by Jenna Barton
“Hi, Tate,” Erin said, waving.
He needed to thank Claire again for finding that dress, and for insisting Lu stop pushing the pleather and denim mini-skirt that should have never escaped a late eighties Mötley Crűe concert.
Just looking at her, pretty and soft and so unlike many of the women walking past them up to the house, bound up in their corsets and hard dungeon clothes, made the thing he’d sensed since she came back from California ring clear and true. This relationship with this woman—this one wasn’t just a lifestyle thing for a season. Not play partners, not see you at the next party or next time we’re in the same city at the same time. Everything around him felt more filled-in. When he caught someone taking notice of Erin, the filled-in edges become brighter and more defined. As Walt watched her begin to get to know people at the Enclave, he was proud of her for pushing herself to open up. Just proud of her, and being the one she chose to be with. His.
Shit, Lu was right. He was a fucking caveman.
“I’m going to find Claire,” Erin said, grinning and pursing again as he opened the passenger door for her.
Opening doors and holding out chairs was the first stage of their protocol. Erin fussed like a wet cat every time she had to let him do anything that resembled what he’d been brought up to simply consider good manners. And Walt had made the decision to enforce those rules for that very reason. The actions wouldn’t be noticed in public if they decided to take their D/s outside of home and Tate’s house, but it underlined, for both of them, the power exchange growing between them.
She flicked her eyes to the open door and back to him, barely suppressing a laugh. The simple expectations and ground rules they’d agreed on were still new, and they both fumbled with them. For now, he’d give her a pass on the smirks and giggles. He occasionally screwed up at his own commitment to be constantly attuned to her direction, too.
Erin caught herself and tipped her chin down, inhaling to settle herself. Walt waited.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, finally, and raised her eyes to his.
Better. And fucking hot.
“Good girl,” he whispered into her ear. He set a kiss on her cheek and stepped aside. “I’ll text you before dinner.”
As Erin passed her, Lu paused and blew a kiss in her direction. She came to his side, chuckling.
“Well, goodness. Aren’t you two the picture of precious?”
“Down, killer,” Tate said, elbowing her. “It’s nice. They’re happy. Let them be.” He saw a couple from Knoxville struggling with their belongings and sauntered away to help.
Lucy hooked her arm through Walt’s and they started for the house. “Are you?”
This was a voice he rarely heard from Lu. Quiet and free of the snarky tone she’d just used on him. Her hair was loose, curling into its natural waves, and she’d eased off the heavy Doma Lucia makeup. She wore a pretty summer dress too, one in her favorite black, long enough to brush the tops of her feet, and her shoulders were turning golden from afternoons in the summer sun. Lucy almost looked like that girl from his calculus class he’d wanted to go out with so many years ago.
“Yeah,” Walt said. He tucked her closer to him and kissed the top of her head. “Yeah, I am. You too?”
She smiled. At this stage of the game, admitting to feelings in that voice would be too much for Lu.
He squeezed her shoulder and they paused at the steps under the porte-cochère. “When can I meet her?”
“This fall. Maybe?” She shrugged. “Let’s see how it goes, okay?”
“All right. Ready when you are, baby.” They stepped into the mudroom.
“Oh. Really?” Lu snarled.
So much for soft and personal Lucy.
She had good reason to be irked, though. Stationed by the powder room was Paul’s secondary, waiting on him most likely, as she munched on a handful of chips. And she was wearing a heavy-gauge steel collar like the one Claire wore when she was away from her job at Paul’s dentistry practice. It was, in fact, an exact replica, except for the rhinestone-covered kitten head hanging from it.
Leaning forward, Walt peered into the dim light. “Is that cat wearing a hairbow?”
“Stop squinting, PaPaw, she’ll think you’re checking out her tits. The last thing that piece needs is a pump to her ego.” The piece started waving to them. “Great, she saw you. Now we have to go over there or Claire will never hear the end of it.”
“Hey, guys.” Powderpuff had this way of drawing every single syllable of a word to its breaking point. What was that girl’s name? Tina? Tessa? She shook crumbs from her hands to the floor under her and sauntered toward them, smiling and hamming it up as she fluttered her eyelashes. She lifted her chin and shimmied her shoulders so the cat head attached to her collar sparkled in the dim interior light. “Look what I got.”
“A collar. How sweet.” Lu was the picture of herself at a sorority formal, twenty years ago. “Darling clip-on too. When? Tell us everything.”
Walt didn’t have the stomach to watch this. It was like looking down at a shark cage and pitying the chum. He stepped back, squeezing Lu’s elbow and nodding to Powderpuff.
“Congratulations,” he said.
“Oh no, Ranger, wait. Sir said I could have you play with me down in the whip room while he does a scene with his other girl.”
“No thanks. I’ve got plans.”
Four or five months ago, he might have done it, just to buy Claire some alone time with Paul, and because he rarely got to use the dedicated lane when Tommy and his wife Alex were around all night, throwing their homemade whips at everyone and anyone who asked. Then, but not today and never again, because Erin’s presence at the Enclave colored every decision now. Even if she’d not been able to get away from the upgrade she had her team running at the data center, Walt still would have declined. Playing for the sake of playing just held no appeal. It wouldn’t, never again.
And being granted permission, through his secondary, for a play session with one of Paul’s girls like he was some kind of lackey with a toybag pissed Walt off. Fuck Paul Saldino’s damn edicts and fuck him for leaving Claire in the kitchen helping everyone else while he strolled around with a collared girl young enough to be his daughter. Anger flared, surprising him, and forcing him to set his jaw as the sense of it escalating climbed over his skull.
“Oh, please.”
“No,” he said again, his voice sharp enough to surprise Lu, who flinched a little at his arm and looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. “Thank you for the invitation. Excuse me.”
Walt lifted his toybag and stepped back outside. There was an old foam core-covered tree stump at the far corner of the garden used by the mentoring classes for their first attempts at throwing a whip at another thing. It was the only place he trusted himself to be until he could cool off.
When I found her in the Enclave’s kitchen, I noticed right away Claire didn’t seem like herself, in any way. Though she was normally quite pale, her cheeks didn’t have their usual healthy pink flush—something my mother would have called “roses in her cheeks.” Her demeanor, though, was more troubling. As dulled as her appearance was, a more elemental part of Claire seemed scattered, or even panicked beneath her usual focus on preparing the house for the monthly play party.
“Oh, Erin, you’re here,” she said, breathy. “How are you? Oh, look at your dress, it’s beautiful on you. Is Walt here? Did you come together?”
“Claire.” I lifted a chafing dish from her arms. “Slow down.”
“Tate brought a caterer in this time and they were two hours late dropping off the food.” She tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ll never get everything warmed and put in the serving pieces.”
“Claire,” I said again, reaching for her arms. “You have to slow down. Breathe. Have you eaten today? You look like my mother does when her blood sugar drops.”
She waved me away and turned for the butler’s pantry. “Oh, Tessa and I are doing a juice clea
nse. It’s all organic and—” She reached for the large island a second before her knees buckled.
“And you have to sit down.” I lead her across the kitchen.
“I’m fine, really.” Her hands vibrated in mine. “I need to check…something.” She looked around us, dazed. “Where’s Tate?”
“He’s outside. Come with me and sit. I’ll go find him.”
She didn’t protest again. I lead her past the dining room table, already filled with light appetizers, plated to make any lifestyle maven’s chest swell with pride. I snatched a bottle of lemonade, a few cubes of cheese, and some grapes.
Pulling the door of Tate’s reading room shut behind me, I pointed to the deep, leather sofa. “Over there.”
Claire made a thready, distant sound resembling a laugh. “Wow, Erin. You can be bossy. Are you sure you’re not a switch?”
Fine, call me bossy.
I switched to work Erin and leveled my eyes at her. “Claire.”
She sat.
“I can’t eat that,” she said as I arranged a pair of tapestry-covered pillows behind her. “Sir…I’m doing this juice cleanse with Tessa.”
“You told me that in the kitchen. I don’t think Paul would begrudge you a little bit of protein and some fruit to keep you from fainting.”
She shook her head. “I can’t, Erin. I’m not allowed to break the cleanse.”
This was completely absurd. “I’ll talk to Paul. Or…if that’s problematic, I’ll ask Walt to talk to Paul. Or Lucy—she’ll definitely explain it to Paul in a way he’ll understand.”
Claire accepted the bits of food and nibbled at a piece of cheese, watching me carefully over her hand.
I sat. Tate could wait until I was sure she’d actually eaten.
“Did you see Tessa?”
“I did, in the mudroom.”
“Did you see her collar?”
The lost, wide-eyed look wasn’t entirely from low blood sugar. Their dynamic, I reminded myself. None of my business, something I couldn’t comment on.
“I thought I noticed something but I was more interested in finding you,” I told her. Claire cast her gaze down like a scolded child, and that was that. My friend’s breaking heart was more important than Paul’s imperious rules. “Are you okay about the collar, Claire?”
“Oh, sure,” she said, waving as she pulled at a grape stem. “It’s not really something I can say yes or no to, but Tessa’s very sweet and Sir loves her, so…”
Her shoulders shook a little and the grapes tumbled from her hand. I reached to her and she broke, heaving heavy, silent sobs against her curled fingers.
“Claire…sweetie,” I whispered into her hair as I settled her against me. Her skin was icy, slick with sweat. There wasn’t a throw behind us or a stray jacket nearby. Only me to get her warm. I wrapped both arms around her, and I did my best.
Minutes later, after several rounds of her sobbing and my shhh-ing, and many pointless whispers of how okay everything was against Claire’s pallid temple, she sagged against me. Her hands lay heavy in her lap.
“I’m sorry about the grapes,” she said, her voice hoarse and dull.
“They’re grapes. I’ll get more.” I squeezed her shoulder again. “One of us will speak with Paul, Claire. I can’t imagine he would want you to make yourself ill for a crash diet.”
“I’ve put on a little weight.” She stared into her lap again.
“I think you look wonderful.”
“Tessa…she was a rope bunny before, you know? She’s really athletic. She and Sir have been running and they just got this racing bicycle. It’s a tandem…you know? For two.”
“Hey,” I said, picking up her hand. “You are talented and beautiful and the kindest person I know. You can’t be Tessa, and you don’t have to be.”
Claire’s shoulders fell and her eyes clouded again. “I know.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. “This might be work, I have to take this.”
“It’s okay.” She turned a small smile toward me and shrugged. “I’m really fine.”
I stepped into the hall. The number was local, but not a work exchange. “Hello?”
“Uh…Hello? This Miss Proctor?” Miz Prua-ctuh. It was the reedy, elderly voice of a man, accented like many of Callahan’s older locals.
“Yes,” I said, guarded.
“This is Bob Jensen from down on Sycamore Street. You know, your next door neighbor? You doing all right?”
“Yes, I’m…”
“Well, now, I wanted to give you a call about your house. I was cutting my grass and noticed a woman on your front porch and looked like she might of went inside. Thought it was you at first, but then I recalled you and your boyfriend taking off earlier.” He cleared his throat and continued, “It ain’t my business what you do, but I just noticed y’all leaving when I was doing the weedeatin’.”
“No, that’s fine. I’m glad you called.”
“T’be honest, like I say, I thought it was you at the first, but then I remembered you and Mr. Easton headed out in his truck, and then I looked around the front and I noticed your car still in your driveway.”
“Thought it was—” I sagged against the doorframe. “I see.”
“Sorry to be any trouble. Just thought you’d like to know.”
“Yes, I would. I’m glad you called.” Damn. Damn, damn, damn. “Thank you very much for being such a good neighbor, Mr. Jensen. I’m on my way home now. Have a nice afternoon.”
“You do the same, Miss Proctor.”
Leaning to my side, I ducked my head in the room where Claire still sat, with tear-stained cheeks, gazing into space. “Claire?” I cleared my throat. “Honey?”
“Hmm?”
“I need to go to my…I need to go home for a few minutes. Will you stay—yeeeoooww!” A hand—too small to be Walt’s—connected with my backside. I turned and found Lucy and her toybag.
“Whatssa happenin’, haaatschtuff?” She wagged her eyebrows.
“Oh, Lucy, thank God.”
“Yeah, I hear that all the time.” She grinned, tossing her golden hair over one shoulder, and set her toybag against the wall. “What’s up?”
I pulled the door closed behind me, tipping my head toward the room. “Claire.” I dropped my voice further. “The collar.”
Her face turned to thunder. “That fucker.” She looked like a furious shieldmaiden, ready for battle. “I’m going to take that tacky fucking cat charm and shove it up his hairy shithole.”
“Um, I hope you do, and that you do it exactly how you just…said. But right now, could you sit with Claire? I have an emergency at my house and need to go home. Oh, have you seen—” after watching Claire’s breakdown, Sir felt like wet cotton on my tongue “—Walt? I didn’t drive and need the keys to his truck.”
Lucy’s eyes darted over her shoulder. “Um…he’s doing some practice with his singletail in the garden. Here, take mine.”
“Lucy, I can’t—”
“It’s just a car. Shit, what is it with you and Walt and worrying about fucking cars?” She pressed a keyfob into my hand. “I’m parked by the guest house. Shut up and take it. You have my permission to drive like a bat out of hell, all the way to Callahan, okay?”
“Okay.” Before I realized it, I had clenched Lucy to me. “Thank you, Lu.”
“Hey,” she said, patting my shoulder. “It’s a stupid car. No big whoop.” She stepped away and smiled softly at me. “Hurry back, okay?”
Twenty harried minutes later, I turned Lucy’s Range Rover into my drive. Just as Mr. Jensen said, a compact gray sedan was parked behind my car. Nondescript, much like the rental I had in Los Altos the month before.
“Oh damn. No,” I said to the cool, quiet interior. It smelled of Lucy’s perfume, which was a surprising comfort. “Damn.”
I removed the key from the ignition and stepped out from the big SUV.
My neck prickled with the intermittent twin ESP I shared with Danielle. She was in my house
. I knew. I could almost feel her, hanging heavy in the air around me.
In fact, she was lounging across my sofa, her bare feet crossed over the coffee table. Drinking Walt’s beer and eating what appeared to be my leftover chicken enchiladas. On my sofa.
“Dani?” The sister in front of me looked much, much more like the one I’d left in California when I’d moved to Callahan nine months ago. The carefully applied makeup and tailored clothing she’d worn when I saw her a month before was gone. Her hair was twisted on top of her head in a messy topknot. “Dani, what are you doing here? And how did you get in here?”
“You hid your spare key in that cheap-ass frog on the front porch. It’s like hi, look at me, I’ve got a spare key in my ass, burglars!” She rolled her eyes at me. “And by the way, hello.”
“Hi.” I sank into the opposite sofa and took a deep breath. I knew she wasn’t, but I had to ask. “Dani, are you okay? Isn’t Saturday your big night at the restaurant?”
“Dante broke up with me, so I probably won’t be having any more good Saturday night shifts.” She made the same stony face she always made when she was trying to not cry.
“Oh,” I said. I should have gone to her, reached for her hand, mirrored the same motions I’d made with Claire less than an hour before. I couldn’t move. “I’m so sorry, Dani.”
“Yeah, well…he’s a guy, what do you expect?” She sighed heavily. “Why are you all dressed up?”
“I’ve been at a…a thing. For work.”
“On a Saturday afternoon?” She squinted. “Nice dress. I’ve never seen anything so…um, colorful on you.”
“Thank you, my—it’s a favorite.”
Her eyes narrowed and she sat the plate on the edge of the coffee table. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong?”