, it still didn’t feel like her bed. Maybe selling her old bed and buying a new one in Denver had been a mistake. Her intention had been for her new bed to mark her new start, leaving behind all the history and memories she had shared with John. Logically, that decision was probably for the best, but at the moment, she desperately missed the comfort and familiarity of her old one. Everything seemed so different and strange.

  Well, maybe not everything, she amended, spotting the familiar lump that was Maeve curled into her usual spot near Norah’s hip. Maeve had her own bed that was currently stationed in the corner of the bedroom, but the cat vastly preferred sleeping with Norah, as she had most every night since John’s death, except for those rare times when Norah had been sick or had had other company sharing her bed. She hadn’t been a monk since John had died. At least, not after the first year. The first year had passed in a haze of shock and grief. Most of the first six months had passed in a haze of disbelief. After all, how could her staid, conservative husband who never took any risks have possibly walked out the door one morning for his customary morning jog and never come home again. It had been a freak accident. He’d been absorbed in the podcast he had been listening to on his iPod—Images of the Sacred in Medieval Literature, she’d never forget that—and inadvertently veered in front of an oncoming car. The shock and suddenness of it had knocked her off her feet for months, but eventually, slowly, she had begun to get them back under her. First, there had been a few tentative, casual dates. Then, some time in the second year, she had gathered her courage and began to search for the kind of relationship she really wanted, one with a man who would not hesitate to protect her and guide her and who wouldn’t be afraid to take her over his knee if the situation called for it.

  Unfortunately, most of the groups and clubs she had tried had been more focused on BDSM and sex than the old-fashioned head of household type of relationship that she was really looking for. She had dabbled in the scene a bit, which had taught her a good bit about herself and what she wanted out of the relationship—even if she had learned that by identifying what she didn’t want—and several memorable sexual encounters, but it hadn’t given her what she wanted. It was just before giving up hope of ever finding the kind of relationship she wanted when she had come across the Corbin’s Bend website. She had known immediately she had to be here. Even just from the website she had known that these were her people and this was the one place where she would finally be able to be her true self without needing to hide how she felt or what she needed. It had taken six months, more paperwork than she even wanted to think about, and every penny she could scrape together from what was left of John’s life insurance and the sale of her apartment to buy into the community, but she was finally here, starting her new life and her new business. Yes, and you’re going to be useless for working on either tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep. Sighing, she reached over and flipped on the lamp beside the bed. Picking up her e-reader, she lost herself in the comfort of one of her favorite books until sleep overtook her again.

  The second time Norah woke it was to sunshine streaming through her bedroom window. Though it was undoubtedly the same sun that had risen over her bedroom in Connecticut, it still somehow seemed wrong, weaker and thinner somehow. This time though, she pushed that thought away. It wasn’t wrong. It was simply different, and it was different because she was finally, gloriously here. That one thought was all it took for excitement to eclipse all of the awkwardness that had plagued her this morning. Grinning, she rolled over and stretched languidly. Maeve chose that moment to pounce on her stomach, demanding to be fed.

  “Okay, okay, I hear you,” Norah said, giving the cat a conciliatory pat on the head before shifting her over to the mattress and sitting up. Maeve dropped to the floor with surprising ease for her bulk, twisting around Norah’s feet and continuing to meow. Long familiar with this routine, Norah got carefully to her feet and padded to the kitchen, filling Maeve’s bowls and starting her own coffee as she had done hundreds of times before. Maybe things weren’t quite so different after all. She showered while the coffee brewed, thankful that the water was hot and strong, a vast improvement over the hotel r
oom in Denver where she had been staying for most of the past week. She’d managed to get most of the kitchen and her bedroom unpacked yesterday so when she was done, she simply wrapped a towel around herself and walked into the closet that adjoined the bedroom and bathroom to dress. That was a novel and enjoyable experience, to have the space and time to spread out her clothes and choose at her own leisure rather than snatching the first thing that came to hand out of her tiny apartment closet and rushing to get to work. That would change once the store opened, but for now at least, she could enjoy being on no one’s schedule but her own. She pulled on worn but comfortable jeans and a loose T-shirt, toweling her hair dry before walking barefoot into the kitchen and pouring herself a cup of coffee. She leaned against the counter, looking around and trying to decide what to do next. Maeve, now fed and content, sprawled across the back of the sofa, regal as the queen she was named for, surveying her new domain.

  Following the cat’s gaze, Norah’s attention was caught by several boxes that had not managed to be unpacked the day before. She wandered over to sort them out, settling herself cross-legged on the floor and setting her coffee cup within reach. She was still sorting through boxes sometime later when the downstairs doorbell rang, shattering her attention. Though the doorbell was meant for the bookstore, it was wired to ring both upstairs and down so that she could hear it from wherever she was. Puzzled, Norah got to her feet, wiped her hands on her jeans and loped down the stairs two at the time. She didn’t know anyone even knew she was here, except Jonathon and Brent and Caine, that is, though she supposed the moving truck on the street yesterday would have made it obvious to anyone who has happened to come by that someone had moved into the space.

  Quincy Lauder stood on the other side of the glass door. Norah smiled automatically at the sight of her. Quincy had been assigned as her mentor. They’d been talking twice a month or so on the phone ever since Norah had been accepted into the community. Those conversations had evolved into a friendship that Norah valued. Though there was perhaps twenty years or so between their ages, the two women had since found they had a great deal in common. Both were what the parties Norah had attended would have called subs, what Norah had learned was referred to in the community has taken in hand or TIH. Both were also widows, and both were, or would be in Norah’s case, business owners. Quincy ran a successful antique shop just down the street. Her advice had already proven extremely helpful, and Norah had no doubt that it would continue to be so as she got closer and closer to making her bookstore dream a reality.

  She flipped the deadbolt and opened the door, stepping back to allow Quincy inside. Quincy surprised her by automatically engulfing her in a hug. It took Norah a second to get over the surprise, but when she had, she returned the hug with sincere feeling.

  “It’s so good to see you, Norah,” Quincy said, stepping back to arm’s length and looking her over as though she were a long-lost relative. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in yesterday? I could’ve rounded up help to get you moved in.”

  “It was fine, really,” Norah said, dismissing her concern. “The movers did most of it. They got all the furniture in and put everything in the rooms where it went. All I had to do was unpack boxes.”

  “I could still have helped with that,” Quincy insisted. “We take care of each other around here.”

  “Well, I’ve still got a few left if you’re just dying to unpack boxes,” Norah told her. “Come upstairs with me and you can help with that.” There wasn’t really much left to do but it would be far more pleasant to sit and talk there than it would be down here with nothing but a concrete floor and a few columns scattered throughout the empty, cavernous space. She suspected that was what Quincy had really come to do after all. “Can I get you a drink or something, Quincy?” Norah asked, opening the door leading into her apartment. “I have juice, tea, coffee, milk, and there might be a few sodas.”

  “I’m fine,” Quincy replied, “but how many times have I told you to call me Aunt Quincy? Everyone does. I prefer it to tell you the truth.”

  “I know,” Norah said. “I’m sorry. I just can’t think of you that way. I’ve tried, really, but my brain refuses to let me call you anything but Quincy.” Most likely because her mother would have had heart failure on the spot had she ever heard Norah taking such familiarity with someone she wasn’t actually related to. Mother had never been one of those parents who encouraged their children to call people close to them Aunt or Uncle. She would have been absolutely horrified by the notion. Her children learned proper formality and propriety, including referring to others by their proper names. Norah had had it drilled into her for so long she couldn’t break the habit even now with Quincy asking her to. “Look on the bright side, at least I managed to get past Mrs. Lauder. I could have gotten stuck on that.”

  Quincy shuddered. “Perish the thought. That still reminds me of my dearly departed mother-in-law. You’re right. You can stick with Quincy.”

  “Thank you,” Norah said. “I’m afraid you would have gotten stuck with it anyway, but it makes me feel better if you agree to it. You know, consent and all that.”

  Quincy chuckled. “You’re a quiet one, but you do have a sense of humor hidden under there somewhere.”

  “You know what they say,” Norah said dryly, teasing, “it’s the quiet ones you have to watch.”

  “In your case I’d say that’s a statement of fact,” Quincy told her. “You’re going to fit right in around here.”

  “I hope so,” Norah said. “It still seems a little bit unreal. I can’t believe I’m really here.”

  “You are,” Quincy replied, “but I know what you mean. I felt the same way when my husband and I first moved in, but before long it was home. Even when he died, I couldn’t imagine leaving. I’ve never regretted staying. I love it here, and so will you.” She paused, looking around. “Now, I thought you said you needed help unpacking. It looks like to me you’ve gotten everything unpacked and put away already.”

  “For the most part, I have,” Norah admitted. “I was putting away the last of my books in the living room when you came up. There’s maybe a box and a half left though.”

  “We might as well finish those up then,” Quincy said, following Norah into the living room. Norah settled herself back on the floor, taking the books out of the boxes and passing them to Quincy to shelve.

  They had only been at it a few minutes when Norah’s stomach growled loudly, reminding her abruptly that she hadn’t yet eaten anything today. She blushed furiously. “Sorry.”

  Quincy shrugged. “You need food. That’s not a crime. Would you rather go out or make something here?”

  “I’ll just grab a sandwich,” Norah answered. “I meant to get something earlier but got distracted with the books and forgot. Can I get you something?” She got to her feet and headed across the open room to the kitchen area.

  “I’m fine,” Quincy replied. “I can finish up these last books while you eat.” Norah opened her mouth to protest, but Quincy waved her off. “Don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us. I’ve done it myself more than once. Fair warning though, most HOHs get up in arms about stuff like that. I can promise you my late husband would have had something to say about that, and it wouldn’t have been his mouth that would have done most of the talking, if you know what I mean.”

  Norah blushed, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the sandwich makings she was pulling out. Quincy’s tone was casual, even friendly, but it nonetheless felt a little like she was being scolded, in a good-natured, grandmotherly sort of way. “Guess it’s a good thing I don’t have an HOH yet then,” she said lightly, hoping to disperse her own discomfort with humor.

  “I wouldn’t count on that being the case for long,” Quincy told her. “Once you get out and start meeting some people, the single men are going to be swarming around you like flies.”

  Somehow Norah doubted it. She was pale and stick thin, having never developed the curves and hips that most women
seem to have in abundance. In the right clothes she could easily pass for a teenage boy, and her skin absolutely refused to tan. Any attempt to coax it into doing so just left her looking like a boiled lobster and in pain. The burn would eventually peel away and reveal skin that was just as white as ever. The tanned, curvy magazine body would never be hers. Taking a bite of her sandwich and shaking herself out of the morose reverie, she commented, “Speaking of men, I met one yesterday.”

  Quincy’s eyebrows rose right up to her hairline. “You work fast, girl. You’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, and you’ve already got your eye on a man.”

  Norah laughed. “It’s not like that. He’s the carpenter working on the book store.”

  “Well, I won’t say Jim’s not a looker,” Quincy replied, “but he doesn’t count. He’s married, remember.”

  “Of course I do,” Norah said, “but I’m not talking about Jim. The man I met was named Caine. Do you know him?”

  “Caine,” Quincy said thoughtfully, brow furrowing in concentration. “I don’t remember any of Jim’s crew by that name or any of the new residents either. Wait a minute. Is that the guy from Denver that Jim brings in sometimes?”