by Liz Talley
Good Lord. What healthy, reasonably attractive woman stood on a guy’s porch trying to talk herself out of a night with a sexy man? Especially after having admitted how pathetic her sex life had been to her twelve-year-old daughter.
She was probably officially cracking up.
Still, she watched her finger press that doorbell, counting one…two…three…fou—
The door swung open and Leif stood there, looking much the way he had that day over a month ago. Naked, golden chest, lean waist, karate pants and bare feet.
He looked like sin personified and something inside her let go of all the drama, trauma and whatever else had plagued her seconds ago. When he smiled at her like that, the world seemed easier. She felt stronger.
“Hey,” he said, stepping back.
Abigail walked in, shut the door and kissed the hell out of him.
“Mmm,” he groaned, gathering her against him as he twisted the lock on the door.
Abigail answered with an “mmm-hmm” as she threaded her fingers through his gorgeous, sexy hair and lost herself in Leif.
Deepening the kiss, she reveled in the way his hard body felt against hers. His arms wound tightly around her and he slowed and softened the kiss.
Abigail finally broke the kiss. “Sorry.”
“Why? I personally hope that’s the way you’ve decided to always greet me.” He smiled at her, a hot flame of passion still flickering in the depths of his gaze.
Abigail thumped her head against his chest. “You just looked so good standing there. I needed…something.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Feel free to take what you need. I’m here to please you.”
Inside she turned to mush. When had anyone wanted to please her? Not in a long time. A very long time. This was why she needed Leif in her life right frickin’ now. Because until he opened that door in December and reminded her that she was still a woman, she’d forgotten what it was like to be in—
No. Not love.
But something.
Leif rubbed her back, making her feel so taken care of. She leaned into him. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Birdie and Cal.”
Leif didn’t say anything, just watched her.
“She’s being difficult and, of course, as soon as I pulled into our drive, I saw Cal’s truck. I left and came here. I know I’m avoiding the problems in my life but—”
“Sometimes you have to step away from things that are hard, so you can return to them better prepared. Nothing wrong with needing a break…or coming to me,” Leif said, nuzzling her earlobe. “Birdie’s going through some hard stuff—dealing with changes in her body, wanting independence, managing her father back in her life. Now, Cal, well, I can get all macho and tough if you need me to.”
Abigail shook her head. “No, I don’t want you involved. Cal’s an ass and thinks he should be able to have what he let go of long ago. He came back because Morgan did to him what he did to me. I guess he didn’t get the memo that I’m no one’s leftovers.”
“No way are you anyone’s leftovers,” Leif murmured, making his way down the column of her neck. His mouth felt so good. She leaned back a little, clasping his shoulders so she wouldn’t fall.
“That feels so good.”
He nodded against her. “You taste good.”
Abigail literally felt her knees go weak. This man made her want to forget all she’d been so she could be everything he wanted.
Leif made her reckless.
“You want to talk some more or do you want to have your buttons popped?” he asked, fingering the buttons on her blouse.
“My buttons popped? That sounds dirty,” she whispered before running her hands over his shoulders. Then she trailed her fingers down his stomach toward the drawstring. Below the ties, his pants tented with his erection. “But maybe it’s not about the buttons.”
She dropped to her knees and tugged the string.
“Hey, Abigail, you don’t have to,” he said, reaching to cup under her arms. She pushed his hand away.
“Hush,” she said, freeing the ties and tugging his pants from his lean hips. She pulled the cotton free and sank her hands into his fine ass. No underwear. There were some really nice things about the freedoms Leif practiced.
“Abi,” he whispered, his face slack with pleasure at her touch.
Abigail clasped Leif’s erection in her hand, enjoying the control she had on her knees. Leif closed his eyes and dropped his head back as she ran her tongue over the head, trailing her fingers down the length of his erection. Teasing.
“Bedroom,” he said as she blew against his sensitive flesh.
Abigail gripped his length again, testing the girth and heft of him. He was magnificent. Built like a model, hung like a, well, not a bull, but he had plenty to work with. Abigail leaned forward and flicked her tongue over the tip of him again.
“Ahh,” he moaned, before fisting his hand in her hair and tilting her head. “You better stop now.”
Abigail rose. “I’m only pausing. Follow me.”
She lifted her blouse over her head as she walked toward the darkened hallway that had to lead to his bedroom. She also unbuttoned the mom jeans, wiggling out of them, pausing only to kick them aside. Her bra and panties were lacy pink confections she’d found in a box she’d packed away a few years after her honeymoon when T-shirts and practical bras became her go-to for lingerie.
“You’re such a tease,” he said, his voice playful as he followed her, splendidly naked, toward the bedroom.
Abigail looked over her shoulder. “No, I’m a guarantee. Now get your ass in here so I can finish what I started.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ABIGAIL LOOKED AT Cal and grimaced despite her mother’s incredible Sunday lunch efforts. She felt grumpy not only because her ex-husband currently wolfed down turnip greens at the Beauchamp family table, but also because she hadn’t been able to see Leif since Tuesday night. Birdie had come down with the flu at the same time a big group celebrating the first parades of Mardi Gras in New Orleans had descended on the B and B. “Can you pass the rolls, Jake?”
Her youngest brother tossed a roll at her. Abigail snatched it out of the air and gave him the stink eye.
“Jacob Douglas Beauchamp, don’t throw things at my table,” Fancy said, not missing a bite of the chicken and dumplings she’d served moments ago.
Jake grinned in spite of their mother’s proclamation. “She said pass it.”
Fancy jabbed a finger at him, saying nothing more.
“Sorry, Mom,” he said, retackling the food on his plate. A few minutes slid by before Jake looked up at his former brother-in-law jammed in between Birdie and Matt. “So, Calhoun, tell us about Califor-ni-ay.”
Cal cleared his throat and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Not much to tell.”
“Well, you were out there five years. Surely you did something more than Morgan.”
Her daddy must have stomped down on Jake’s foot because he yelped. Dan Beauchamp always sat next to Jake in order to pinch, nudge or out-and-out pop his youngest child, who had a mouth with no filter on him. Fancy rolled her eyes and tried to stifle a grin behind her napkin.
“Watch your mouth at the table, son,” Dan warned.
“Sorry, Pop.” Jake’s blue eyes danced and he didn’t look the least bit sorry.
Abigail didn’t like humiliating Cal, but on the other hand, she took some pleasure in Matt’s and John’s cool demeanors and Jake’s not-so-subtle jabs at the man who had dishonored their sister. She guessed Cal should be glad they lived in South Louisiana and not Iran. Protecting the family honor in some cultures would have resulted in Cal’s being spoon-fed for the rest of his life. As it was, a little coldness and a well-placed zinger were to be expected.
Silence descended again before Cal said, “I played one show with Jackson Browne when one of his rhythm guys went down with the flu. That’s the highlight. No, wait. I saw Cameron
Diaz jogging on the beach once.”
“In a bikini?” Jake looked interested.
“We’re at the table, Jake,” Dan said.
“So? Pretty girls in bikinis aren’t bad language,” Jake said, winking at Birdie, who still looked wan.
“Today is the Lord’s day, son,” her father said, his normally jolly blue eyes portraying his aggravation with Jake.
Typical Jake. He loved poking sticks at people…even his own parents.
Abigail felt about as comfortable as a bear in thorns, so she tried to shift the mood by looking at John and Shelby at the end of the table. “So is everything ready for this upcoming weekend?” She hummed a few bars of “Here Comes the Bride.”
Shelby, who’d tucked into her food like a starving woman, looked up. John had remained quiet as usual, casting occasional worried glances at his wife-to-be. “Well, that’s something we wanted to talk to you all about. My parents can’t come next weekend, so we’re postponing for a few weeks.”
John patted Shelby on the back when she looked a bit teary. “My mother’s not the easiest to deal with. She runs a furniture company, and they’re in the process of some business dealings. Uh, I’m hoping everyone can still make it on February twenty-eighth. Fancy said we can have the wedding and reception here. It’s the only weekend my parents are free. Sorry.”
Fancy gave all the Beauchamp siblings that look. “Of course we’ll all be here. Nothing’s more important than family. And we’re sorry it won’t happen on Valentine’s Day, but that’s okay. I think February twenty-eighth is a fine day to get married. My aunt Gracie’s birthday, God rest her soul.”
“Of course, we’ll be here,” Abigail added, noting Jake’s frown.
“I can switch shifts with one of the guys. I’ll be here,” Jake said after a few seconds.
Matt wiped his mouth and nodded. “I’ll make sure Mary Jane can get the boys here. I want them at the wedding.”
John looked at Shelby. “See? No big deal.”
Shelby’s shoulders dropped and finally she smiled. “Thank you all so much. I didn’t think I could eat I was so worried about y’all getting aggravated with me.”
Everyone, including Shelby, looked at her empty plate.
John started laughing and the sound made every Beauchamp, including Birdie, smile. It had been a long time since John had been happy. That wedding could take place any day and they would all be okay with it.
Abigail glanced at her mother, who regarded the two lovers with an even sappier grin on her face. Jake mimicked sticking his finger down his throat, making Birdie laugh again.
Cal just watched, picking at his corn bread, a wrinkle on his forehead as though he wondered if he should speak up.
No. You shouldn’t, jackass. You’re not in this family.
Abigail was still baffled as to what had led her father to invite Cal. But after her father delivered a sermon entitled “Obeying God: Receiving Life’s True Blessing,” all through which Abigail had squirmed, she wished she’d taken a rain check on the family feast.
Yeah, she’d felt a little guilty about sitting in her father’s congregation after getting naked with Leif. Teenage déjà vu. At least this time she wasn’t hungover. She’d call it Catholic guilt…except she was Presbyterian.
The shame of being a brazen hussy was bad enough. Then Cal had walked into the sanctuary in his Sunday best, big hometown-boy smile in place, shaking hands and looking damn near adorable the way he always had. He’d skipped his parents’ pew and settled down right beside her and Birdie.
It made her twitchy because she’d spent many a Sunday the same way, sitting with him, Birdie tucked between them, her father delivering the word. As the rest of the congregation belted out “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” she could hardly catch her breath.
And then she overheard her father inviting Cal to lunch.
Wasn’t like she could shout “That bastard isn’t invited” in the middle of the benediction. Besides, this wasn’t her house.
After the strained lunch was over and dishes washed and put away, Abigail went to find her father. She found him in the den watching the Super Bowl with her brothers and Cal. Like little boys they were in the throes of arguing a call.
“Dad?” Abigail shouted over Matt being Matt— insisting he was right about the in-bounds interception.
“Don’t care what you say, he stepped out,” her father said before glancing her way. “What?”
“Can I speak to you for a minute?”
“Sure,” he said, his eyes returning to the big screen momentarily. He nodded his head and slapped his hands together. “Told you. He stepped out.”
“Dad?”
“I’m coming,” her father said, lowering the footrest of his recliner. When her father stood, slightly stooped with a groan, Abigail’s heart skipped. Her father was getting older…even if he still could hang with his younger sons. “What do you need, hon?”
“Can we go out back?” she asked, darting a glance at Cal, who watched her and not the game. He looked uncomfortable.
“Sure, but I want to see the fourth quarter so if it’s something that can wait—”
“It can’t,” she said, walking toward the door. Shelby and Birdie were helping Fancy make cookies to take to Aunt Reva in the nursing home so no one was around when Abigail stepped into her mother’s faded garden. The screen door slammed behind her father.
“What’s wrong, honey?” His gaze moved over her face with concern.
“Why is Cal here?”
“Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that. We’re divorced, Daddy. He left me and Birdie, remember?”
“I know he did, but…” Her father looked out at the bedrock of the empty creek bordering the backyard of the big house. “You should know that Calhoun is coming to me for counseling.”
“Counseling?”
“He’s requested my guidance as he seeks to repair his spiritual life and make amends for his past transgressions.”
“Wait. Counseling? Cal?”
“I’m still his pastor, honey. I can’t deny him when he needs me.”
“What about when I needed him? Did you forget what it was like for me when he hightailed it out of Magnolia Bend with a virtual teenager beside him and our life savings in his suitcase? We ate Spam, Dad.”
Dan looked guilty for a few seconds. “I don’t condone what he did, honey, and even though I’m a man of God, I’m still a daddy. Daddies don’t forget.”
“But pastors do?”
Her father frowned. “You know being a pastor is sometimes like being a defense attorney. There are things you don’t like about your clients, or congregation, but you’re still obligated to do your job. My job is to counsel even those whose actions I dislike. No matter my personal opinion, Cal is still a child of God…and will be connected to our family through Birdie.”
“Brigitte.”
“What?”
“Never mind. So how does counseling Cal earn him a spot at the Sunday table?”
Her father seemed to think about this for a moment. “He’s family.”
“No, he’s not.”
“He’s Bird—uh, Brigitte’s father. I don’t approve of what he did, but I won’t be bitter. Maybe you need to let go of some of that bitterness yourself.”
“No. My bitterness gives me comfort,” she said, wanting to stamp her foot like a child but refusing to be juvenile. She couldn’t believe her father had let go of the hate so easily. But then again, hate wasn’t something her father felt for anyone. He’d been disappointed in Cal. Maybe even disgusted by a man who would leave his family for some selfish dream and a younger woman, but he never hated. That’s why people trusted Dan Beauchamp and the reason he’d stayed the pastor at First Presbyterian for so many years.
“Honey, don’t hold on to your anger. It serves no purpose and it makes you brittle. Your mother says holding on to hate makes wrinkles.”
“Are you saying I’m wrinkled?” Her shoulders sank as she
accepted her father would not be moved on this. And maybe he had a point. Anger and loneliness had been the cloak she pulled around her and they’d left their marks—those damn lines on her forehead that resisted every retinol A product on the market. Maybe she should loosen her hold a little. Perhaps it was time to let go of some of the hate.
Or not.
She’d have to think about Cal and her attitude toward him.
Her father leaned over and kissed her forehead. “You’re as pretty now as you ever were, and I, for one, hope that Calhoun Orgeron chokes on regret rather than a dinner roll. He never deserved you, honey.”
“But you think he deserves my forgiveness…even when he’s never actually said ‘I’m sorry’?”
Her father smiled. “That’s up to you. I think everyone deserves forgiveness, honey. Love your neighbor. Love your enemy. And love your—”
“I don’t love my ex-husband, Dad. Sorry. But I can try to be civil and maybe one day I’ll forgive him for throwing me away.” Abigail marched up the stairs, spine straight, shoulders back. But she didn’t feel as much resolve.
Today she felt hard even though her skin felt thin.
With Leif she’d been a different woman. Being enfolded in his world of warmth had thawed a part of her heart she’d put on ice. So maybe she should stop being such a bitch to Cal. Sure, he deserved everything she gave him and more, but what was it accomplishing? Cal was impervious to his wrongdoing and the negativity wasn’t good for her. So maybe—
“Hey,” Cal said interrupting her thoughts as she entered the house. He’d been waiting for her in the doorway of her father’s study.
“Cal,” Abigail said, unable to soften her tone.
“Look, I’m sorry if I upset you coming today. Your dad’s been helping me a lot, and I always liked coming to Sunday dinner.”
“My mom’s cooking?”
Cal gave her a small smile. “Yeah, and your brothers are fun to watch a game with…or at least they were.”
“Well, we’re going to be in each other’s lives. Might as well try to be decent about it.” Abigail nearly choked on decent. That word didn’t deserve to be used in the same thought as Cal. But her father was right about the anger she expended like Tic Tacs—it made her feel small.