by Fiona Archer
He turned to face Reagan. Tears ran down her face, leaving wet trails before falling off her chin and jaw. Her lower lip wobbled as she took a steadying breath.
Sweet, compassionate little sub. “Damn, girl, I can’t stand to see you cry.”
“Oh, Quinn.” She threw herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck and pulling him close. “I’m so sorry. Your poor family.”
He held her tight, blinking against the sudden burning at the back of his eyes. Tears? When the hell was the last time he’d cried? Then he remembered. The night he had thought he’d lost Mike from the IED attack. And before that?
At Sherri’s funeral.
Quinn squeezed Reagan one last time before sliding his hands up to grasp hold of her wrists. Her pulse fluttered under his fingers as he unwound her arms from around his neck. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he settled her closer into his side.
She gazed up at him, with her eyelashes all clumped together and looking so damn trusting. He bit down a groan. Whichever way he tried next to explain himself, none of it would sound good to her ears.
He shifted her again, turning her slightly so he could look directly into her face. “I recognize Hagarty’s the one to blame for my sister’s death. Despite what others may think.” He shot a glance over at Mike before returning to focus on her. “I don’t feel guilty.”
“What I learned from Sherri’s death was one simple but irrefutable fact. I should have spoken up sooner, told my dad. If I hadn’t let my sister’s pleading win over my better judgment, chances are she might still be alive. I hid the truth to spare her feelings and no matter how you look at that, that played a part in her death.”
She was shaking her head before he’d even finished speaking. “That’s bullshit.”
He sighed. This was not going to turn into a tit-for-tat argument. He gave her a quick shake, sending her hair falling into her eyes. “No, it’s not. Emotions don’t trump facts. Not when there’s so much at stake.”
“For God’s sake, Quinn, you were a kid. She was what, eighteen, your big sister who you both wanted to protect and idolized at the same time. You didn’t want to hurt her feelings. It’s not like you had some special powers of gut instinct to know what would happen.”
“He did it again.”
She stared up at him. Her mouth opened. Dawning realization kept it open.
“Hagarty attacked another woman. Years later.”
“Did she…I mean, did he…” She trailed off, seemingly unable to finish her question.
“The girl survived.” Barely. “He was charged. Aggravated assault. Convicted. Got ten years.” A pittance. “Served his minimum sentence. Had his first parole hearing last month. No word yet.” Quinn spat the details out.
“That poor girl.” She reached over and hugged him again as if understanding he felt connected to the victim and wanting to give him that comfort.
It was the kind of selfless gesture he’d come to expect from their generous sub. And it made his next words all the harder to say. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo, floral and light, before gently, reluctantly, holding her at arm’s length.
“Reagan, I’m never going to be able to logically place emotions over the reality of facts. And I’m afraid that’s going to hurt you.”
“You make it sound like an either-or option.” She tilted her head. “There’s no one right way to make a decision. It depends on the situation and who’s involved. Sometimes facts are the right choice to guide you. Other times, you just need a little faith in both yourself and those around you.” Furrows appeared between her brows. Her gaze narrowed as she studied him like he had a backpack full of overdue library books.
She lifted her chin and then breathed out, as if she was at peace with her decision. “Here’s what I think. Each time you question yourself on trying to adapt to a more open viewpoint, the specter of your twelve-year-old self rears up before you. And since you can’t forgive yourself, it scares the shit out of you.”
Her words acted as a steel-tipped flogger, whipping his flesh, tearing it in shreds, leaving him bloody.
And there was no denying their truth.
“You’re right. I can’t and it does.”
He jerked to his feet and then stalked to the fireplace. Needing to crush something, anything, he grasped the edge of the mantle, clenching his fingers over the stone surface, letting it scratch his skin. The sensation was something tangible to hang on to and kept him grounded as everything around him fell out of its natural orbit.
From the corner of his eye, he noted Mike standing a few feet away. Was he taking Quinn’s back or acting as a buffer for Reagan?
Mike spoke for the first time. “Sometimes we make the wrong decision. And hindsight would be a wonderful thing. It’s also a luxury none of us possess.”
Valid point and at any other time he’d applaud the logic but right now it just pissed him off.
Reagan slowly rose from the couch. She didn’t move closer, just stood there, the coffee table between them.
Her jaw held a firmness that wasn’t there a moment ago. “You said to me in the diner that there would be times you’d step in to save me from committing an awful mistake, whether I wanted you to or not. And that you expected your woman to do the same for you if required.”
He nodded, both intrigued and nervous at the possible directions she could be taking.
“So, I’m calling you out.” Her eyes sparked. “Without meaning to, you’re projecting your own issues, of which I believe there are two, on to me. The first is you don’t trust me enough to hang around if your investigation fails to prove my dad’s innocence.”
“That’s not—”
“Shut up. I’m not finished.”
He pushed out a sigh and ignored, for the moment, the urge to throw her over his knees. A beautiful woman with an even greater mind was a wonderful thing—when she wasn’t kicking your ass.
“The second is that nobody but you can forgive yourself for simply being a kid all those years ago.”
Quinn’s gut twisted. She’d nailed him.
Mike whistled. “Honey, you have a way of cutting through the shit.”
She flashed a smile at his fellow Dom. “I’m a librarian. I have a natural affinity with words.”
He hated to break up their little fan club but he wasn’t going to stand here and take this like some wimpy guest on reality TV.
“You’re wrong on the first point, Reagan.”
“No, I’m not. Sure, I’ll be pissed if you find my dad guilty. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to run off.” Her face softened as she sighed. “You need time, Quinn. And I’ll give that to you because I want to make this work.” She stepped around the coffee table and moved up close to him. Her head tipped back, allowing him a perfect view of her face. “And because I love you.”
His breathing stopped. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, big guy. I am.” Her eyes seemed to light up from within.
He wrapped her up in his arms, drawing her in tight. “I love you, Reagan.”
His kiss was slow and gentle, his lips brushing over hers, giving her one last chance to move away. But she didn’t. She opened her mouth and sought out his kiss. And he finally got it.
Reagan wasn’t moving away ever again.
He lifted his head and saw for himself the look of determination reflected in her gaze.
The knotted muscles in his gut loosened. Every part of him felt alive. Thank you, Jesus! Yeah, she was around for the long haul. He’d slip up, probably annoy the shit out of her with his own fears, but they’d see it through.
With a quick kiss to her forehead, he turned her to face Mike. Then he gently pushed her into his friend’s waiting arms.
Mike cradled her face in his hands. “You just may have slayed a dragon, little reader.”
“My sword is mighty.” Her lips twitched as she smoothed her hands down the front of his black T-shirt.
Quinn kept s
ilent as, for a moment, his thoughts drifted back to Sherri. Her smiling face, so pretty and eager, flashed up before him. A dark heaviness settled in his chest. Not all his dragons were slayed. Some didn’t deserve to be.
Chapter Twelve
Reagan eyed the gathering crowd in the diner. The butterflies in her tummy performed dive-bombing exercises. Wow, what a turnout. Tonight’s Q&A session was her biggest public relations gamble. And a necessary one if she wanted to claim ground from Karl Wagner. It was six days until next Tuesday’s election. Since he had declined her invitation for a debate, this was her only chance to be heard in front of a large audience. She had to make it a winner.
So many familiar faces filled the available seats. At least half of them belonged to friends and supporters, many of whom raised their hands to wave. Phyllis, Lark, and the elderly Hammond twins, wearing their pink “Spank One for Reagan” T-shirts, gave victory pumps.
Reagan laughed despite herself. She still couldn’t believe Purdy had gone ahead and organized those damn T-shirts. With that particular blonde, it was a continual toss-up between wanting to hug or strangle her.
“Girl, you are going to rock it tonight.” Chloe stood next to Noah, her lips turned up in a huge smile. “And you look fantastic in those pants and top. Not too chic and yet professional.”
Reagan ran a hand over the navy blue crepe shirt with the wide-lapel collar. The dark blue dress jeans were a nice compromise. “Who would have thought I’d need half a day to decide what to wear.”
A pair of arms came around from behind her and circled her waist. “I know. Quinn and I couldn’t believe it either.” Mike’s voice held more than a hint of sarcasm.
“Still, we got to spend that time lying on her bed and watching her repeatedly undress. It wasn’t all bad.” Quinn winked as he moved up alongside her. “Sugar, do you need anything before we start?”
In the two weeks since her “kidnapping,” Quinn had outwardly kept at bay any concerns regarding trusting her to cope with whatever the outcome of his investigation. Both he and Mike had helped her move some of her belongings into the cabin, and they’d also spent time at her house. Even Marvin had experienced a few sleepovers at the cabin.
She’d worried how her little guy would cope. The first night he’d spent perched on top of one of their kitchen cupboards. Even now she had to smile at the image of big tough Quinn, sardine in hand, coaxing the tabby down into his arms. Mike had even put a hot water bottle in Marvin’s bedding. Yeah, her guys were keepers.
Reagan shook her head a little, clearing out her thoughts. “No, I’m good.” She glanced over at Purdy and Jackson, who’d spread bags and coats to claim a line of seats in the front row.
A second later Sheriff Caleb King surprised Purdy by sitting down next to her. Then he leaned close, his mouth moving. Whatever he said set Purdy’s jaw in a mutinous line. Seemingly unperturbed, Caleb chuckled as he removed his Stetson from his head and rolled the brim in his hands.
Reagan faced Quinn. “You all go grab those seats and save our sheriff before Purdy resorts to physical violence.”
“Caleb should bloody cuff her and take her in for some serious interrogation,” Noah muttered as he led the way.
“Go get ‘em, sugar.” Quinn kissed her good and hard, his gaze dipping to the gold book charm he and Mike had presented to her the night before. It now hung from her precious gold chain around her neck. He touched it lightly with his finger. A soft smile curved his lips before he stepped aside.
“We’re proud of you, sweetness. Just be yourself.” Mike wrapped her up in a hug, giving her an extra squeeze before he dropped a kiss on her lips. Too soon he let her go and joined the others.
As she turned to face the diner’s counter, she caught sight of Leonard and Vicki Aitken. She started, concern keeping her feet in place. Leonard looked haggard, his eyes red rimmed and his cheeks sunken in, as if he hadn’t slept in days. Vicki kept casting glances at her husband, the muscles around her mouth pinched tight. The woman was a tireless supporter of Reagan’s campaign. She made a mental note to check on Vicki as soon as she had a free moment.
Parker Gordon waved to snag Reagan’s attention. She nodded and moved to stand next to him in the cleared space near the end of the counter.
The elder Gordon stood next to his brother, Ryan, and together the two men put their fingers in their mouths before letting out a combined whistle that would have cleared the snow off the tops of the nearby Big Horn Mountains.
A couple of patrons startled but most offered up good-natured laughing.
Parker put his arm around Penny, and with Ryan standing on the other side of her, addressed the crowd.
“Ladies and gents, we’re here tonight to listen to Reagan Edwards, candidate for the position of town councillor. Here’s how it will work. Those that had a question were asked to put their names in a bucket.”
Ryan held up a red metal bucket and continued to explain. “We’ll draw out a name and then you can ask your question. We’ve got an hour to get through as many names as possible. Sound fair?”
Murmurs of agreement flowed from the audience.
“All right then, let’s get this underway.” Ryan looked over to Reagan, an encouraging smile on his face. “Take it away, Reagan.”
You’re up, girl.
She wet her lips, thankful for the extra lip gloss Chloe insisted she wear. Nothing worse than a dry mouth and lips sticking to your teeth.
“Thanks, Ryan, and I want to also thank everyone here for coming out tonight and taking the chance to ask me some questions and hear what I’ve got to say.” Yay, no voice breaking or tongue-tied warbles.
“Let me quickly start by saying my campaign is more than just about making sure our library continues to play an integral role in our community.” She waited a second, letting that fact soak in. “It’s also about looking toward the future and making sure King’s Bluff has the right people and plans in place to not only ensure its existence, but that it grows and prospers, allowing the children of today to stay and make the town their home for tomorrow.”
Applause greeted her words. She was relieved her men didn’t whistle or make too much of a fuss. Tonight she had to prove to others, and a tiny bit to herself, that she could stand on her own two feet.
Ryan dug his hand into the bucket and then pulled out a small square of paper. “Mick Chambers, owner of the Imperial Hotel.” The sun lines around Ryan’s eyes crinkled. “Tell me your question has nothing do with you wanting to double the number of yearly cricket matches.”
Ryan’s light joke sliced through the nervous tension in the air. The breath that Reagan wasn’t aware she’d been holding whooshed out with her soft chuckle.
Mick, his eyes twinkling, shook his fist at Ryan before facing Reagan. “Here’s my question. What are your thoughts on the MacKenzie brothers’ plans for their lodge? Wagner tells us it’s a front for outsiders to buy up land and make the town some rich man’s playground. What do you say?”
Reagan wanted to hug Mick for giving her such a good start.
“I think any plan that offers local people a chance to gain employment and learn skills that will ensure them a career path into the future is a worthy concept. To argue against that seems to fly in the face of wanting the best for this town.” Members of the audience, especially the younger ones, clapped at her response. She waited for them to quiet before continuing. “My opposing candidate wants a further review of the proposed lodge’s plans which have already been approved by all the relevant regulatory bodies. That kind of attitude is an obstacle for locals to get jobs.”
She allowed her gaze to travel over the audience, taking in some of the folks she knew were aligned with Wagner. A couple of them squirmed in their seats. One bowed his head. Then she came to a set of cold blue eyes. Her breathing stuttered. Darcy Richards.
As if sensing Reagan’s internal stumble, the woman stretched her lips into a smile revealing too-white teeth.
“Hannah Scott, yo
u’re next.”
Danny’s mom stood up in her chair. Reagan noticed Mike turning in his seat to study the petite woman near the back of the room. “Um, hi, uh, folks.” Her smile faltered as everyone’s gazes converged upon her.
Reagan couldn’t help but go to her rescue.
“Hey there, Hannah. What’s your question?”
The younger woman raised her chin. This time her voice carried across the room. “Do you support the Youth Café? My Danny goes there and so do a lot of other kids.” She squared her thin shoulders. “It’s a good place. Our kids need somewhere they can hang out and be safe.” She gave an awkward nod to the crowd before retaking her seat.
“I do. I think it’s a fabulous resource that is run mainly by volunteers and one paid full-time counselor. It is privately funded, mostly due to the generosity of a few of our citizens, and therefore no drain on the county budget.” She met the glares of a few of Wagner’s supporters, forcing herself to relax her face and smile. “Flynn Taylor would be here tonight only he’s watching over some of your kids so that you could attend this meeting. If that doesn’t speak of the commitment of the staff and volunteers of the café, then I don’t know what I can say to convince you otherwise.”
The questions kept coming. Clyde Bronson grilled her on her support of a special levy to obtain a new community bus. It was an unpopular position, Reagan knew, but as she explained, unless more people were willing to volunteer and drive their elderly neighbors to doctor appointments and other activities, then the bus needed replacing.
An older woman glared at Reagan and took her to task for Reagan’s refusal to get behind a proposed bylaw to restrict the sale of land to persons living out of state. Wagner’s supporters made sure to cheer on each account.
Reagan thanked both people for their questions. This was democracy in action.
Adelaide Hammond, pink T-shirt and all, asked for an expansion of the library’s erotic romance section, the cost of which she assured the audience would be negligible when weighed against the resulting enhancement it would provide for local couples.