by Amy Vastine
When Brielle stepped closer still, he tensed, debating the wisdom of holding her for all of two seconds before he enfolded her in his arms. She moaned low in her throat as he slid his mouth ardently, fervently, reverently over hers. The caress an invocation. Her fingers clenched his shoulders as she swayed on her feet against him, her raspberry scent teasing his nose.
She was like a sensory explosion, swamping every inch of him with tantalizing sensations, leaving him no choice but to sample every bit of her exposed flesh, starting with the column of her neck. He trailed kisses down its silken length as her fingers tunneled through his hair. He paused on her fluttering pulse, his own raging in response.
When she melted against him, knees buckling, he swept her off her feet and lowered her gently to a soft hay pile, his lips moving over hers again, unable to stop. The straw rustled as he cupped her hips, pressing her against him. The full-body contact, even clothed, sapped his brain cells and fired his blood to a painful degree.
When she skimmed a hand down his chest, he groaned and captured her lower lip lightly between his teeth. His heart was on fire, burning out of control. He wanted to kiss her forever. He blocked out all thoughts about what this was, what it might mean, what further mess he might create for himself. C’mon, live, he told himself, just this once. And he kissed her until reason seeped out through his pores and he became a living pulse, conscious only of how much he wanted to be with her.
A nickering horse was a bucket of cold water to his face. Brielle wasn’t some tumble in the hay. She was a chaplain. A woman of God. Way too good for a troublemaker like him. He couldn’t, in good conscience, let this go any further without her say-so. After she had a chance to think.
“Brielle.” He pulled away in slow degrees and kissed her one last time, still holding her hands.
He hadn’t counted on seeing her eyes still closed, her lips still thrust forward.
Something inside him turned to mush at the sight. He hoped it was only his brain.
“Brielle?” He squeezed her fingers.
She smiled before she opened her eyes. “Hmm?”
The sound of the wind rattling the stable door reminded him of their rough, rustic surroundings. Not exactly the place for a tryst with a chaplain…if chaplains even had trysts. He had little experience with good girls and wasn’t about to corrupt one without her clearheaded permission. He willed his breathing back to normal.
Justin eased closer again. “If we take this any further, I won’t be able to stop myself.”
“What?” Her green eyes sharpened into focus immediately.
“I mean, do you want me to keep kissing you?”
Justin was surprised to realize he was practically holding his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this badly. Had he ever wanted a woman this much?
“No.” Brielle touched her lips hesitantly, as if they might have changed since his kiss.
The simple gesture made him want to kiss her all over again. And that kind of thinking could only get him in trouble.
In one motion, he stood and helped her to her feet before he stopped listening to his blasted conscience and kissed her senseless again. She stirred something inside him he wasn’t sure he remembered existing or feeling before—a sense of belonging. A sense that in her arms he was home.
Brielle released his fingers, scooped her shawl off the ground and wrapped it around her. “That was a mistake,” she gasped, confirming his suspicion. She’d kissed him on impulse. She didn’t really want him. She’d been caught up in the moment. He told himself it didn’t hurt…but it did. It did.
Brielle’s hands clutched the ends of her wrap as if it were armor. “You’re a patient.”
“Not of yours. Not technically.”
“Still. I can’t be seen kissing residents of my facility. The community already thinks the worst of Fresh Start without there being rumors about me becoming romantically involved with clients.”
His breath returned, clearing his head in time to form a better response. “You’re right. Sorry if I overstepped…”
She rushed to the door. “No. It was my fault as well as yours.”
“Hold on.” He snatched up his hat. “Let me walk you back.”
“I’d rather be alone.” She held up a hand when he started toward her. “Please. I just need some air. ’Night.” She strode outside, leaving the door to slam behind her.
Justin snapped off the lights and followed, careful to keep his distance, but close enough to ensure she reached the house safely given the stormy weather.
He stopped beneath a swaying maple and stared up at the gable window to her room. A light flicked on, and he spied her shadow flitting back and forth behind her shade. When she paused, he glimpsed the shape of her hand raise to her face and wondered if she still felt his lips on hers, the indelible imprint now seared on his mouth forever.
He’d never forget how she felt, tasted, smelled—how her embrace had banished his loneliness and given him refuge. Just as she’d advised during the Al-Anon meeting, she’d made him feel known, made him whole rather than a shadow who drifted on the edges of others’ lives.
Brielle said people needed other people to do life with. People who’d challenge and comfort them.
He’d only ever considered his twin in that role…but now he wondered. Jesse had always defined Justin—alive and dead. Who was Justin without Jesse? Maybe he needed to start figuring that out.
Could Brielle be his people?
The person he needed to do life with?
* * *
BRIELLE FRANTICALLY SCRIBBLED notes while Brent Jarvis reported the committee’s findings at the town hall meeting. Justin Cade’s brooding presence, just feet away, wasn’t exactly helping her concentration.
All week, she’d avoided him. The physical distance, however, hadn’t faded the memory of their mind-blowing kiss. In between agonizing over tonight’s verdict on revoking Fresh Start’s charter, she’d thought of Justin nonstop. He’d made her feel reckless, abandoned and free in the stable. He’d made her feel as if she had a right to the delights he aroused in her—a right to enjoy the life she’d been spared when others had not.
She scrawled the word please in the margin, and her stomach clenched as tight as a fist.
“In conclusion, while there appears to be a variety of activities available to patients, some, such as the life skills ranching component, pose a physical threat t-to p-patient s-safety,” Brent stuttered when he caught sight of Justin’s hard glare.
Brent cleared his throat, fussed with some papers, then continued, “A last concern is the lack of security. There are no fences to prevent patients from leaving the facility’s grounds and walking into town.”
“They’re not inmates,” Justin snarled, eyes glinting hard enough to throw sparks. He practically crackled with unleashed energy. With his black cowboy hat jammed low on his forehead, a worn biker jacket clinging to his wide shoulders and chest, his long, muscular legs filling out his jeans, he looked as dangerous and magnificent as a diamondback, coiled and ready to strike.
“They should be!” shouted one of the locals filling the folding chairs.
“Druggies!” someone else muttered.
Brielle cringed at the ignorance, mistrust and fear.
“As such, I vote to revoke Fresh Start’s charter,” Brent concluded to resounding applause before resuming his seat.
Panic fluttered in Brielle’s stomach. One vote against Fresh Start, and the assembly was starting to resemble a mob. What next? A call to storm the facility with pitchforks and torches? Her clients were not monsters. Her back teeth ground together.
“I’d like to remind the public that Fresh Start’s mission is to provide treatment for mental health as well as addiction issues,” Brielle said into her microphone. “Our clients are searching for help, not trouble.”
A low muttering rose from the crowd. Mayor Cantwell tapped on his microphone until the group quieted. “Thank you for your thorough report, Mr. Jarvis.”
A hand clamped on Brielle’s knee, squeezed, then withdrew. “Don’t let them see you sweat,” Miss Grover-Woodhouse murmured from the side of her mouth.
Brielle stopped fidgeting and straightened her slight slouch. A toddler whined about a cookie, and Brielle wanted to cry along with him.
“Better.” A faint smile ticked up the corners of Miss Grover-Woodhouse’s mouth as she stood to speak. “Using my twenty-five years of experience as an administrator, I deem Fresh Start to be a well-run organization beneficial to its clients and the community. It provides treatment, education and the needed motivation for its patients to make lifelong changes. Client engagement is high, which speaks to its effectiveness. My vote is to maintain the current operational charter for Fresh Start.”
Hope glimmered to life. One for, one against. How would the others vote?
Dana Stoughton slouched over the table, one hand propping up her head as though it might roll off her shoulders. “The patients seemed out of control to me,” she carped in a nasal voice. “Some were openly crying while others were noncompliant in following directions.”
“They were learning to tie a lasso,” protested Justin, fists thrust into the front pockets of his jeans. “No one gets that on the first try.”
“But some…were…crying,” Dana repeated slowly, drawing out each word as though she spoke to the hearing impaired.
“Our activities challenge patients to learn to work through stressful situations. In those scenarios, an emotional response may be part of the process,” Brielle countered.
“It wasn’t normal,” Dana stated flatly, her thin lips folding into her pinched expression. “I vote to revoke the charter.”
Miss Grover-Woodhouse’s quelling stare snuffed out the smattering of applause. Even the fussing toddler hushed.
Goose bumps prickled Brielle’s spine. Two to one in favor of shutting down Fresh Start. Her gaze fled to Justin, who chomped hard on a toothpick. His eyes looked up into hers. In them, she caught a hint of frustration, a hint of loss, a hint of worry.
One more revoke vote and they’d never see each other again. She knew their separation would inevitably happen, one way or the other. He’d leave once his mandatory sentence ended.
But after only a couple of weeks of having someone challenging her, comforting her, calling her out and pulling her in, the thought of being on her own again felt…lonely.
She gripped her microphone stand so hard she was surprised it didn’t crumble.
“Like Miss Grover-Woodhouse, I was impressed with the patients’ participation in the observed activities,” Judge James said, her hands pressed flat on the table, fingers spread starfish wide. “Their commitment to improving their lives is admirable, and I believe they deserve to have the second chance Fresh Start affords. I vote to continue the facility’s charter, as it not only helps its patients, but our community as well. In fact, it’s my understanding that Cole Loveland recently spoke at an Al-Anon meeting attended by several local Carbondale residents.”
The crowd craned their necks, looking at one another, mouthing “You?” as they attempted to figure out who’d crossed sides.
“I was honored to be invited.” Cole Loveland’s husky bass reverberated through the room. His slow, lazy smile at Brielle only widened at Justin’s fierce scowl. “Some of the attendees mentioned previously driving to Lancing, forty minutes away, to find an Al-Anon group. Providing those services locally, neighbors helping neighbors, that’s Carbondale’s way. Or it used to be.”
Several nodded in agreement with Cole’s assessment, while others whispered to each other or stared off into space, arms folded against their chests.
“I’m abstaining,” Doug Rowdy declared into his microscope.
“Why’s that?” demanded the woman who’d worn the pug sweatshirt at the last meeting. Tonight, she’d donned a sweater with a repeating dog bone and bow pattern.
“Just am.” Doug’s chair scraped against the linoleum-tile floor as he shoved back from the table. Justin smirked at him and Brielle blew out a breath. If not for Justin’s roping, Doug would’ve been the third vote against Fresh Start.
So, tied at two, leaving Mayor Cantwell the swing vote.
“Any final words before I make my decision, Ms. Thompson?” Mr. Cantwell asked, standing.
“You’re a woman of God.” The sweater-wearing woman wagged a finger at Brielle. “Is it un-Christian to want to protect your own from harm?”
Brielle swallowed, shoving her heart from her throat back down into her chest and drew in a calming breath. Justin jerked his chin at her, a you’ve-got-this gesture that settled her.
She leaned into her mic. “Wanting to protect loved ones from a perceived threat is a common wish regardless of your faith. However, I would like to leave everyone with one thought—the importance of taking people from the fringes of society and placing them at the center of our life’s narrative. When I think about the people on the edges of society, they don’t cross our paths often, right? In most cases, we must search for these people. Fresh Start is an opportunity for us to extend a hand to those in need, to honor them. Please, make Fresh Start the center of your community.”
Several people cheered, and Brielle sagged back in her chair. Phew.
Mr. Cantwell sat, tucking the hem of his gray suit beneath him so it stopped bunching around his shoulders. “Thank you. You’ve given me much to consider…so much so that I believe it best if I abstain in voting as well.”
Utter relief washed over Brielle, relaxing muscles she hadn’t realized were tense.
Her eyes flipped to the ceiling. Thank you.
“That leaves us tied!” exclaimed Doug Rowdy, red blooming in his cheeks.
“What do we do now?” Dana Stoughton tapped her pen on the table, punctuating each word.
Judge James raised a hand, quieting the cacophony. “If I may?” She raised an eyebrow at Mayor Cantwell, who answered with a nod. “The bylaws state that in the case of a town council tie, the mayor may cast the deciding vote. If he abstains, then the vote is turned over to the community.”
Brielle’s mouth dropped open and fear prickled the back of her neck. A town-wide vote? She eyed the animated, chatting assembly. Who knew how that’d turn out? She feared the worst.
Mr. Cantwell banged a gavel when Judge James sat again. “We’ll set the vote for two weeks from today.”
“But them nutjobs could escape!” exclaimed the portly man with the short tie predilection. “You heard Brent. No security over there.”
“They’ve got me,” Justin boomed.
“And me,” Cole thundered, his voice hitting the group like a shotgun blast. “Though I think they might be the ones in need of protecting from you townsfolk.”
“Two weeks,” Mayor Cantwell repeated. “And you’ll have your chance to make your voices heard. Any other questions?”
“Do we vote here?” asked the pregnant woman who’d admitted to being a recovering alcoholic at the previous meeting.
“Yes, we’ll have ballots here, as well as monitors to oversee the process and guarantee the authenticity of the results. The town hall will be open from 8:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m. Meeting adjourned.”
Brielle watched as the room emptied, her stomach roiling. A warm arm circled her and helped her stand.
“Come on,” Justin said. “Let’s go.”
Her shoulder muscles relaxed, the tension seeping out at the sight of him. He looked down at her, his jewel-toned eyes more brilliant than ever in the soft light.
They walked outside to a chorus of crickets, slamming car doors and vanishing taillights. Dry pine needles crunched under their feet as they strolled to the rear parking lot. Yellow birch leaves dri
fted down from above, tumbling along with her thoughts.
She leaned into Justin’s strength until she realized what she was doing, then pulled back abruptly. She didn’t have the luxury of leaning on anyone, least of all a man who occupied her every thought, who laid her bare with one touch, one look, one kiss…
The wind cut through her sweaterdress and teased a strand of hair loose from her bun. Her body felt cold and vulnerable once his warmth was gone. She bit the inside of her cheek to give herself something more demanding to feel.
“Hey,” Justin said. “It’s going to be okay.”
“No, it’s not.” She didn’t even realize she’d said it aloud until she heard her voice choked with tears.
His callused palms cupped her cheeks and he peered down at her, his pupils enormous, his lips parted as he momentarily forgot to marshal his expression. She’d swear he stopped breathing for several heartbeats.
So did she.
Was he going to kiss her again?
Would she let him?
“We’re not going down without a fight,” he said quietly. His words came out husky and velvety, as if he was saying something personal.
She bit her lip to focus on the fact that he was just giving her reassurance. He couldn’t help it if his voice was mesmerizingly sexy.
His thumb stroked her jaw. “I’ve got a plan.”
She drew back, and his arms dropped to his sides. “Bribery?”
One side of his mouth lifted. “Now, why didn’t I think of that? You’re supposed to be the good one.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, meaning it, longing to reveal more of herself to Justin. The good, the bad and the monstrous. Would he still look at her the same way if she did? “What’s the plan?”
“It’s right up your alley.” A teasing light entered Justin’s eyes. “Lots of mingling with strangers. Sharing…”
She moaned. “Why do I think this is going to hurt?”
He pressed his forehead against hers, and her breath caught. “Just for a day.”