Operation Ginger Avenger

by Heather Rainier

  Her patient must’ve realized she was watching his hand because he suddenly stopped and grasped the coin in his palm. “Sorry, it’s a fidgety habit. My mother always complained I was hyperactive.”

  “That’s all right.” Doing her best to regain her poise, Jessica continued with the exam, asking questions, interspersed with responses from him, mixed in with small talk about family, which was pretty small for her because her daughter was really the only family she had left.

  “I didn’t notice a ring on your finger.”

  Okay, that’s nosey.

  “I’m dating someone,” she murmured. It was her standard response to ward off men asking her out on dates. Only this time, the response brought a brief smile to her face as she pictured Tank and Troy. This patient was someone she’d never mess with. He was too big and scary. Tank and Troy were both bigger than he was, but they didn’t scare her. He began twirling the fifty-cent piece between his fingers and then flipped it to his other hand and repeated the maneuver, and she was glad she was nearly done with the exam.

  “But no ring?”

  “Maybe in the future. There, how is that?” she asked quickly to forestall any more personal questions.

  “That looks perfect.”

  She maneuvered the machine away and quickly turned to her desk to write down his prescription so that she wouldn’t watch as he stood to his full height. Her hands trembled just a little, and she hoped the optician would be able to read her chicken-scratch writing. “There’s an optical shop right next door, but I’m not sure they’ll be able to get them done today, maybe by tomorrow.”

  “No worries, Dr. Bright.” She chanced a glance upward and regretted it. She had a desk lamp so she could see well enough to write, but the room was still dimmed, reminding her almost too much of the darkness. He was staring at the photo collage featuring pictures of Bella at varying ages that sat on her desk. “You make sure and take care of that precious little girl now. Things move so fast sometimes they’re gone before you know it.”

  “What do you mean?” Up until that point she could chalk her reactions up to nerves, and to him being too nosey, but now he’d moved into downright creepy territory.

  He shook his head and shrugged as he stuck his hands in his pocket. “Time, you know? Time gets away from us, and suddenly they’re grown and gone. You know what I mean, right?”

  She rose from her chair, hoping she didn’t look like the scared rabbit that she was, reached for the light switch, and flipped it on, making him blink in surprise. “Y-yes, I do. My grandmother used to say the same thing. Good luck with your glasses, Mr. Smith.”

  He smiled, and for a moment, she wondered if she’d imagined the creepiness as he said, “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Dr. Bright. You really helped me out. I’ll make sure and mention you to the guys if we cross paths.”

  “Sure. Good luck, Mr. Smith.”

  He smiled again and said, “My friends call me Four Bits.”

  Okaaay.

  He walked away without waiting for a reply.

  Drawing a deep breath and beating herself up for letting him get to her nerves like that, she returned to her desk to gather her things. The echoes of panic wanted to surge up within her, but she fought them down.

  Swallowing the nerves, she slung her bag containing her pocketbook and laptop, and that was when she saw it, perched shiny and malevolent on the corner of the desk.

  A voice guaranteed to send shivers up her spine echoed from the past. “Let’s see now, girlie. Is it gonna be heads this time? Or tails?”

  Chapter Ten

  “It’s gonna be okay,” Jessica murmured to herself as she lifted the foil from a corner of the casserole dish to see if the rice was done. Steam heavily scented with thyme and celery rose from the opening. The mouthwatering scent made her stomach gurgle with hunger. She wasn’t going to let ugly memories inspired by that fifty-cent piece ruin her evening.

  “What, Mommy?” Bella chirped from her spot on the floor in the kitchen, where she was currently investigating the contents of the Tupperware drawer.

  “Nothing, baby. Mommy’s just talking to herself.”

  “I do that too!” she replied before going back to singing nonsensically to herself. She was dressed in a gold satin Belle gown that Grace had given her, along with several other Disney Princess dress-up costumes that no longer fit Rose Marie.

  Jessica smiled at her daughter and went back to forking the rice from the corner of the pan to see if it was done. It wouldn’t do for Tank or Troy to bite down on rock-hard rice and form the correct conclusion that she was no better at cooking than she was at handling her personal business. Although it wasn’t really her fault that by now half of Divine knew she was taking a testosterone cream to boost her libido.

  “I love ya, Charlene Porter, but you got some lungs on you, woman. Mmm.” The rice tasted perfect. After closing the foil on the casserole dish, she slid the pan containing the bread dough into the oven to bake. Too bad it was store-bought dough, but there wasn’t time to make bread from scratch before Tank and Troy arrived.

  Taking a deep breath, she blotted the nervous sweat from her forehead, wondering why she was getting so worked up. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known Tank and Troy for three years plus change, but they made her insides wobble every dang time she was around them.

  She thought of those sexy hunks standing in the pharmacy, their eagle eyes taking in the tableau that was playing out, assessing the situation. In the time she’d known them, each time their protective sides had reared their heads like that she’d believed it was a one-time thing—a knee-jerk reaction to help someone in need. Only she’d seen them help an old lady chasing her little Chihuahua dog down the street, and a mom in Batson’s parking lot trying to unload a cart full of groceries into her trunk while keeping up with three toddlers, and pitching to and coaching a team of little kids to help out Divine’s Little League organization.

  Doing what was right gave Tank’s chin a purposeful tilt and brought a light into Troy’s eyes, but what had happened today had been more than that. They’d both looked ready to beat someone on her behalf. And, okay, it might not have been nice to like that about them, but she’d gotten a little turned on by their protectiveness. Surely they’d had better things to do with their time, but they’d spotted her nondescript burgundy sedan among all the other cars in the pharmacy parking lot and on the street and they’d wanted to see her. Her.

  The intensity of Troy’s green gaze had reverberated within her, setting off little chills and sizzles, a sensation that they alone seemed capable of inspiring in her. His warm, careful touch on her shoulder, meant to reassure her yet giving her a bit of space. She’d wanted to close that small gap between them. A flash of heat had swept over her at the stern tone Tank had used. Yeah, a physical reaction like that put a smile on her face as she wondered what it might be like to be sandwiched a little closer between them.

  Imagining their big strong arms wrapped around her from both sides gave her pause. She closed her eyes and braced her hands on the kitchen island, doing as her therapist had suggested. She was in a safe place. She didn’t cut off the rapid string of mental images. She breathed—okay, panted—through the rush of emotions, but the trace of panic and cold shivers receded as she focused on Tank’s and Troy’s faces. Breathing out on a slow count of four, she latched onto that close-up image. Instead of the hostile face of Trever Dornan, she saw only Tank’s and Troy’s tender expressions. The imagined touch of their hands didn’t make her cringe. She could almost feel their body heat through her clothing. Instead of escalating into stronger panic, her thoughts helped her to feel more grounded, but another emotion rising up surprised her. Pride. She’d walked the edge of panic and had been successful. Now if she could keep from making like a chicken when they were present.

  Go me!

  Pushing the envelope a little farther, she imagined their lips on her, kissing her mouth, her neck...and everywhere else. Recalling fro
m the time he’d kissed her cheek, she knew Tank would be gentle, and he’d smell clean. Troy undoubtedly would, too. They paid attention to things like that. Comparatively, she recalled the squalor of the house Dornan had held her captive in. The filthy carpet, the unsanitary toilet and shower stall, the disgusting carpet that stank of urine and mice droppings that she’d been forced to sit and sleep on in the nude. His own foul body odor, a mixture of sour sweat, dirty clothing, and the reek of tooth decay. Her gorge rose as she remembered the way he’d grab her with hard hands, get right in her face, and scream at her. The horrible things he’d do to her next.

  Before the cold chills and her racing respirations took over, she whispered, “Not Tank. Not Troy. I’m clean. I’m warm. We’re safe.

  Breathe.

  “I’m safe. Inhale. One, two three, four.”

  Just breathe.

  “I never have to see him ever again. Exhale. Four, three, two, one.”

  The muscles in her chest relaxed. Breathe slowly.

  “I’m free. I deserve peace, happiness, and love. One, two, three, four...”

  She felt silly saying it out loud, though that was what her therapist had recommended...something about her brain accepting what she spoke aloud to herself because it didn’t believe she’d lie to herself—

  Who thinks this stuff up?

  She’d done her fair share of negative self-talk in the last three years and look where it had gotten her—into a big old rut. And the funny thing was that talking herself through shaky times seemed to help more than it had in the beginning, when her first response had always been to flee uncomfortable situations.

  An image of Troy grinning at her as he took a selfie with her like he had that young woman in the pharmacy made her smile. To be around him would be easy, despite what he’d hinted about having dealt with PTSD. He’d be there for her—she could be there for him.

  Tank, on the other hand... He’d be the one to push her. Gently. But he’d definitely be the one pushing her to get past the physical abuse she’d suffered. And he’d be compassionate about it, too. He’d take her in his arms, probably while Troy kissed her throat, always right there, totally on board with them, easing her, as well.

  Tank would pull her in his lap, drawing her closer a few inches at a time. When he felt she was ready, he’d coax her to straddle his lap, leaving her back vulnerable, at least until she realized Troy was there, keeping her warm, helping her to stay anchored in the present. Heat blazed straight to her clit

  Or maybe they’d get her on the dance floor at the Dancing Pony, assuming they ever invited her to go there again. She remembered watching Charity Connors dance with all three of her men at once, paying them individual attention...sensual attention, right there on the dance floor. Her men had seemed to be enjoying themselves as they lavished her with attention, as well. She recalled that the idea, back then, had given her bad chills, but now, as she imagined Tank and Troy doing that, the chills and shivers were centered just a little lower. They’d let her do whatever she wanted, and she imagined rubbing her pelvis and ass against them, teasing them until they were both hard. Tank would growl in her ear. Troy would pull her ass against his erection and rub against her. Sweat broke out on her forehead and upper lip.

  But if she did that, then she’d also follow through on teasing them. Maybe, if she overcame her chicken-hearted tendencies, she’d wait until they were on the way home. Whichever one wasn’t driving might be on the receiving end of her boldness.

  As she fanned herself, she said, “Woooey, is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

  She’d half expected Bella to reply. Then she noticed the kitchen was quiet. Too quiet.

  All senses on alert, she froze, wondering where the little squirt had wandered off to. “Bella?”

  A muffled whimper. “Mama?”

  A scratchy sliding sound was followed by a crash!

  It was then that she noticed the pantry door she normally kept closed with a child safe doorknob cover. It was partially open.

  “Mommmmmyyy!”

  “Oh, no, punkin!” She ran to the door, gasping as it swung open, revealing Bella sitting in a puddle of honey and broken glass. “Don’t move, honey, okay?” she whispered, her heart clenching in sympathy at the horror on Bella’s face as she looked at her dripping, sticky hands.

  “I was gettin’ the honey for you, Mommy. I was gonna supize you.”

  “Well, you definitely surprised me, punkin. Please don’t move for Mommy. Let me check you. Did you hurt yourself?”

  Bella’s lip started to tremble, and tears welled up in her huge scared eyes. Wrong question to ask.

  “I felled down on my butt, Mommy.” The toddler hiccupped and then sobbed. Her hands left a sticky mess when she put them in her lap, and she stared down at them in horror and commenced to wailing. “My dress!”

  Keeping her still, if not quiet, Jessica checked her arms and legs for blood and signs of trauma. She had a little cut on one of her feet and a long scratch on the back of her arm. Jessica was grateful the dress seemed to have kept the glass from cutting her legs up. Thank goodness for cheap polyester. She grabbed a roll of paper towels from a shelf and murmured comfortingly to Bella as she blotted up the sticky glass pieces with a big wad of towels and dropped them one at a time into an empty cardboard box that was sitting in the corner of the pantry.

  “Did you climb the step ladder to get the honey?”

  Bella hiccupped again and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  “What did Mommy say about climbing the ladder?”

  After a pregnant pause, Bella said, “I-uh-don’t ’member.”

  Jessica hummed under her breath. “I remember telling you that you were not to climb the ladder. It’s not safe. And now look what happened.”

  “Honey fell on me.”

  “It fell on you, huh?”

  “Uh-huh, I was gettin’ it for yoooouu,” her little pixie said as she looked at her sticky hands in disgust and held them out to be cleaned. “My butt hurts.”

  “I’ll bet. Sit still so you don’t accidentally get cut by the glass. We’ll get you out of this dress in a minute and get you into a bath.”

  “My dress is ruined,” Bella murmured, pushing her lip out in a sad pooch.

  “Nah, Mommy can get it clean in the washer, but we’ll have to change you into something else.”

  “No! I wanted to wear my Belle dress for Tank and Troy! I’m a princess!” she complained.

  “Well, you’ll have to be Princess Elsa or Cinderella—”

  “Hello?” Troy called through the screen door at the front porch. She’d left the door open because the temperatures and low humidity felt so good. “Something smells good in there. Can we come in?”

  “Yeah!” she called from her squat in the pantry. “Come in! We’re in the pantry!”

  “I guess we got here a little early.” Troy poked his head around the door. “Whoa, hey, what happened?”

  “I felled on my butt.”

  Troy snorted but kept a straight face and then turned to Jessica. “What can I do to help?” He squatted down beside and slightly behind her. “You want me to take her?”

  “There may still be glass in the ruffles of her dress. Can you hold her up above the floor so I can check? I don’t want her to stand and step on a piece of glass.”

  “Sure.” He held her up, and Jessica was thankful for the extra pair of hands when several more shards of glass fell to the floor or glinted in the light where they’d become glued to the dress. Bella held to his forearms and waited patiently as Jessica peeled the dress off of her little shoulders and carefully worked it down her torso. “Jeez, Belly McPoohbear, you’re sticky from head to toe! Are you sure you weren’t trying to climb in the honey jar when this happened?”

  “I wuz helpin’ Mommy wif the cookin’. I’m sticky,” Bella said as she hung stiff in his arms, her fingers and toes splayed because of the sensation.

  Jessica pulled another wad of paper towels off the roll.
“It’s a good thing she was wearing a Pull-Up instead of panties. Gave her a bit of padding on her bum.”

  “What do I do with Belly McPoohbear here? Shower? Bath?”

  “Hey,” Tank said as he came around the door, too. “Uh-oh. What’d you get into?” he asked with that deep rumbly tone that set her nerve endings off, only in a good way.

  Bella gave Tank a cheesy grin. “I wuz helpin’ cook you supper. I got the honey for Mommy.”

  “Except I don’t recall asking for honey—or for you to sneak into the pantry. I turn my back for one second…”

  Troy whispered to Bella as he grinned at her, and Bella adopted a serious face. “Sowwy for not obeyin’, Mommy.”

  Jessica leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “At least you weren’t hurt. That honey was on a shelf out of your reach for a reason. Stay out of the pantry, or we’re going to have trouble, you and I. Hear me? You scared me.”

  Bella blinked at her and nodded. Her lip quivered as she nodded. “Sowwy.” She punctuated it by licking the corner of her lip where honey had gotten smeared at some point.

  “I forgive you. Troy is going to run you a bath while I finish cleaning up this mess and check the bread. Can you get in the tub and behave for me? I’ll come help you in a minute.”

  “’Kay.”

  Tank surprised her when he gently grasped her by the waist, lifted her out of the pantry, and took the roll of paper towels from her. “You’re barefooted. Let me finish cleaning this up. I checked your bread, and it looks perfect.”

  “I didn’t expect you to come over and start cleaning. That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Stuff happens that you don’t expect,” he said as he looked over his shoulder at her. He shrugged. “No reason it should ruin the evening. Although this is a terrible waste of all that honey. I can think of lots better ways I’d have used it,” he murmured as he studiously regarded his work.

  Her cheeks warmed, but it was the warming that happened below the waist that really surprised her. She couldn’t blame that on the oven as she peered in the window to check the bread, and then remembered he’d said he’d just checked it. She rinsed the few dishes from the meal prep while he worked, occasionally glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the pantry. All she could see over the island was the rippling muscles in his broad shoulders as he gathered and tossed more pieces of glass into the cardboard box. While he wasn’t looking, she rose up on tiptoe and watched all those muscles move as he twisted to reach the box. Watching his tight buns flex made her hands twitch. I bet they’re hard as a rock, but nice and warm.