Love Under Two Responders [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

She didn’t own much jewelry, though she did have a few pairs of dangly, delicate earrings and some good studs. The white tiny lilies on silver chains she’d chosen played peekaboo with her hair, and her necklace, sterling silver and a drop of turquoise, felt right, and in her opinion, looked good.

  She didn’t know if she really wanted them to swallow their tongues, but she knew she looked prettier than she ever had, but more, she felt prettier than she ever had and that was the most important thing.

  Carol had feelings for Warren and Edward ever since she’d first laid eyes on them at the spa’s open house back in February. A first date, she thought, should be kind of like sticking your toe in the water, to see if it felt okay, to give you a few moments before you decided if you wanted to jump right in, or not.

  “There! You’re gorgeous and I’m outta here!”

  “Oh, but don’t you want—”

  “No, this is for you, and them.” Tasha laughed. “Have a wonderful time. I’ll be calling in the morning, expecting details.”

  “Not too early.” Carol blushed as those words came out of her mouth. “Not that I think anything is going to happen…that is…I mean…”

  “Carol, don’t overthink the situation.” Then Tasha hugged her, and whispered, “Relax, have fun, and do whatever feels right to you. This may be your first official date, but those two paramedics have been courting you for months.”

  She hadn’t told anyone else but Chloe about her lack of experience. She knew Chloe hadn’t shared that information. But Carol was beginning to think that somehow—and to someone like Tasha—that inexperience showed.

  “Thank you for coming shopping with me this afternoon, and then doing my hair and make-up.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye!”

  Carol looked at the clock. It was already nearly a quarter after seven, and that was a good thing. It meant she only had about fifteen minutes to worry about everything until her dates arrived.

  Now the butterflies descended, and seemed to be carrying out an epic aerial battle in her belly. She placed a hand there and became conscious of the softness, the tiny bit of a bulge that gave mute testimony to the fact that, although she kept busy, she didn’t exercise, didn’t have toned muscles or a sleek physique.

  She was just…Carol. Average size and average build, a normal, everyday, ordinary woman.

  And seeing you, those two men wanted you, anyway. She smiled at the reminder from her inner voice. She knew they did, really had known it from the beginning, though she—and apparently they, too—had been at a total loss as to what to do about it.

  Thank God for Chloe.

  Before she could answer that thought, the doorbell rang. Inhaling deeply, she opened the door.

  They were too handsome for words, yet their smiles, sweet and unsure, touched her and helped her to relax as nothing else could have. Dressed nearly identical in dark blue jeans and crisp white shirts, they simply made her mouth water. Warren’s dark hair, a little longer than his brother’s, had been combed back and gleamed with the shine of good health. Standing in the lights, his dark blue eyes sparkled. Edward sported dark blond hair that he wore short and with his soft brown eyes focused on her looked perfectly delicious, too.

  “You look beautiful.” Warren’s soft words caressed her, and made her feel even more beautiful than ever.

  “You do. You take our breath away.” Edward met her gaze and she felt the honesty of his simple words.

  “These are for you,” Warren said. He held out a small bouquet. “We couldn’t decide between the Indian blanket, the larkspur, and mom’s butterfly roses.”

  “So we brought you all three.”

  “They’re perfect. Thank you.” She lifted the bouquet to her nose. The roses teased her, showing her for the first time how a fragrance could be seductive. “Come in. I’m ready. I’ll just put these in water and grab my purse.”

  “Take your time, beautiful,” Ed said.

  The endearment touched her and she smiled. The homemade bouquet really was perfect. She had a couple of vases, because she loved flowers, wild flowers in particular. Setting the flowers on her small kitchen table, she then detoured to her bedroom for her purse.

  She paused for one moment, delighted that her nervousness had been replaced by a sweet sense of excitement.

  Then she turned out the light, and walked toward her dates.

  * * * *

  She does take my breath away. Warren led Carol out to the dance floor. The local group onstage was playing a cover of Chris Young’s “Gettin’ You Home.” Of course, since the group, who’d finally given in and given themselves a name, It’s Just Us, didn’t yet have a vocalist, a body was free to either sing the real words or make up his own.

  Warren was entirely too nervous to sing.

  He tried not to do what his body wanted, yanking Carol tight into his arms, and so they started dancing the way he’d seen so many other couples doing—his left hand on her waist and her right hand in his.

  That lasted until his gaze locked with hers. He couldn’t say which of them moved first, but the next thing he knew her arms were around his neck, his were around her waist and his palms rested just above her luscious ass, at the small of her back.

  His first instinct when he felt his cock harden was to step back so as not to embarrass her. At the last moment, he said, instead, “I didn’t mean to sound so bossy on Tuesday, as if I had a right to tell you what to do.”

  Carol—his shy, sweet Carol—kissed his neck and said, “Well, gee, I was kind of hoping you did.”

  He looked down when she looked up and the passion in her eyes was unmistakable. “Does it turn you on to have a man go all alpha and dominant like that?”

  “Apparently it does, when that man is you.”

  Warren closed his eyes and used his hand to press her closer. “Do you feel what you do to me?”

  “I don’t mean to.”

  He heard the slight hesitation, almost embarrassment, and a sudden thought popped into his head. Instead of asking her what he wanted to ask her, he said, “Gee, I was kind of hoping you did.”

  “You were?”

  He and Ed had spent weeks trying to figure out just the right way to approach their precious angel. They’d been so afraid that they’d turn her off, or not measure up to her expectations. They’d been afraid that compared to the other men she’d known when she’d lived in Abilene, that they’d come off as small-town hicks, or worse, complete jokes.

  Now, in one tiny conversation, feeling her pulse spike and the slight trembling in her delicate frame he understood that those weeks of worry had been unnecessary.

  Or maybe, he mentally corrected, they had been necessary so that he could look down at her and say, “I’ve never been drawn to a woman the way I’m drawn to you. Never. And it’s the same for Ed. We didn’t want to scare you away—or turn you off. Since the moment we laid eyes on you, all we wanted was to hold you close and get to know you better.”

  “It’s been the same for me.”

  He closed his eyes as sweet relief washed over him. He bent over her, kissed her forehead, and then turned his attention to finishing their dance.

  “The next song will be Ed’s turn. When you’re ready, we’ll both dance with you at the same time.” He turned so that she could see some of the threesomes out on the dance floor. Carrie, Chase, and Brian Benedict moved as if they were one. Colt Evans and Ryder Magee had their wife Susan between them, and looked to be having a fun.

  He watched Carol’s face as she took in the number of trios who were up dancing together. When he moved them on the dance floor so that she could see Ginny with her men, she smiled.

  “They’re all very happy.” Carol looked up at him. “That’s the first thing I noticed when I came to Lusty. All the…the groupings, I guess…the families? They all seem really happy. The women, and the men.”

  Warren grinned. “I don’t want you to think that no one ever has a disagreement. I can remember times when my mom was so m
ad at my dads, she didn’t speak to them for days.”

  “Everyone has moments, I think. But there’s no meanness here.”

  “What was the second thing?”

  “Mmm?” the song was coming to an end and the look she gave him just then made him hot.

  “You said that was the first thing you noticed. What was the second?”

  “The caring nature of this community. The way everyone who lives here is important. No one is insignificant. No one here would ever treat a woman badly—no one would assume she was one thing or another, without really seeing her for who and what she really is.”

  Warren ran his hand down Carol’s back as the music came to an end. He’d always wondered, in a purely abstract and scientific kind of way, if he could ever be like some of his more “alpha” cousins. He’d always wondered if that part of the male beast known only as the warrior lived within his heart, and if so, would he ever have a reason to reach for his sword and his shield.

  He wondered no more.

  Warren kissed the top of Carol’s head, and when she took a half step back and looked up at him, he said, “Sweetheart? Did someone do that to you, before you came here to Lusty? Did someone treat you badly?”

  Even in the dim lights of the community center he could see the way embarrassment colored her cheeks. He had no doubt whatsoever that she hadn’t meant to say what she had. She met his gaze and he saw her emotions so clearly. He knew she considered denying such a thing. He was grateful when she didn’t. She nodded, slowly, and said only, “Yes.”

  He wouldn’t push. He wouldn’t put a shadow on this, their first date. So he gave her as gentle a smile as he could, bent down, and placed a very chaste kiss on her lips. “Someday, when you’re ready, will you tell us about it?”

  “Maybe. Someday.”

  “Good. Now come on, I’ll get you a Coke while you dance with Edward.”

  “And then the next slow dance, can it be the three of us? I…I want to know what it feels like, being between you two.”

  “Sweetheart, it can be anything you want, anytime, anywhere.”

  “That’s quite a blank check you just handed me, Mr. Jessop.”

  Warren stepped back, took her hand in his, and brought it to his lips. “So it is, Miss Ashwood. But I do believe you will spend it wisely.”

  Chapter 4

  Joseph spent the evening of August 10 the same way he had every year since that first awful anniversary, and he spent it alone, of course. More often than not, he was alone.

  He’d eaten lightly, because on this night, more than any other night of the year, save his son’s birthday, he was prone to all-out, gut-wrenching sobbing. On a full stomach, such abject weeping would often lead to vomiting.

  Fasting suited the depression he’d fallen into, anyway. It didn’t seem right that he should be able to eat, and drink, and live, when his son could not.

  On his lap, the Northville High School year book from 2007 lay open on the dedication page.

  The student year book staff had done a wonderful job memorializing Joey. Of course, most of them had been his friends. Joey had been such a popular boy. He’d been handsome, and smart, a good friend to all who knew him. His Joey had been the captain of the senior football team, and had been on the debate squad that had won the state championship two years in a row. Joey’s grades had earned him a full academic scholarship to the University of Texas.

  He’d been enjoying his last two weeks at home before he was scheduled to move down to the San Antonio campus.

  And then, suddenly, Joey was just gone.

  Joseph would never forget the sound of the knock on the door that afternoon, or the somber-faced young state trooper who’d asked if he could come in. When the officer had asked him if anyone else was at home, Joe had responded that his wife, Elizabeth, was home, but napping.

  “Would you go wake her, sir, please?”

  He’d known then that something was terribly, horribly wrong. Somehow, he’d known.

  Joe closed off that memory, closed off the minutes that stretched to hours that followed. Instead, he looked down at the book on his lap. He opened it to the only pages he’d ever read. Every member of the senior class, and every member of the faculty had signed this copy of the year book, and gifted it to him before Christmas—that first Christmas without his boy.

  He flipped slowly through the pages. All those vibrant, vital, living young men and women, who’d mourned with him. When he came to the page his son’s picture was on he had to swallow against the lump in his throat. There, folded in quarters, creased from being opened so many times, were the pages of the valedictory address that Joey had written, and delivered, at his graduation ceremony.

  Joseph had read it so many times, he knew it by heart. His son had been such a brilliant and gifted writer! The night of the high school graduation shone so brightly in his memory. Joey had achieved so many things, reached goals and accomplishments that he himself had never even dreamt of in his own high school career. Joseph senior had been a mediocre student at best. Joseph junior had been a star.

  The night he sat in that audience with Elizabeth’s hand in his and watched his son speak was the happiest, the proudest night of his life.

  Joey hadn’t completely decided what he would become in life, but he’d told Joe, just a few days before the accident, that he thought he might like to be a doctor.

  Joseph had no doubt whatsoever that Joey would have become an amazing doctor. Even if his son had ended up choosing some other path in the end, he knew that whatever he’d chosen, he would have done well.

  Joey had the brightest of futures. And now…now all of Joseph’s dreams for his son were buried beneath a cold marble slab in a small, wooded cemetery near where they used to live.

  He refolded Joey’s brilliant speech and reached for the next piece of paper. The newspaper write-up in the Northville Standard had been extensive, detailing the tragic events of that fateful August day. Thankfully, there’d been no photograph taken of his son as he’d lain on the side of the road, dying. They’d photographed the motorcycle, instead, the machine all but unrecognizable.

  Joey had loved that motorcycle, had been so excited when Joseph had handed him the keys. His boy had worked hard, studied hard. He’d deserved the gift, and Joseph didn’t mind that he’d had to take out a loan to pay for it.

  Elizabeth had fussed, of course. She was always after him for indulging the boy. She’d said often that he spoiled Joey rotten. But wasn’t that a father’s prerogative? Wasn’t a father supposed to provide for his family, for his son? And wasn’t he entitled to show his approval, his pride, by giving him things?

  He closed his eyes when the thought of his wife nagging him—though she never nagged in a mean way—about spoiling their son made his breath hitch and his heart catch. She’d called him earlier, but he hadn’t answered the phone.

  He hadn’t wanted anyone or anything to intrude on this day. This was his grief, his hell—his very private hell.

  Joseph turned his attention back to the article. The 911 call had been answered by the state troopers and a team of paramedics. The article listed their names, but he’d learned—when the numbness had worn off and he’d begun to think, begun to ask questions—that only one of the pair had actually attended to his son.

  He’d wondered about that young man, who he was, where he was from. As he’d begun to dig deeper into the events of that day, determined to discover exactly what had happened, he’d ended up with even more questions.

  Joseph had the time to do research, because just a few months after losing his son, he’d lost his job. He’d worked for fifteen years as a financial advisor with Larson Investments, a brokerage firm in Austin. But in the autumn of 2008 he’d become just another casualty of the national financial meltdown.

  So he’d had the time, and the expertise, and the means, at least for a while, to look and to question and to learn. He knew the name of the paramedic who’d been on the scene. He knew his name,
his age, and where he lived.

  Joe had been lucky, in his research, to turn up one classmate of the man’s at the Austin Community College. Porter Taylor claimed that the man should never have been awarded a degree from the community college, let alone be allowed to practice emergency medical services. Taylor told him that when he’d turned up evidence that the man had been cheating on his course work and his exams, when he’d seen him breaking the rules and using unauthorized procedures, he’d brought it all to the attention of the authorities on campus. He’d also witnessed the man doing drugs, but hadn’t reported that.

  Taylor told Joe that because the man was a rich man’s son, because the man’s family ties ran to the very heart of Texas society, as it were, they’d ignored the charges. Further, they’d punished Taylor by tossing him out on his ear for daring to point the finger at a Jessop.

  Porter Taylor had been forced to give up his dream of becoming a paramedic, and instead had to settle for whatever odd jobs he could get.

  Joseph hadn’t needed to hear any more or research any further. It had never seemed right to him that Joey should have died. Now he knew that but for the man who’d “treated” him that day, he likely wouldn’t have.

  He’d gone to the police, but they’d come back and told him there was no basis for bringing charges against the paramedic. Joe had known the truth, of course. The man’s family’s pockets were very deep. Frustrated, he’d decided to sue the man. It wouldn’t bring his boy back, but it would be some measure of justice. The lawyer he’d gone to had seemed eager at first. But after his own so-called investigation and looking at the evidence Joe had amassed, he, too, had turned his back. He told Joe there was no case here, and nothing to be gained but embarrassment.

  Joseph wiped at the tears that began to stream down his face. It wasn’t right that the man who’d “attended” his son had gotten away scot free when his son had died. It wasn’t right that his son was dead while that man lived.

  If there’d been a real paramedic on the scene of that accident, everything would have been different. If there’d been a professional on the scene instead of some poor little rich kid who just wanted to play at being a hero, his Joey would still be alive.