Chapter Fifteen
Tory drove aimlessly, looking for a distraction, any distraction. She had always enjoyed spending some chill time at home, sitting beside the pool with a good book. But today, it just seemed like an empty house. She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts, her memories of Leah’s laugh, her Texas-Tennessee drawl, her dimples that showed when she smiled, those dark eyes searching hers.
So she drove by the clinic. She frowned at the scraggly grass and weeds gaining ground in the flower beds, and the eight trays of pansies wilting in the shade while they awaited planting.
The truck parked outside belonged to the young veterinarian Tory employed to see the small-animal patients. Horses were Tory’s passion, but dogs and cats were the real profit maker. She found Dr. Marissa Toliver in the back of the clinic, checking on a few patients, administering their medicine and changing bandages.
“Hey, Rissa. How’s it going? Need some help?”
Marissa, a tall attractive mocha-skinned African-American, looked up from the dog she was holding while she put some drops in his eye.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it. This guy’s a sweetheart. What are you doing here?”
“I own the place, remember?”
“I mean, I thought you were in Chincoteague this weekend.”
“Just got back. I stopped because I was riding by and noticed the grass is ankle deep out there. Is my brother not showing up for work?”
Marissa busied herself checking the dog’s ears, not looking directly at Tory. “Sometimes. I only had to feed the horses once last week. He’s usually here to feed twice a day and clean the stalls. I haven’t seen him on the mower, though.”
It was a beautiful day, and Tory decided that mowing would give her something to occupy her mind. “I’ll take care of it,” she said.
Marissa returned her patient to his pen and turned back to Tory, her hands on her hips. “When are you going to stop covering for him? He’ll never grow up with his mother and sister always making up for his slack ass.”
Tory waved her off as she walked out the door. She didn’t have an answer to that question.
Four hours later, she wiped the dust and sweat from her face and surveyed the neatly trimmed lawn and adjacent newly mowed pasture with satisfaction. Her physical labors had temporarily kept her mind busy and, she hoped, had tired her enough to sleep without reliving the previous night in her dreams.
The flower beds still needed to be weeded and the pansies planted before they completely died, so she left a note for Joyce to dock David’s pay for the time it took her to complete the mowing and headed for her parents’ house.
*
She found David in her parents’ den, watching a baseball game with their father.
Phillip Greyson stood to give her a hug. “Hey, baby. How’s my favorite daughter?”
“Dad, I’m your only daughter.”
“You’re still my favorite. What have you been doing? You better not sit in that chair in those dirty pants. Your mother would have a fit. Let me get something for you to sit on.”
“No, that’s okay, Dad. I just came by to talk to David.”
“I’m watching the game,” David replied, waving at Tory to move from in front of the television.
“I could be watching the game, too, if I hadn’t just spent the entire afternoon mowing the clinic lawn and paddocks, a job I’m paying you to do.”
“I was going to do it tomorrow.”
“You need to mow every week, David.”
He ignored her, staring at the television.
“I want those flower beds weeded and the flowers planted in them tomorrow.”
“I told my buddy I’d come over to discuss the game we’re planning.”
“You can do that after work.”
He didn’t answer.
“David…” Their father’s tone was stern, but David just rolled his eyes.
“Okay, I’ll plant the damn flowers tomorrow.”
“I ought to fire your butt,” Tory muttered as she turned and headed for the kitchen.
“Mom won’t let you,” he called after her.
*
Alma was mixing up a new pitcher of sweet tea when Tory stomped into the kitchen and flung herself into a chair.
“Hello, my daughter. What’s got you grumping around?”
“Your lazy son. I don’t know why I let you talk me into hiring him.”
“You did it because he’s family and you,” her mother planted a kiss on top of Tory’s head, “are a good person.”
“I’m tired of being a good person. It never gets me anywhere.”
Alma braced her hip against the kitchen counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay. This isn’t just about your brother, is it?”
Tory used her thumbnail to pick at a dot of glue permanently stuck on the tabletop, a by-product of one of her mother’s many craft projects.
When Tory didn’t answer, her mother did what mothers do. She began to pry.
“You went to Chincoteague this weekend, didn’t you? Did Skyler do something to hurt your feelings again?”
“No. Skyler cut her hand and couldn’t go with me.”
“You went by yourself?”
“No.” Tory hated that her mother was making her feel like a twelve-year-old confessing a crush on a classmate.
“Do you want to play twenty questions, because you know I can do that. Or do you plan to act like an adult and spit it out?”
“I’m so sick and tired of hearing ‘it’s me, not you, but can’t we just be friends?’”
Her mother was quiet for a moment. She loved her daughter, but her religion made it hard for her to accept Tory’s sexual orientation. Still, she didn’t want to be excluded from her daughter’s life.
“Is that what Cheryl’s cousin told you?”
Tory was surprised. “How do you know Bridgette?”
“I saw Cheryl in the grocery store.”
Tory shook her head. Like the old men who gathered to gossip at the feed-and-seed store, the women gathered at the grocery store. Everybody knew who shopped on what day of the week and what time. So if you wanted to bump into someone, you just made an extra trip to the grocery and pushed your buggy up and down the aisles until you found them.
“No, Bridgette didn’t tell me that. Leah did.”
“Who’s Leah?”
“She’s Lorraine Montgomery’s granddaughter. She subbed for Sky this weekend.”
“I don’t remember you mentioning her before. Did she just move here?”
“No, she’s just visiting.”
Once Tory started, she couldn’t stop from telling her mother everything. Well, everything but the details of their last night together.
Her mother listened intently.
“Mom, what’s wrong with me? I’ve got enough friends. I don’t want to just be friends,” Tory said in a flare of anger. She stood and walked over to the window to stare into the backyard. “I want to settle down with someone I’m crazy about and build a life and a partnership like you and Dad have.”
“Maybe you haven’t found anyone because you should be dating young men, like God intends for all young women to do.”
Tory didn’t answer. They’d had this argument too many times.
Her mother sighed. “Honey, it sounds like this Leah is only here for a short time, and she’s got so many problems. Do you enjoy being friends with Cheryl’s cousin?”
Tory shrugged. “She’s pretty. We’ve had a good time together. She moved here to teach art at the college.”
“She sounds lovely. Why don’t you call her? Cheryl said her cousin had a good time with you, too.”
Tory debated. Did she really want another woman to wash away the memory of her night with Leah? A big part of her wanted to hold on to those moments, to relive and savor each one. But her mother was probably right. And she knew what Skyler would say. “When you get thrown off, get right back in the saddle before you have time to let your fear
take root.”
“Okay. I’ll call.”
*
A series of emergencies in addition to her heavy schedule of appointments kept Tory busy, so it was Sunday again before she called. Bridgette was quick to accept Tory’s invitation to come to her house for dinner. In fact, she insisted on bringing something they could grill on Tory’s patio because it was a beautiful evening. That gave Tory time to shower and pick up around the house before Bridgette arrived.
When Tory answered the doorbell, Bridgette stepped inside and gave her a sweet kiss before setting down a medium-sized cooler.
“What do we have here?”
“Shrimp-and-scallop skewers. I brought some chicken breasts, too, in case you don’t like seafood.”
“I love seafood.”
“Good. I hope you have a charcoal grill.”
“Oh, I see. Another of those purists who don’t like gas grills. I have both, but we’ll have to wait for the coals to get hot.”
“Then you can go get the coals ready. I work alone when I’m creating, whether it’s in the studio or in the kitchen.”
Tory hesitated, watching her remove the items and place them on the kitchen counter. The last item was a large pitcher. “What’s that?”
“Tea. Pour yourself a glass and go relax on the patio after you start the charcoal.”
“You didn’t have to bring that. I have tea in the fridge.”
“This is a special tea. The kind they make on Long Island.”
“Ah. The alcoholic kind. Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“It depends.” Bridgette stole another kiss. “Do I have to promise not to take advantage of you later?”
Tory laughed nervously. Christ. She had been making love to Leah only a week ago. She was certainly no nun, but, hell, she’d never slept with two different women in the same month, much less the same week. On the other hand, Leah didn’t want her. Bridgette did.
You’re so damn sweet. Leah’s words echoed in her mind. Maybe that was the problem. Women saw her as sweet, like a sister. If she wanted to be considered sexy, maybe she needed to be a little bad. She reached into the cabinet and brought out the plastic drink cups she used around the pool.
“No promises required.”
Chapter Sixteen
Leah had worked all week, charting incident after incident in the database. She buried herself in research again on Sunday night to block the memories of where she had been the previous weekend—making love with Tory. When her thoughts wandered to Tory’s mouth on her body, Tory’s hands between her legs, her fingers stroking and probing, Leah would clamp her thighs together to stop the throbbing and stare harder at the numbers on her chart.
Dawn was brightening the sky outside when Leah finally sat back and rubbed her eyes, but her chart now revealed a clear pattern of abuse. The state board charged with inspecting the extended-care facilities across the state was staffed by the very people who owned many of the businesses. Their facilities were consistently let off with little or no fine, even in the most severe cases. Other rest homes, specifically two owned by national companies trying to get a foothold in the state, were frequently inspected and heavily fined.
But the worst part of the information she was deciphering was the pattern of rampant abuse and neglect among the facilities that took care of the poorest patients, those surviving only on Medicaid.
Other things didn’t add up. Several of the facilities seemed to collect Medicaid payments for months after some patients died. She could finally smell that Pulitzer she had been stalking. The only problem was getting her findings published.
Leah made a list of what to do next—track down and interview the families of several deceased patients, request some Medicaid payment information to compare with death certificate dates, and then find a buyer for her research.
She needed the name of a news agency, state legislator, or some national nonprofit watchdog group behind her before she began to confront those people in charge of the current system. She remembered too well what her mentor had told her about his house being burglarized and his laptop and files stolen when he was working on a story that involved millions of misspent federal tax dollars.
She wanted to call Tory and tell her what she’d found, but Leah was sure she’d be sleeping at this hour. Besides, she didn’t even know if Tory still wanted to talk to her. She had never answered when Leah pleaded for them to be friends, and she had left without saying good-bye.
Leah let out a long sigh. She’d think about that later. For the moment, she was dead tired, the adrenaline from her initial discovery long spent. She carefully saved the information and closed her laptop. She still had a few hours to catch some sleep before Gram got up.
She curled up on the couch and started to empty her busy mind. But she just couldn’t lock away one thought, the memory of how Tory felt, spooned against her back with her strong arms holding her close and sheltering her from her worries. She’d never experienced such a sense of security except when she retreated to the haven of Gram’s farm as a child.
*
The sun was high and beaming through the window hot enough to make Leah sweat uncomfortably. She wasn’t sure if it was that or the quiet of the house that woke her. She stumbled into the bathroom to relieve herself and splash a little water on her face. When she looked up at the mirror, she was startled to see the sad, hollow-eyed person staring back at her.
What did she have to be sad about? She finally had her hands on a story that would be her ticket to a new reporting job, maybe even a shot at the big time.
Not only that, the information had helped her identify a handful of facilities with only a few minor, or even no violations. Now she could begin an earnest search for Gram’s new home. She also needed to contact that developer. The sale of the farm for several million would ensure Gram the very best care.
Hell, if she couldn’t find a place Gram liked, she would just take Gram along when she got a new job. With the kind of money they would make off the farm, she should be able to hire someone full-time to care for Gram while she worked. Yeah. Maybe she should explore that option.
Leah watched her eyes grow wide in the mirror. Gram. Where was Gram?
She checked the bedroom. No Gram. In fact, she was nowhere in the house. She wasn’t on the front porch, either. Then Leah remembered Debbie saying she’d found her trying to let Nighty out of his stall.
She hurried out to the barn, where she found Gram talking quietly to the pony as he ate from a full bucket of grain.
“Gram, sugar, what are you doing out here?” She snatched the bucket of grain up before the pony could eat any more.
“Nighty was hungry, so I got him a bucket of sweet feed. I can’t seem to find the key to this lock. Do you know who put this lock on his stall?”
“I did, Gram. Nighty has to stay away from the grass because he’s on a special diet. Have you been coming out here and feeding him every day? No wonder he isn’t getting any better.”
“He’s hungry.” Gram frowned.
“I know, sugar, but it’s for his own good. Don’t feed him any more, okay?”
Gram’s frown deepened. “Where’s Willie? I think we should ask Willie about this.”
Leah watched Nighty lie down again to relieve the pressure on his feet. Tory had told her that she could increase Nighty’s dose of anti-inflammatory once more if he showed signs of getting worse. Maybe calling Tory wasn’t such a bad idea. Just to double-check.
Chapter Seventeen
The sun was so bright. Tory scrunched her eyes closed to escape the thumping in her head and groaned. Her mouth felt like cotton. Her lower back ached like she’d been slinging hay bales for a week.
The bed shifted as the weight pinning her facedown in the pillows lifted from her back. Tory’s mind raced. Bridgette. Christ. Had she embarrassed herself last night? God, how many glasses of that tea had she drunk?
She remembered having one while they were grilling. The second went fast whil
e Bridgette made a game of feeding her morsels of shrimp dipped in a hot Cajun sauce. She thought she recalled a third one while Bridgette’s hands were on her shoulders, kneading away the tension from Leah’s rejection and her brother’s lazy lack of respect.
“You must have had a stressful weekend,” Bridgette said. “Your shoulders are tight as bowstrings.”
“I’m tired of being everybody’s friend,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
“That’s good. Because I definitely was planning on being more than just a friend,” Bridgette replied.
It was the fourth tea Bridgette poured for her that was responsible for them ending up naked in the pool. They swam like mating dolphins, rubbing their bare bodies together in the warm water until Bridgette wrapped her long legs around Tory’s waist and said, “Your fingers, inside me, now.”
When Bridgette screamed out her climax, Tory dimly remembered being grateful that her house sat on five acres so there were no neighbors within hearing range.
After they emerged from the pool, Bridgette’s eyes were hot on Tory’s body as they dried themselves. “God, you’re magnificent,” she said, taking Tory’s hand and leading her, still naked and still throbbing for her own release, into the house.
Bridgette grabbed her book-bag style purse. “Bedroom?” she asked.
Tory wordlessly pointed down the hallway, letting Bridgette take the lead. When they stood beside Tory’s bed, Bridgette dropped without ceremony to her knees. Tory gasped as she felt Bridgette’s hands on the back of her thighs, pulling her close, and then Bridgette’s warm tongue on her clit.
She was hard and wet and more than ready. Her head was still spinning from the alcohol and her quick climax when Bridgette dug into her bag and pulled out a thick strap-on dildo. She stood and pressed her long body against Tory’s. “I’m assuming a stud like you knows how to drive,” she said in Tory’s ear.
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