33 The Return of Bowie Bravo

by Christine Rimmer

  But then Sera started crying and she said, “She’s hungry. I’ll see you later.”

  He got right up and carried his cookie plate and coffee cup to the sink. She left him and went upstairs. Miracle of miracles, Sera ate and had her diaper changed and went back to sleep.

  Glory took a bath. She put her favorite apple-scented bath oil in the water and she ran the tap nice and hot. Once settled in the steamy tub, she rested her head on a fluffy towel and tried to clear her mind of things like guilt and second thoughts.

  Back in the bedroom after her bath, she got a pair of pink silk panties from her dresser. She was slipping them on when she happened to glance over and catch sight of her wedding picture, of Matteo, looking so happy to have her as his bride.

  She went straight to the nightstand and turned the picture facedown. Okay, it was childish and it accomplished nothing. Still, she just wasn’t up for glancing over and seeing her poor dead husband’s smiling face while she ran around getting ready to put a move on Bowie Bravo.

  Again.

  After all these years.

  She had a nightgown she’d bought on sale the previous spring and never worn. That seemed the best choice. It felt wrong to wear something she’d worn with her husband. The nightgown was white, sleeveless, with little ruffles down the front and a pink ribbon that tied at the throat. The material was lightweight cotton. She stood in front of the mirror and thought that it was pretty, but not sexy.

  Which was fine. Great. She was almost thirty, a widow with two children. She didn’t need some sexy nightgown showing off the extra pounds she’d put on since the last time Bowie saw her naked.

  Naked.

  Oh, Lord.

  Better not to think that far ahead.

  The clock by her facedown wedding picture said 7:27 p.m. It seemed a little early for seduction.

  But on second thought, how long did she have until Sera woke up? A couple of hours, if she was lucky.

  So she put on her red velveteen winter robe. She stood at the mirror on the inside of the closet door and brushed her hair so it fell in soft waves on her shoulders. And then she hiked up her robe and her nightgown and took off the pink panties. She didn’t need them. Not to do what she was about to do.

  She pulled on her favorite fur-lined Uggs—again, not sexy. But she did have to walk across the snowy yard to get where she was going.

  And then she was ready. It was time.

  Her heart stuck high in her throat and her pulse racing like a jackrabbit on the run from the big, bad wolf, she grabbed the baby monitor and headed for the barn. Halfway down the stairs, she almost lost her nerve. But she put one booted foot in front of the other and before she knew it, she was out the back door.

  The light was on in the workshop. She breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t gone off to visit Chastity or one of his brothers.

  Quickly, before her courage got away from her again, she raced across the thin blanket of leftover snow to the workshop door. She started to knock.

  And that was when she heard the impossible sound coming from inside.

  A woman’s laughter.

  Chapter Ten

  The woman inside the workshop laughed again. And she said something. Glory had no idea what. The words were muffled by the workshop door.

  Glory stood there in the darkness, clutching the baby monitor in one hand and the collar of her robe in the other, trying to wrap her numb brain around what an idiot she’d been.

  A woman. Bowie was in there with a woman.…

  Really, she’d had no clue. No idea. None. He’d never mentioned that he was seeing anyone. She saw him three or four times a day. Never once had there been mention of so much as a date, let alone a girlfriend.

  And no one in town had said a word about his seeing someone. In the Flat, if you were seeing someone, everyone knew it eventually.

  Shouldn’t she have heard something?

  And really, what did it matter? It was probably for the best. She didn’t need to do this. She shouldn’t do this.

  And now, well, she wouldn’t do this.

  Glory swiped at her cheek with the back of her hand.

  Tears. She could not believe it. She had started to cry.

  It was too much. She would not stand out here by the workshop door in her nightgown and cry. No. She would go back to the house this very minute. She started to turn.

  But she was too late.

  She stopped in mid-whirl and stared in horror, rooted to the spot, as the door swung wide.

  Fully dressed and wearing boots and a heavy winter coat that failed to disguise her far-advanced pregnancy, Charlene Bravo stood on the other side. “Glory!” Charlene cried in surprise. “Hey, I was just…” Her brow furrowed in concern. “Glory, are you all right?”

  Glory sniffed. “Fine. I am just fine.” She brushed furiously at her wet cheeks and chirped way too brightly, “So, what’s up? How are you doing?”

  Charlene patted her big tummy. “Only six weeks to go. I came to see the crib Bowie’s made for me.” She sighed. “It is so beautiful. A work of art.”

  “And she brought me a pie.” Bowie stood behind Charlene with one of her famous pies held proudly in his big hands. “Blackberry.” He looked so pleased. But then he got a better look at Glory’s tear-streaked face. His gold brows drew together. “Glory, what’s the matter?”

  She tried to look relaxed and casual and knew that she was failing utterly. “Not a thing. Just thought I’d…come out and, uh, see how you were doing. With everything. See if you’re comfortable and, you know, if you, um…” Oh, God, how lame can you get? She needed to shut up. She needed shut up right now.

  Charlene must have noticed that Glory was all bathed and scented and ready for bed, but she didn’t say a word about it. “Well, I was just leaving.” She kept her voice pleasant and neutral as she dodged around Glory and sent a parting glance in Bowie’s direction. “Thank you again.”

  He nodded. “I’ll bring the crib over tomorrow.”

  She hustled off down the icy walkway that led around to the front of the house. Glory watched her go. It was better than turning and facing the man who stood behind her in the open doorway.

  “Come on in,” he said softly, once Charlene had disappeared from view.

  She didn’t turn. She couldn’t. Never in her whole life had she felt like such a silly, hopeless fool. She stared hard straight ahead. “Uh, no, really. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come out here. I’ll just—”

  “Glory.” He touched her shoulder. She felt that touch clear down to her toes. “Come inside.”

  She made herself face him. “Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea now.”

  He had the pie in one hand. With the other, he reached out and wrapped his warm fingers around her arm, just below her elbow. “Come on.” His voice was so patient, so completely unruffled.

  She should have pulled away. He wasn’t the wild man he used to be. He wouldn’t make a scene or anything. He would simply let go if she insisted more strongly. But she didn’t insist. She didn’t try and shake him off. She only whispered breathlessly, “Bowie, I…”

  He waited, giving her time to finish whatever it was she’d started to say. But words had deserted her. She simply stared at him, bereft. After several endless seconds, he pulled her inside.

  He put the pie on the workbench by the door. “Give me the monitor.” She obeyed automatically. He took it from her and set it down, too. Then reaching around behind her, he shut the door.

  She heard the latch click, heard him press the lock home. It seemed such a final sound. She went weak in the knees. “Oh, Bowie, what am I doing?” she heard herself ask.

  He gave her no answer but only instructed, “Come over by the fire.�
��”

  “I don’t, um…”

  “This way.” He took her there, to the old parlor stove where the flames burned bright and cheery behind the ceramic-glass viewing window.

  She shivered and turned her back to it, felt the heat of it radiating through her robe and nightgown, so toasty and welcome after the chill outside.

  He still held her arm. With his other hand, he guided a loose curl of hair back over her shoulders, smoothing it. And then he touched her face, brushing those rough fingers against her tender skin. It felt absolutely lovely, that touch of his. “What happened, Glory? Why were you crying?”

  Why did he have to ask that? It only made her throat feel tight and the tears rise up behind her eyes all over again. “It’s only that I…well, I… Oh, do we have to talk about it?”

  “Come here. Come on…” He led her over to the cot in the corner, and then pulled her down beside him. “Here you go.” He offered her a tissue from a little box on the old stool that served as his nightstand.

  She whipped one out, dabbed at her eyes and wiped her cheeks. “I’m such an idiot.” She balled up the tissue and tossed it in the wastebasket on the other side of the stool. “Just a ridiculous, silly, silly idiot.”

  “No,” he said so tenderly.

  “Yes, I am. I truly am. I…”

  “What? Why? I don’t understand.”

  She gulped. “I plotted and planned, Bowie. I did. I intended…to seduce you.”

  Apparently, he’d already figured that out. He didn’t look especially surprised. “Well, all right.” He said it firmly, as though he approved.

  “No,” she cried. “It’s not all right.”

  He took her by the shoulders, a steadying sort of touch, and he looked straight in her eyes. “Let me put it this way. It’s all right by me.”

  Her lower lip trembled. She ordered it to be still. “It is?” He nodded. “I’m…glad,” she confessed. And then she couldn’t look at him. She turned away.

  He caught her chin gently, guided it back around to him. “You don’t seem very glad.”

  “Well, that whole thing, just now, with Charlene…”

  “What about it? It was no big deal.”

  “But it was! It was a big deal to me.”

  He ran those warm palms of his down her arms, and took her hands in each of his. “She’s a great person. She cares for both of us. She won’t think less of you, if that’s what you’re worried about. And she’s never been one to gossip or spread rumors. That’s not who she is.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right, but…”

  “But what?”

  She pulled her fingers free of his grip. “Oh, it’s so stupid…”

  “Tell me.”

  She blew out a hard breath. “I got out here, I was just about to knock on the door, and I heard Charlene laughing inside and I thought that, well, that…” It was all too much. “Oh, never mind what I thought.” She just couldn’t look at him. She let her shoulders sag and she stared miserably down at the round sheepskin toes of her boots.

  “Hey.”

  “Oh, Bowie…”

  “Come here.” He wrapped an arm around her and gathered her close. “I get it, okay?” She felt the sweet pressure of his lips on her hair. “You thought I had something going with some other woman.”

  She buried her head against his chest, which was warm and solid and felt so good to lean on. And she confessed into his shirt, “I did. Yes.”

  He took her chin and made her look at him. “There’s no one. I promise you.”

  She let out a moan. “I realized that the minute Charlene opened the door. It didn’t make me feel like any less of a fool, though.”

  “You’re not a fool.”

  “Could you say that again?” she asked meekly.

  “Glory, you are not a fool.”

  With a low moan of sheer misery, she turned her head into his hard shoulder again.

  He cradled her so tenderly. “You always smell like apples.” His voice was suddenly gruff. “You know that?”

  “Apple bath oil.” She sniffed.

  “Apples and rain…”

  “I don’t know about the rain part.”

  He chuckled then. “I do.”

  She snuggled in even closer. “I’m just a nervous wreck. All this scheming and planning. It can really wear a girl out.…”

  He tipped her chin up again. “You’ve been scheming and planning?”

  “Didn’t I just say that a few minutes ago?” She blew a wild strand of hair out of her eyes.

  Tenderly, with a finger, he smoothed that strand of hair back into place. “For how long?”

  “Weeks.” She rolled her eyes. “Men are so clueless.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “Hmm. No ‘maybe’ about it.”

  He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, his gaze soft and tempting as a hazy summer morning. “Give me a break, will you? Until I saw you standing outside that door in this pretty red robe, I was still operating on the agreement we made after I kissed you. You do remember that kiss?”

  She gazed up at him and sighed. “How could I ever forget?”

  “Glory.” He brushed her lower lip with his thumb, so gently, back and forth. “You hardly spoke to me for a week after that kiss.”

  “I know. I’m…well, I’m sorry, okay? If I’m giving crossed signals.”

  His gilded brows drew together. “And I’m sorry, too, but I have to ask…”

  “Oh, God, what?”

  “While you were planning and scheming, did you happen to maybe pick up a box of condoms?”

  “No, but there’s no need to worry. I’m, uh…” She came out with it. “I’m on the pill.”

  All at once, his eyes were shining. “On the pill, huh?” He framed her face between his hands. “Now that’s the way to plan and scheme.”

  “Oh, Bowie…” Her heart had set to racing again. And a thousand overactive butterflies seemed to have taken up residence in her stomach.

  He framed her face with both hands. “You’re shaking.”

  She leaned closer, whispered fervently, “Just kiss me, okay? Just kiss me and everything will be all right.”

  “Just kiss you…”

  “Yes, kiss me. Kiss me now.”

  He gave her what she asked for. Light as a breath, his mouth settled over hers. His lips were so warm, so tender. So fine. She sighed in delight.

  And with slow, deliberate care, he deepened the kiss.

  In the stove, a log shifted, settling. Other than that, the workshop was quiet. And from beyond the walls of the old barn, she heard nothing. As though the night itself had gone silent, breath held, waiting.

  And all at once, she was aware of her own breathing. It sounded a little ragged, a little scared. But eager, so very eager.

  She opened her mouth to him and his tongue slid over hers, tasting her. She moaned, it felt so good. The sound echoed inside her head.

  He lowered one hand, so slowly, skimming the side of her neck, raising goose bumps as he went. And then his mouth followed where his fingers had been. He kissed his way downward, following the path blazed by his touch—and then he lifted his head to claim her mouth for a second time.

  She accepted his kiss with enthusiasm, opening, inviting him inside.

  He took what she offered. And as he kissed her so deeply, his fingers strayed. He molded the shape of one shoulder, traced the deep vee at the collar of her robe.

  His intention became clear a second later. He tugged on the end of the sash at her waist. The robe fell open.

  He slipped his hand inside to clasp her waist. Her breath got all tangled up in her throat at the s
tunning intimacy of that simple touch. There was only the light barrier of her cotton nightgown between his palm and her bare flesh. “Glory…” He kissed her own name onto her lips.

  She moaned a little. How could she help it? He pushed the robe off her shoulders, down her arms. She did the rest, wriggling out of it, eager to be free of it.

  He took it from her, urging her to lift up because she was sitting on the bottom half of it. Once he had it out from under her, he tossed it toward the easy chair by the fire.

  Cradling her cheek in a tender hand, he broke the long, deep kiss. “So pretty…”

  Her eyelids felt heavy, weak with desire. But she opened her eyes anyway. She wanted to watch the emotions play across his face as he carefully untied the little pink bow at the top of her nightgown.

  He bent close and pressed his lips to the base of her throat. She gasped when he did that. And he put out his tongue and tasted her skin.

  “Oh, yes. Like that…” She needed him closer. She reached out and gathered him into her, pressing his golden head to her breasts.

  He found her nipple through the nightgown and scraped it lightly with his teeth. The feeling was so intense, like a cord pulling tight between her breast and her womb.

  She caught his face, made him look at her. “Careful. My milk will come.…”

  He surged up and captured her mouth again, his hand cradling her breast, but lightly. With exactly the care she’d asked for.

  So strange and forbidden—and wonderful, too, to be with him this way.

  Again. After so long.

  He was so different. So careful and gentle.

  Different, and yet just the same. The heat of his body, the feel of him in her arms. So well-remembered.

  Like coming home.

  He guided her down onto the cot, and then rose up above her. He eased himself between her knees, and pushed her nightgown high on her thighs.

  “Beautiful,” he told her. “You’re so beautiful, Glory. Just the way I remembered. But better. More…”

  She tried to reach for him again, to bring him down to her, to capture his lips and kiss him forever. But he only shook his head and clasped her thighs. He caressed her knees, rubbing the backs of them, where the skin was most sensitive. He cupped her calves in either hand, massaging them, so that she moaned at the feel of his strong fingers, kneading the tension away, knowing just where to press, just how to rub.