McGuire’s had barely five people inside when I arrived, one of them the man I needed to talk with, sitting at the bar. As I approached, I became aware he was in the middle of a conversation on his phone.
Getting the attention of the bartender, I ordered myself a beer as I waited for Carson to finish. The clanking of dishes sounded from the kitchen, located behind the bar. I heard raised voices and the beginning, or perhaps the continuation, of an argument reaching a level above the noise of the kitchen.
“Da, he is a man, a grown one at that. If he wants to have a fling before he marries Megan then what concern is it of ours.”
The man I knew to be the owner, rounded the partition, a case of Jameson in his arms. “And what if she get er’ claws into em’? Turns up pregnant for Christ’s sake.” He set the box on the bar and turned in the direction of the man who followed him.
“Then he’ll have two children and you’d be blessed with another grandchild.”
Present Day
From the moment I’d received Carson’s blessing, I’d worked night and day to get to the point I was now. I’d had many conversations with Shayla, encouraging her to get what she really wanted in life. I’d also declined Portia’s pleas for me to bond her out of jail, her addictions finally catching up to her.
Troy Walton, one of the boys who worked in another county, had called me as I finished a meeting with one of Dad’s attorneys. Portia had been caught in an undercover drug bust. She was trying to sell nearly ten thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine. She begged me to do something to get her out; swore she would do anything I wanted her to if I would only help her this one time. The next morning I’d changed my number, closing the door to that part of my past.
The shop was coming along better than I expected. One of the easiest deals I had ever made. Ike Houser, the previous owner, died in his sleep. His only living relative, a son from back east, had no desire to own the shop. My dad knew the attorney who was handling the probate and called me immediately.
Not a minute after the check was handed over; Momma came in with her broom and dust rag, cleaning out what was labeled the bathroom. She got hold of one of her contractor friends and I had a new bathroom and kitchen in the blink of an eye.
“He’s a father?”
I hadn’t expected to see Claire for a few more days. Dr. Gillman, or Will as he asked me to call him, helped to get her schedule for me. On her next day shift, which was Thursday, I wanted to walk into the hospital, flowers in hand and ask her out on a proper date.
However, having her show up at my shop, looking like a beautiful drowned rat, worked out so much better. Even through her shivering, I could see the inner strength she possessed. If I were lucky enough to win her affections, she would be with me out of choice and not ulterior motives.
“Always be the thoughts behind her smile, not the reason for her tears.”
“I believe so,” I confirmed.
I never cared for Dr. O’Leary, but not only because he had gotten close to Claire. Hell, I hated him for what I suspected happened between them. I disliked him for something, which had come across my desk about a year ago. He had been pulled over during a routine traffic stop to find he was three times the legal drinking limit. When the officer removed him from the car, he was naked from the waist down. Two naked prostitutes emerged from the floorboard of the car. One phone call to the family attorney, some cash exchanging hands, and everything disappeared.
Claire walked around the shop, her arms circled around her waist as if she was holding herself together. When she ended her tour by the refrigerator, I watched as her shoulders began to shake. At first I assumed she was crying, but as she turned her body toward me, her smile showed she was laughing instead.
“Thank God I never slept with him!” She exclaimed. “To think I was ready to climb down his neck with the news I’d heard tonight at the bar.” Her arms were raised in the air toward the ceiling, bringing them down abruptly, slapping them against her thighs as she voiced the last word.
I wanted to wrap her in my arms and rejoice with her for not fucking Notre Dame. I had wanted to kiss her earlier, breaking the long-standing rule I held myself to. I wanted to enjoy the essence of this beautiful woman, discover the secrets she kept about her family and why she avoided speaking about them. I would learn everything about her.
“You said your brother fixed motorcycles?” I crossed the room back to the bike I had almost finished before Claire arrived.
“He loved to tinker with just about anything. If I wanted to spend time with him, I had to sit right there with him.” Her gentle smile reflected a memory; a happy one no doubt.
“What about you, do you enjoy riding?” Her hair had started to dry, bringing about a wave she must brush out normally. My shirt was four times as big as she needed; yet she looked better than any completely naked girl I’d ever been with.
“Benny took me a few times, just around the property by our…home.” Her voice faded off as she swallowed thickly around her fingernails, which had found her teeth.
“Tell me about your brothers. You have two, correct?” She pulled herself up on the counter, her pale legs dangling, and toes painted a bright red. Her eyes searched mine, her hands bracing herself against the top of my workbench.
“I do, Austin and Chase.” I could tell I’d pushed her to a place she didn’t want to go. It was fine, though. I’d play by her rules as long as she needs.
“At your grandfather’s funeral, your mom said she’d found you?”
If I wanted to know more about her, I would have to share parts of me. Explaining to her where I came from was easy, telling her where I planned to go was the hard part.
“My momma did more than find me, she saved me. She kept me from becoming like the woman who gave birth to me.” I had to look away, back to wiping the last of the fluid off the exhaust pipe, as she crossed her legs.
“I was born to inmate number 927. She was a permanent guest of a South Carolina women’s penitentiary. They suspected a guard was my father, since she had been incarcerated for five years before I came along.” With the last of the fluid gone, I turned my attention to her, while buttoning my shirt.
“I was placed with the state three days later as she was killed in a fight over a hairbrush.” I straddled the chair I sat in as I shared my dinner with her, crossing my arms over the back. “I had been in and out of foster homes for one reason or another, until they sent me to the children’s home. It was the place I felt at home the most, until Momma found me.” They broke the mold when they made Priscilla Morgan, at least until the good Lord above created Claire Stuart.
“My brother Austin, who is two years younger than me, lived with his birth mother until he was three. She was killed by her pimp while he slept in the bathtub.” Claire’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, yet she stayed silent and let me continue.
“He currently lives in New York, but not for much longer.” Catching her eyes, I raised my index finger to her. “Keep this under your hat: Austin is moving back to Charleston. He plans to surprise our momma.” I whispered the last sentence and was rewarded with a giggle for my playfulness.
“Was Austin the one sitting next to you or the one in the uniform?” She had remembered, taken a genuine interest and recalled a moment, which, for me, was devastating. Most of the time, I had sat in the church and tuned out the world, staring at his coffin, wishing it were all a bad dream.
“Austin was beside my dad. Chase, the youngest, was in the uniform—he’s currently in the Marines.”
Her feet were swinging back and forth, and she was leaning her shoulder forward. “And what does Austin do?”
Lightning flashed behind her, illuminating her beautiful form. Claps of thunder startled her, and she jumped slightly nearly falling off the counter.
“Austin is a computer geek, graduated from MIT.” I extended out my hand, offering to steady her as she scooted back in place.
“MIT?” She exclaimed, her face m
atching her voice. “He’s much more than a computer geek then.”
She was right; Austin was fucking brilliant. “Yes, but I’m his brother, so I have the job of calling him whatever I choose.”
We stayed like this, in comfortable and easy conversation. She told me of crazy stories she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t been there. I told her of the antics my brothers and I played on each other and our parents. The rain continued outside, with no sign of letting up.
“Well, Miss Claire, it appears the rain has settled in for the night.” She looked out the window, confirming what I’d said. “How about you allow me to drive you home, leave your keys with me, and I’ll make sure your car finds its way to your garage.”
Her clothes were drier than when she arrived, so she put her jeans and shoes back on. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me this evening, Dylan.”
The streetlights streamed their way across her skin as I drove her home. “It was my pleasure. I enjoyed your company.”
Far too soon, I pulled onto her street; my time with her had come to an end.
“You can drop me off at the entrance there.”
I ignored her instructions, as I had no intention of dropping her off anywhere. “Miss Claire, if I was to leave you on the side of a Charleston street and my momma caught wind of it, I would never see the light of day again.”
She smiled gently, then rolled her eyes as she started to argue. “Really, Dylan. Are you telling me a strong man, such as yourself, is frightened of his mother?” She had no clue how right she was. Not that I feared her, but more of an immense amount of respect. “I’ll be perfectly safe, I swear.” She held up her right hand, two fingers extended. “Scouts honor,” she vowed.
“Nice try, young lady, but I’ll have you know you have a few unsavory characters that live in this very building.” I pointed to the sky as she entered in her security code. “Take Mrs. Pettigrew, for instance. I bet you think she is just some nosy old lady?” I asked as we walked toward the elevator. “And she is a nosy lady,” I fully admitted. “But,” I added, “what you don’t know is the lady who owns the purple poodle, was once a getaway driver for a member of the Mafia. She has seen the inside of a jail cell more than most Wardens.”
Claire shoved my shoulder, taking me off guard. “Dylan Morgan, you should be ashamed of yourself, telling lies about a sweet old lady.”
She was laughing and shushing me as we continued to walk down her hall, past the door of the woman in question. I wasn’t lying when I told her that story; Mrs. Pettigrew lived a life found in old gangster movies.
“This is me.” She stopped at the white door, the gold number seventeen set in the center of the painted wood. “Thank you again, for everything.” Her eyes were bright and face flushed; she looked happy—which was exactly how I planned to keep her.
“You are most welcome, Claire. I’ll let you know tomorrow what is wrong with your car.” I reached down and grasped her tiny, cold hand in mine. In a move some would find ancient, I brought her fingers to my lips, kissing the tip of her index finger.
As I turned, heading for the elevators, I stopped and reminded her quickly. “Oh and, Claire, don’t forget to put your phone in a bowl of rice, it will dry it out in no time.”
“Though no one can go back and make a brand new start, anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending.”
~ Carl Bard
“Did he say why he left the department?” Lainie had been frantic when I didn’t call and let her know I was home. She was about to call the police when I sent her an email telling her the fate of my phone.
“Just that he took a leave of absence to get his head together.” I combed my hair back into a braid; my phone was on speaker as I talked to Lainie this early morning. Dylan had been right about the rice, it took an entire day, but at least I didn’t have to buy a new phone.
“I guess it’s true what they say after all.” Her voice laden with humor and a hint of disbelief. “Even an old dog can learn new tricks.” The early hour brought a yawn to Lainie’s analysis of Dylan’s actions.
“All right, girl. Go back to bed and I’ll talk to you this evening after my shift.” After hanging up, I tossed my phone and keys into my bag, making sure I had my hospital badge, and then scurried off to work.
Dylan had been a man of his word, returning my car early the next morning. The interior had been vacuumed and wiped down. A Post-it note reminded me my oil was coming up due. As much as I wanted to wad the damn thing up and toss it out the window, I left it attached to the center of my steering wheel; a reminder of the sweet side of Dylan. A side I hoped to see more often.
Carson had knocked on my front door to hand me back my keys and asked if he could have a word with me. “Claire, I know you spent some time with Dylan last evening.”
We walked over to one of the corner coffee houses. Carson was a careful watcher of everything he ate, but every once in a while he allowed himself a slice of carrot cake. Today was one of those days.
“I’ve known Dylan for a lot of years, worked beside him when he was fresh from the academy. In those early years, he taught me as much as I did him.”
I glanced out the window as a motorcycle screamed by. It reminded me of the almost kiss we’d shared and the gentleness he showed me.
“I also know you’re more than familiar with his history.” His voice reminded me of myself after an incredibly tiresome shift. “Look, six months ago, hell even six weeks ago, I would have forbid you to have any romantic dealings with him.” He leaned back in his chair as the waitress filled his cup with fresh coffee. Thanking her in his sweet Southern way, he turned his attention back to me.
“I think I’m a bit old for you to forbid me to do anything, don’t you agree?” I laughed, only half-kidding.
“Claire, the first thing Southern husbands learn is to respect their Southern wives. Failure to do so could result in disastrous consequences.” He added a shake of his head from side to side. No one could ever doubt the level of love Carson had for Georgia; it radiated between them. “So when Georgia noticed Dylan making eyes at you over at McGuire’s, she told me have a…not so pleasant conversation with him, in which I informed him to avoid you.”
I choked on my coffee, his protectiveness taking on a new level. Even my own dad didn’t look after me that way. How different would mine and Cheyenne’s lives have turned out, if he would have taken care of us as he should? The good Lord only knew.
“He’s different, Claire. Having his granddad pass, losing the verdict in the trial, and then he took a good hard look at the man in the mirror and didn’t like what he saw.”
Carson was not only my protector, but also a loyal friend to Dylan. He risked the chance of making him an enemy to keep me safe. Allowing Dylan to come to him knowing Carson was well aware of his manwhore ways. How hard was the decision for Carson to stand back and give Dylan his blessing?
“He came to me, about a month ago, and informed me of his decision to quit his job and open the shop.”
I remained quiet, not telling him I already knew all of this. “He also asked for my blessing to pursue you. He said he wasn’t quite ready at the time, wanting to have his affairs in order first.”
I couldn’t deny the attraction was there, the desire to at least kiss those incredible lips of his. To trust him, however, knowing what I knew about the way he moved from woman to woman, no love or respect, was going to be difficult. For that reason, I just wasn’t sure.
“All I’m asking of you, sweetheart, is to give him the benefit of the doubt. I know he has spoken with his family about you and in my experience with him that has never happened before.”
Where my father had failed me, Carson had been steadfast. If he was willing to give Dylan a shot, then maybe, just maybe, I could too.
It had been three days since the coffee shop and no phone calls, no visits, nothing. I hated being like this. Being one of those girls who waited by the phone for the guy to call or writing hi
s last name in big curvy letters on every surface she could find. The girl who dreamed about the day when he would sweep her off her feet, professing that he could no longer live a single moment without her. I was better than this. I firmly believed men were an accessory and not a necessity. But oh, what an accessory Dylan Morgan would make.
Dr. O’Leary had been on vacation; my suspicion was that his wedding was this weekend. I saw him the other night as he was coming off the elevator, cell phone in hand completely ignoring everything around him, including me. I wasn’t ready to confront him, to ask him point blank how he could swear to marry one girl, while he felt up another. In my opinion, Sean was a coward, afraid to stand up and be honest with the women in his life. Dylan might’ve been a player, but he never hid the fact and never lied to anyone involved.
As I arrived for my shift, the activity level on the floor was at a ten. Alarms were sounding at each end of the hall and phones were ringing off the hook. Patients were lined up in the halls, either waiting for rooms or doctors to see them. Kitty arrived only seconds after I did and we both dropped our stuff on the desk and dug into work.
It was just after lunch when things calmed and we all looked as if we had just survived the apocalypse. Most of us were having the first drink or bite to eat since we had arrived. We were down to three patients, a set of triplets who ate something which caused explosive diarrhea. Mom had rushed them in, nearing a panic attack when the medication she had at home didn’t work. Dr. Gillman had just discharged them to go home.
As I finished typing in my last note on a patient we’d sent upstairs, I heard the sound of the automatic door opening. I didn’t dare look up, fearing it would be an entire marching band with a bad case of food poisoning.
Instead of the sounds of sick children, the aroma of freshly baked pizza hit my nose. Ignoring my apprehension, I glanced to the door out of the corner of my eye. Walking with a swagger, which would rival most rap stars, in a black long-sleeved T-shirt with some sort of old English script across the front, was Dylan. Four boxes of what I suspected were filled with cheesy goodness in his left hand, while his right carried a container of amber liquid.
Absolute Power (Southern Justice #1 Page 20