A Deep and Dark December

  As he turned from the podium his gaze caught on Erin, lingered, then swung away toward his mother. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have Graham Doran’s attention on her. It still packed a punch that would’ve rocked her back on her heels if she’d been standing. She wanted to go to him and offer comfort, but it wasn’t her place anymore.

  “It’ll be all right, chicken.” Aunt Cerie bumped Erin’s shoulder, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’ll come around. If it’s any consolation, he’s pining away for you. When he saw you he thought—”

  Erin held up a hand. “I don’t want to know his thoughts. Please don’t eavesdrop on him. Graham’s off limits.”

  “He knows I’m listening. He’s worried about you.”

  “What part off he’s off limits do you not understand?”

  Cerie fluttered a hand. “Fine. Fine. Have it your way. But I think you should give the man another chance.”

  “What is or isn’t happening between Graham and me is none of your business.”

  The service ended and everyone stood. Erin watched as Graham went to the front corner of his father’s casket and hefted it up with the other pallbearers. They slowly made their way down the aisle while the church organ moaned. Graham stared straight ahead, his back rigid. As he passed, Erin couldn’t resist reaching out and brushing his hand, a silent show of support. To her surprise he grabbed her fingers, giving them the briefest squeeze, before dropping them and moving out into the gray morning.

  Erin held her breath, barely managing to stifle a sob. She knew she’d done the right thing for both of them, but the right thing was never the easiest. Unable to tear her gaze from his retreating back, she slipped out after the family and stood to the side at the top of the church steps as the rest of the mourners filed out past her.

  Cerie slipped her hand into Erin’s and hugged her arm. “He’s holding up well. Maybe better than you.”

  “I didn’t think it would be so hard to see him and not be with him.”

  “He’s carrying a burden bigger and heavier than his father’s casket.”

  “I wish I knew how to help him.”

  “Give him some time. He’ll come around.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  ~*~

  Graham set Ham’s casket on the metal rails at the back of the hearse and helped slide it in. He’d gone through all the motions of being a good son, doing everything expected of him, and now there was just one more thing to do—lay Ham to an easier rest than he deserved.

  He helped his mother into his car and then climbed in on the driver’s side. He’d spent the week making funeral arrangements and making sure she was properly cared for by hiring a nurse and moving into the house with her. Tomorrow he’d start back to work as sheriff of San Rey. He was surprised at how much he looked forward to it. Maybe the day-to-day of police work would distract him from thoughts of Erin, thoughts he’d finally gotten a handle on until he’d seen her in the church.

  He’d done a pretty good job of putting up a front and focusing on what needed to be done to get through this day. He saw her and his head got so crowded with everything they’d been and done together, he could hardly breathe. And then she’d touched him and he had to focus hard on getting out the door and down the stairs, each step away from her a pounding reminder of how much he’d let her down.

  “That was a lovely service,” his mother said. “Who was it for?”

  Her question caught him off guard. Again. This would be the third time he’d have to tell her that her husband was dead. When they’d arrived at the church and she saw the portrait of Ham beside his casket, she’d broken down, beginning the grieving process as though it was the first time. He could shatter her world all over again now or wait until they got to the gravesite when she’d see the temporary headstone and the horrific shock would grip her anew once more.

  So he lied and told her that the funeral was for an old church friend of hers who’d died several years ago.

  “Oh, no,” she gasped. “Her poor family. Did we send flowers?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “Such a shame. I’m sure going to miss her blueberry pie.”

  Every day seemed to bring new punctures in her memory, so it was strange the things that would stick—like blueberry pie. Her memories spun on a roulette wheel with no way of knowing on what time of her life the ball would stop. His mother would be caught in the cycle of forgetting Ham’s death, then mourning her husband all over again for the rest of her life. He didn’t know how many more times he could watch her go through it. She’d truly loved her husband. They’d had a good marriage. Or so everyone had assumed.

  And then for some reason Ham had taken up with Deidre and everything had gone to shit. He’d had some time to think through the whys of what Ham had done. Spending so much time with his mother, he began to see how much her illness must have changed their relationship. Still, how had things gotten to where Ham had stepped outside their marriage? That alone was so unlike Ham, almost more than the killing.

  He glanced at his mother who had taken out the knitting she always carried with her and was now happily working her yarn as though she wasn’t on her way to bury her husband. Maybe she was better off than the rest of them. Her world stayed calm until reality intruded and she’d have to face all the things her mind had hidden from her with no choice but to go through tragedies over and over again.

  Stuck. She was stuck within the prison of her own mind, never moving forward, never fully present. Hadn’t Erin accused him of the same thing, of being stuck in a cycle of guilt and obligation that had no end? He couldn’t make amends for what Ham had done. He knew that. He did. Although he was having a hard time working through his role in what had happened, he was beginning to learn how to live with it and beat back all the could have’s and should have’s of that night.

  Erin had called him a hero. He was no hero. Careless. He’d been so fucking careless with the people in his life. No more. He’d worked hard in the past few days at breaking that pattern and was finally beginning to feel like he was accomplishing something in caring for his mother. She wasn’t an obligation. He was actually getting pretty good at gauging her moods. He’d learned how to redirect her when she became fixated on something and worked herself into exhaustion, worrying about things that didn’t exist anymore or weren’t hers to worry about.

  And that first time when redirecting didn’t work, he’d been forced to use his ability to calm his mother down. It had worked. He knew it would but still, using it that first time was like learning to rush in as a first responder when every survival instinct he had screamed at him to get out.

  The nights were the worst for his mother. He’d stand outside her bedroom door and will her to settle down and go to sleep until he heard her soft snores. She’d reward him in the morning with pancakes as if he was on summer vacation or home from college for the holidays. It was almost like being mothered by her all over again. No, not an obligation. Not an obligation at all.

  Maybe caring for his mother and fully embracing his role as sheriff was its own kind of absolution, of making wrongs right because he was in a position to do so and not out of guilt. He was even beginning to enjoy and depend on small town life. There was a certain peaceful ebb and flow to it as predictable as the ocean tides. Neighbors had volunteered to help him with his mother and brought them so much food he’d filled up his mother’s refrigerator and the one at the station. He’d had to learn to accept the help, to smile and say thank you, knowing when his neighbors needed him, he’d be there for them.

  He finally felt as though he belonged here, in this smallest of small towns. Who could’ve predicted that?

  The only glaring hole in his life was the one Erin should’ve filled. As he drove into the cemetery near the plot where Ham—no, his father, he couldn’t run away from that anymore—would finally come to rest, he made a vow to convince Erin some way, somehow that he was indeed finally the man she’d challenged him to be.<
br />
  The sea threw its all at the rocks, crashing in big booms, shooting sheets of spray straight up, misting Erin from head to toe. Not that it mattered, with the sky doing its best to outdo the ocean. Lightning flashed, followed shortly by thunder. She wasn’t sure why she’d come here. Certainly it was foolish in such bad weather. Her hair hung in limp ropes and her wet clothes clung, chilling her. She welcomed the idea that the rain could somehow wash away what had happened in this place nearly a month ago.

  This was the first time she’d dared to venture out here. Recapturing her favorite place in San Rey—in the whole world, really—felt like the last step she needed to banish the nightmares for good. Sure, she could’ve come up here to the bluffs on a sunny afternoon, but where was the challenge in that? She laughed at herself. She’d been such a scared little mouse most of her life and now here she was, pushing herself, braving the elements to prove the point to herself that she could be bold and daring.

  She raised her arms and tilted her head toward the sky. The twinge in her shoulder barely registered beyond the cold that had seeped into her bones. Another few weeks of physical therapy and she’d be pronounced whole once again. Other than the scars on her body, there would be nothing left of that night. She smiled to herself at that. She’d done it. She’d fought the monster and her own demons and had come out the other side stronger, if not happier.

  “It’s good to see you like this.”

  She lowered her arms, but didn’t spin around. Somehow she knew he’d come or he’d known she would come. Either way, here they were.

  She turned around slowly, bracing herself to see him up close for the first time in weeks. Her preparation was wasted. Nothing could’ve prepared her for the sight of him as wet as she, standing just a few feet away.

  “It’s good to feel like this,” she answered.

  He cocked his head to the side, a small smile tilting up one corner of his mouth. “Nice weather we’re having.”

  She tucked her hands in her coat pockets and gave him the same sort of smile in return. “Isn’t it?”

  “I’ve heard if you count one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi after a lightning strike, you can tell how close a storm is. Four-Mississippi would be four miles away.”

  “Is it important to you to know how far away a storm is?”

  “It’s important for me to know where I stand in nature. It can turn on a dime.”

  She nodded. “Hmm, I’ve heard that. Do you think by predicting how far away a storm is that you can know for certain when it will reach you?”

  “Maybe. If I’ve done all the right things in the right way for the right reasons.” He looked up at the sky as lightning flashed. “One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, three-Mississippi, four-Mississip—”

  In four short steps she crashed into him. They held each other hard as though the storm would sweep them out to sea. She tilted her face up, he met her halfway, and they kissed a slow, winding kiss that spun her world on its axis. It had been so long since she’d been with him. So long since she’d felt him, so long since the scent of him wrapped around her.

  Holding her face in his hands, he broke the kiss and stared down at her. “They also say that storms wash everything clean. Do you believe that?”

  “I think that’s quite possible, depending on how strong it is.”

  “What about one as strong as this one?”

  She glanced up as another flash of light streaked the sky. “One-Mississippi, two-Miss—” Thunder roared.

  ~*~

  Graham’s heart beat nearly as loud as the thunder. “It’s almost on top of us.”

  She nodded, her face sliding through his fingers, wet from the rain and her tears.

  “I’m not leaving until it’s right on top of us,” he promised.

  “Me either.”

  “We can keep counting as it moves on, track its progress.”

  “I don’t think I can stay here that long.”

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t need to. I’ll believe you when you tell me the worst is over.”

  Relief washed through him. “I can do that.”

  The sky blazed bright, illuminating them for a split second.

  “One-Miss,” they whispered together.

  BOOM.

  “It’s here,” she breathed.

  Bringing her face to his chest, needing that full body connection, he held her tighter. “I’ve got you.”

  The rain came down at them sideways, pelting them with heavy drops. All around them, a wall of sound and sensation made it seem as if they were the last two people on earth.

  “And I’ve got you.” She gripped his back and held on just as tight.

  The thunderstorm raged as though it had gained new strength and purpose. The sea seemed to try to raise itself to meet it, the waves more violent than they’d been before. But for Graham there was only the two of them in this place that had been so many things to them—where they’d first come together, where they’d nearly lost each other, and now where they’d finally found each other again.

  He slowly came to notice that the rain had let up. In the distance the thunder rumbled, signaling the all clear. He dared to pull away a little to look down at her. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that she was finally here in his arms again.

  ~*~

  Erin blinked up at him, needing to be sure she wasn’t seeing things in the rain. It was gone, that heavy lidded look of remorse he’d had. She couldn’t help the joy that coursed through her. He’d finally come back to her, finally forgiven himself and cut loose the weighty ties of grief and guilt.

  “I love you,” she blurted out.

  He stilled. Even his breathing seemed to be suspended as he stared at her through the darkness.

  “It’s okay, Graham. You don’t have to say or do anything. I just wanted you to know.”

  “Why?” he whispered with a faint note of disbelief.

  “I don’t know. I just do. I mean, how do you explain—”

  He put a finger to her lips, silencing her. “I don’t care why.”

  She pulled his hand away, annoyed. “Then why did you ask?”

  “Because I can’t imagine why you would.” He kissed her hard and quick. “But I really don’t care why. I’m just so damn grateful.”

  “Okay.” Not the response she’d expected. At least he hadn’t thanked her.

  “Thank you.”

  Fantastic. “You’re welcome… I guess.” This wasn’t going quite as she’d thought it would.

  “No. That’s not what I…I mean…” He put his forehead to hers. “Thank god you love me too.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you.”

  He laughed. “You’re welcome.”

  “Now what?”

  “Now I take you home and show you just how much I love every single inch of you.”

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  Excerpt from Rush

  Pleasure at Home Book 1

  CHAPTER ONE

  Miyuki Price-Jones held up the shocking pink Multiple O vibrator, flipped the switch and… nothing. No reversible rotating head, no quivering bunny ears and no massaging beads. For the third time this week she’d turned on a toy only to end up frustrated.

  “Davy!” Crosby yelled from somewhere in the darkened television studio.

  The young man in the corner jumped, then shuffled over to the man sitting in a faded director’s chair. “Yes, Mr. Crosby?”

  “Your job is simple. Put the batteries in the toys, test them to make sure they work and
don’t give me a reason to kick your ass all the way to Tuscaloosa!” Rob Crosby, the director of the adult home shopping show, Pleasure at Home, pinched the bridge of his nose.

  All Miyuki, or Mi, could see was the top of Crosby’s balding head, but she could tell he’d had it with Davy. He was going to fire him even though none of this was his fault. It was sabotage… again. She set the Multiple O vibrator down on the faux walnut coffee table next to the other sex toys she would be showcasing today and stood to get Crosby’s attention. “I’m sure it’s not Davy’s fault. Maybe we got a bad batch of batteries. Or—”

  “Or more likely Davy is an incompetent idiot who couldn’t find his own ass with both hands and a map!” Crosby shouted. Crosby was always shouting. It had taken Mi three weeks to stop flinching every time he opened his mouth. Crosby turned on Davy. “Did you even put batteries in it?”

  Davy bobbed his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Without wavering his glare at Davy, Crosby barked, “Check it, Mi. And so help me Davy.” Crosby pointed a finger at the young man. “If four double A’s don’t pop out the bottom of that thing your ass is grass.” Someone’s ass was always grass or otherwise in jeopardy with Crosby.

  Mi picked up the Multiple O and opened the bottom of it. Four batteries sat there, nestled properly with the plus and minus ends exactly as they should be. “Davy’s right. There must be something wrong with the batteries.” She tipped the device upright and switched it on. Still nothing. “Or the vibrator.”

  Crosby threw the sheaf of papers in his hands, sending them floating down around him. “God damn it! Somebody get me some goddamned batteries that work! Of all the incompetent, backwoods, inbred—”

  “Crosby?” Mi interrupted. “Why don’t I just take the batteries from one of the other—”

  “Davy can do it!” Crosby stood up. “Take five, everybody. When I get back every single one of those goddamned things better work. Or your ass is hitting the pavement. Hear me, Davy? And somebody pick up those goddamned papers.” He turned and stormed off in the direction of the studio offices. “Mi! With me.”