by Leigh Tudor
“A staircase that’s not up to code...” she whispered. “There’s no telling the laundry list of infractions he’s amassed by now.”
He wanted to drown in her scent and feel the pulse just below her earlobe.
And then he thought of Alec. The hulk of a man who was now a Loren Ingalls-deprived zombie. His friend and business partner had tried to gain a firmer grip on his man card, but the edges were worn and dog-eared.
It wasn’t uncommon for Trevor to find him in the aisles of the hardware store where he was supposed to be stocking inventory, but instead he’d be staring off with knitted brows and a look of longing, mixing lug nuts with cabinet hinges.
He couldn’t become that guy. The one who could barely breathe when thinking about his woman. Who had this inextricable need to protect her and provide for her every need and desire.
Oh God, he was becoming a copycat version of Alec Wilder.
He had to remember this was her choice. She had fallen for someone else.
And here he was, flirting with her as if she hadn’t ended things with him in front of the entire town and his sister.
Amber, his sister, who had traveled from overseas to reunite with Haley and to meet Marleigh and Nate, as well as his fiancée, had laughed at him when he’d told her it was over. They were over. That she had met another man.
Amber chuckled and said that the woman she’d met during the ribbon-cutting ceremony wasn’t a woman who was in love with another man. Nope, that woman who, for whatever reason, had simply been unwilling to admit to being head over heels in love with her clueless brother.
Trevor wanted to believe Amber, but Mercy wouldn’t lie about something like that. Besides, he had confronted her and she assured him she wasn’t following through on their premeditated fake breakup. It was real. Thank God the children had missed the humiliating scene as Marleigh suffered a patent leather shoe malfunction that required a trip back to the car for a safety pin.
The question remained as to the identity of the dead man walking, who’d swept her off her feet. And when did she meet him? Had this newfound love affair been going on for a while?
He fisted his hands to his sides, trying to distract himself from the sudden need to reduce the mystery man’s oxygen source to a single breathing tube.
Wiping the faint frown from his face, he diverted his attention to Madame. “So, may I ask what happened?”
Madame took a moment to provide a high-level explanation as to how she’d learned of Becky Waterman’s attack by her husband, his dumping of her in Loren’s driveway, and coming across the deed of the cabin.
And then, how she’d surmised this location as the logical hideout for, in her words, such a barmy twit.
“So, you both are okay? The police apprehended him?” His eyes narrowed once again on Mercy. “Did Wonder Woman here take him down?”
Mercy turned to Madame, who was perusing her nails with a smug look on her face. She then faced Trevor again, which felt like a punch to his gut when she smiled devilishly.
“I can’t take credit for this one.”
Madame gave him a wry grin. “It was nothing, really. No one expects a woman of my advanced age to have the upper body strength to wield a 9mm Luger with any sense of accuracy. But I can assure you, I am the exception.”
“You shot him?”
“Goodness, no. I don’t condone the use of excessive force. I hit him on the knob with it.”
Mercy slapped both hands on the table. “On that note, let’s get you back home,” she said, standing and carrying the teacups to the sink as investigation teams continued to work in the various rooms gathering fingerprints and evidence.
“Has Madame been questioned?” Trevor asked.
“Both of us have,” Mercy answered. “But they said to be prepared to return tomorrow with Loren for further questioning.”
Just then, the detective reentered the cabin, and Madame waved her over.
“I have a couple of things I forgot to share with Detective Hanson. Master Forrest, would you be so kind as to escort Mercy to her vehicle? I should be out shortly.”
“That’s unnecessary,” Mercy said with what looked to be a fair amount of trepidation. “I mean, I can walk to the car on my own.”
Trevor lowered his head as he ran his fingers around his neck. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a minute to talk to you about the kids.”
She hesitated, biting her bottom lip and making him go hard.
Fuck, now he was going to walk her all the way to her vehicle sporting a billy club in his pants.
“Oh, okay, right,” she said and then whispered to Madame, loud enough for him hear, “Don’t be long.”
Chapter Two
“There’s nothing like the eureka moment of knocking off a song that didn’t exist before – I won’t compare it to sex, but it lasts longer.” — Paul McCartney
It was nearly pitch-black outside, but Mercy’s senses were full of the man she was following. The polished, calm exterior belied by the electric humming that steadily crackled just beneath the surface. How a man could look both unfazed and about to combust at the same time proved a mystery to the woman who was the worst liar and wore her feelings on her sleeve for all to see.
Her traitorous eyes ventured to the dark slacks in front of her, his hands in his pockets making them hug his backside just so.
Get to the car, hear what he has to say, and then leave.
And for the love of God, stop picturing him naked.
To her relief, they made it to the vehicle where he opened the driver’s door, the light from the vehicle illuminating his stern face that was avoiding eye contact with her.
She remembered when she was all he cared to look at. When she had his undivided attention and made her feel so special, desired, and wanted.
How, for a moment in time, he convinced her they were a real thing and not some fabrication born from the need to protect his little family.
And she blew it. Proving she had no business playing with the lives and hearts of the people she deeply cared for.
She was the imposter temporarily given the reckless responsibility of the care and feeding of others’ souls. What had she been thinking? She didn’t know how to manage the relationships with her sisters, let alone those outside of her dysfunctional family.
But oh, how she wanted him, despite knowing she didn’t deserve him.
He held the door open for her and before settling inside and making her escape; she turned to him to land her greedy eyes once more on his.
“You had mentioned the children,” she offered. Anything to keep him in her orbit.
“Yeah, they spoke of you today. Wanted to know when you might be visiting.”
“Are they... are they upset by what happened?”
His eyes finally lit on hers—flints of steel boring into her—and she instantly regretted wanting his attention.
“They weren’t there when you announced to the town that we were over.”
Holding the doorframe, she stared down at her feet to escape the blatant hostility written all over his face. “Oh... okay… that’s good. I think.”
“I’ll make sure they know this farce is over.”
She nodded, digging her toe into the dirt-packed driveway.
“I hope you’ll keep your word and spend time with them.”
Her eyes flew up to his. “Of course.”
He nodded and swallowed. “Good.”
She knew she needed to leave. Put him out of his misery. Before she could convince herself to do the right thing though, he asked, “And I hope this guy you’ve met makes you happy.” Insincerity dripped from his tone.
It took a minute for her to respond. “Oh, yeah, he’s... great.”
“So, what’s his name?”
Good Lord, a name… “Uh… Greg.”
“Greg, huh?” he said, tilting his head to the side. “What does Greg do?”
“Oh,” she said, pondering what job she could assign to her ne
w fake boyfriend. Jeez, she needed to keep a spreadsheet on all the fake identities she had to keep track of.
“He’s... an accountant.”
Trevor nodded his head slowly, his lips a firm line. “Sounds like the perfect boring job.”
She recalled what she had told him of her list of ‘must haves’ for the future Mr. Mercy Ingalls—including where he fell short—at the top of the list was a boring job that would bring the future Mr. Mercy Ingalls home every night.
And then Trevor had to go and hang up his espionage hat and become the co-owner of a boring local hardware store.
But he hadn’t done that for her sake. That had been for Nate, Marleigh, and Haley. He’d admitted as much.
Trevor’s voice pulled her back. “Won’t Greg be upset if you come to the house to spend time with the kids?”
“Quit saying his name like that.”
“Oh? How am I saying his name?”
“I don’t know, like you 're referring to black mold as opposed to the future father of my children.” She tensed, sensing she might have gone too far as a vein protruded from his neck. “Besides, why would me coming to your house upset him?”
His expression changed to one of aggravation. “It would piss me off if someone I loved went to her ex’s house.”
“Oh,” she said, picking at the nail of the hand holding onto the top of the driver’s door. “He’s very understanding.”
“That’s good, I guess,” he remarked. “Because I wouldn’t be.”
She chanced a look and found his eyes boring down on her.
“I wouldn’t like it one bit,” he went on. “I wouldn’t care to know she was playing house in another man’s home, spending time with his kids as if they were still together.”
“We were never really together.”
“We were. You know it and I know it, but for whatever reason you wouldn’t admit it.”
“None of that matters now. I’m with...” Crap, she needed to come up with a more memorable name. “Greg! I’m with Greg now.”
“You know what I think?”
That she was outright lying? She didn’t dare respond.
“I think you owe me an apology.”
“Fine. I’m so…”
“Oh no, I don’t want a verbal apology.”
“What other kind is there?”
“I want a kiss.”
Her heart was now lodged in her throat. He was killing her.
“I don’t think—”
“It’s the least you could do, considering you broke up with me in front of the entire town and my sister, who traveled from another continent to meet you and see the kids. But instead, witnessed your public confession of meeting someone else.”
He moved toward her, crowding her until her back ended up flush against the door, the light from the inside wafting over the angry cuts and valleys of his face as he stared at her mouth.
“Say yes,” he instructed, leaning into her until she could feel his hard length and nearly passed out from that alone.
“I don’t think...”
“Say yes,” he repeated, “It’s the least you could do.”
She stared at the pulse beating alongside his neck and breathed, “Yes.”
Mercy’s eyes flew wide open and her fingernails cut into his biceps at the onslaught of his lips on her neck. Gripping her hips, he dragged her over his arousal and back down.
This man made her so weak she was going to come just from dry humping his thigh. Repeatedly punishing her for a crime she admitted to yet never committed.
Overwhelmed at the level of anger he was exerting while making her feel like a sex-starved maniac, she feared the sheer force of this assumed innocent last kiss was going to rip the car door off its hinges.
Her breathing turned ragged and then to heavy panting when one of his hands cupped her between her legs. And as if not enough, rogue fingers found where her folds would be if not for the layers of clothing.
His mouth finally found hers, and there was no time for softness or reverence. Only retribution. And before she could gain control, his hand was foraging its way down the front of her pants. Her hands flew to his hair as she sucked in her stomach to allow more room for his looting fingers. She held on tight as if the strands were a life raft while his fingers tunneled through her wetness.
And then he was inside her and she saw stars.
Oh God, he was finger-fucking her and swallowing her tongue while a crime scene investigation was wrapping up less than a hundred feet away.
“Does he kiss you like this?” he asked, and then attacked her lips once again, demonstrating his point.
She responded with more heavy breathing, unable to form words.
“Does he make you feel like this?” He added another finger and she saw the cosmos as his thrusts had her on her toes trying to find purchase, searching for leverage. Desperate for him to go deeper.
“Does he fuck you like your body was made for him?”
Every muscle was on high alert as he increased the pace, cursing her under his breath, at the same time treasuring and torturing her.
“Does he put his tongue here?” he asked as his thumb found her clit without missing a thrust of his fingers. “Does he lick and suck your juices because there’s nothing on this earth that tastes sweeter than what’s between your legs?”
These had to be rhetorical questions because her ability to speak had escaped her and she was going to be forced to live the rest of her life as a babbling idiot. But as long as his fingers were between her legs, she’d learn to cope.
In a single breath, she was suspended somewhere between pleasure and pain. With the next, she was tumbling into the darkness, erupting around his fingers with a soul-wrenching, mind-disorienting orgasm.
She moaned and gasped and rode out her quivering on his fingers, tears pooling in her eyes, knowing that this was about to end and she would be back to loving him from afar while suffering his contempt.
Her muscles melted as her body slowly found homeostasis.
Before she could take a breath, his hands broke free from the confines of her panties, as if he’d just touched a live wire. He pulled her hands from his shoulders and they flew to the panel of the door behind her, searching for balance.
He backed away, virtual concrete walls erecting themselves again all around him.
“Stop by any time after four this week to see the kids.”
She responded with the sound of her trying to catch her breath.
He reached out to lift her chin, so he had her full attention. “Hope Greg makes you happy.”
And with that, he walked away with the swagger of a pirate who had just laid claim to a lazy, unsuspecting cargo ship.
She chanced a quick glance at him making his way to his truck and caught him sucking on the fingers he’d slipped inside her moments ago.
She closed her eyes.
Have mercy.
Chapter Three
“Do I listen to pop music because I’m miserable or am I miserable because listen to pop music?” — John Cusack
Loren woke to a bright sunny day, the sparrows and finches paying homage in the form of birdsong to the golden rays of a prairie sunrise. She and her sisters had arrived at Wilder in the late summer of last year, and she was often told there was nothing like Texas in the springtime. She popped out of bed with the excitement of experiencing the season for the first time.
And then vomited.
Barely making it to the toilet in time.
After purging what little bile was in her stomach from the night before, she wiped her mouth with a washcloth and sat with her back against the wall. She needed to get up and call the hospital to see if Becky was awake and accepting visitors.
She simply needed to find that single ounce of energy. Any day now...
A timid knock broke her from her breathing exercises.
“Half-Pint, you okay in there?”
She threw a smile on her face, as if it would make h
er tone any more convincing. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“I fixed you some toast and chamomile tea to help settle your stomach.”
Well, so much for keeping that to herself.
“Thank you so much, Jimbo. I’ll be right out.” Just as soon as the evil peanut inside her uterus stopped playing bumper pool with the contents of her stomach.
Five minutes later, she managed to brush her teeth, clean her face, and put on clothes that weren’t sweat-soaked or used as a makeshift handkerchief when the real thing was unavailable or too far to reach.
She walked slowly into the kitchen, relieved that the smell of toast and tea didn’t throw her into another fit of spasms. Sitting at the table, she took a couple of deep breaths as she stared at the buttered toast and the steaming cup before her.
It was such a nice simple thing for someone to do on her behalf.
To her utter surprise, tears began to swim in her eyes and run down her cheeks. “Thank you... so much.”
Jimbo turned from the kitchen sink and froze at what she was sure was her overreaction to being served bread and water. He sat down next to her and patted her on the back. “Don’t you think it’s time you go to the doctor? See what’s ailing you?”
Managing a smile, she picked up the triangle of toast and took a small bite. “I have an appointment tomorrow. But I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I know what’s causing the nausea and it’s nothing that time won’t cure. I promise.”
He appeared highly skeptical as he continued to rub circles on her back. The kindness of his simple touch made her breath catch in her throat.
He wasn’t remotely convinced. “You don’t eat anything. What little you do eat you throw up. Every day you lose more weight and your skin is as pale as a snowstorm. I’m worried, Half-Pint.”
The fact that she was sobbing on demand probably wasn’t helping either. But those soft pats on her back were doing her in. Human touch was not permitted at the Center, except for clinical reasons or to inflict pain, and she was unused to the feeling of safety and security and genuine compassion. The effects a simple gesture, such as a kind pat, could bring to her touch-starved person was monumental.