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In honor of Father's Day here in the US, I wanted to showcase stories with strong, influential father figures. Some aren't necessarily a lengthy factor in the story, perhaps it's even just one chapter, or a flashback, etc. The father figure has however, left a lasting impression on the characters, the story, and the reader. For Father's Day 2022, I chose 5 stories where the fatherly figure helped to shape the characters, made them stronger and in doing so made the story even more brilliant and left me smiling. If you have any recommendations for great father figures in the LGBTQIA genre, be sure and comment below or on the social media post that may have brought you here. The purchase links below are current as of the original posting but if they don't work be sure to check the authors' websites for up-to-date information.
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Summary:
Dangerous Ground #5
Be careful what you wish for...
Financial pressures and a brutal workload are not quite what former DSS Agents Will Brandt and Taylor MacAllister signed on for when they decided to open their own security consulting business.
When they bump into an old adversary while undercover, and the job goes south, Will braces himself and suggests they head up to Oregon to celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday with his family.
Unfortunately, not every member of the Brandt clan loves Taylor the way Will does. Then again, not everyone loves the Brandts. In fact, someone has a score to settle--and too bad for any former feds who get in the way when the bullets start to fly.
Another great entry in the series. Loved seeing Will in his hometown family element, even with the ups and downs. I truly enjoyed the build-up for the next entry, whenever that will be. I haven't been disappointed yet by this author.
Overall Series Re-Read Review June 2020:
As I said previously, Dangerous Ground was the second Josh Lanyon reading after her Adrien English series and I absolutely loved Will and Taylor. Equals, friends, partners, lovers. They truly are everything to each other, throw in the job and the cases(mysteries as they tend to find trouble even on vacation) and it's just all around brilliant storytelling. I may not re-read this series as often as my annual revisit of her Adrien English series, I will never tire of Will & Taylor. They are captivating, mesmerizing, intriguing, and just plain wonderfully fun even when the danger is high and they aren't necessarily on the same page they still have each other in mind. As I said, I will never tire of Will Brandt and Taylor MacAllister and their brilliant journey.
RATING:
As I said previously, Dangerous Ground was the second Josh Lanyon reading after her Adrien English series and I absolutely loved Will and Taylor. Equals, friends, partners, lovers. They truly are everything to each other, throw in the job and the cases(mysteries as they tend to find trouble even on vacation) and it's just all around brilliant storytelling. I may not re-read this series as often as my annual revisit of her Adrien English series, I will never tire of Will & Taylor. They are captivating, mesmerizing, intriguing, and just plain wonderfully fun even when the danger is high and they aren't necessarily on the same page they still have each other in mind. As I said, I will never tire of Will Brandt and Taylor MacAllister and their brilliant journey.
Summary:
Snow & Winter #2
Life has been pretty great for Sebastian Snow. The Emporium is thriving and his relationship with NYPD homicide detective, Calvin Winter, is everything he’s ever wanted. With Valentine’s Day around the corner, Sebastian’s only cause for concern is whether Calvin should be taken on a romantic date. It’s only when an unknown assailant smashes the Emporium’s window and leaves a peculiar note behind, that all plans get pushed aside in favor of another mystery.
Sebastian is quickly swept up in a series of grisly yet seemingly unrelated murders. The only connection tying the deaths together are curiosities from the lost museum of P.T. Barnum. Despite Calvin’s attempts to keep Sebastian out of the investigation, someone is forcing his hand, and it becomes apparent that the entire charade exists for Sebastian to solve. With each clue that’ll bring him closer to the killer, he’s led deeper into Calvin’s official cases.
It’s more than just Sebastian’s livelihood and relationship on the line—it’s his very life.
Sebastian is quickly swept up in a series of grisly yet seemingly unrelated murders. The only connection tying the deaths together are curiosities from the lost museum of P.T. Barnum. Despite Calvin’s attempts to keep Sebastian out of the investigation, someone is forcing his hand, and it becomes apparent that the entire charade exists for Sebastian to solve. With each clue that’ll bring him closer to the killer, he’s led deeper into Calvin’s official cases.
It’s more than just Sebastian’s livelihood and relationship on the line—it’s his very life.
Sebastian Snow is trying to decide what kind of date night to come up with for his first Valentine's Day with Calvin Winter when Snow’s Antique Emporium front window is smashed with a note attached. When the vandalism appears to be connected to PT Barnum's lost museum will Seb be able to stand to the side as Winter and his partner investigate or does the assailant have other plans?
Once again, Snow and Winter find themselves swept up in crime. Again I ask who knew antiquing could be so dangerous? I found myself fascinated with the whole PT Barnum connection that has drawn Seb in, so intriguing, original, and fun. Okay, "fun" might be the wrong word for crime and murder but I'll be honest, CS Poe has made it fun. I love how she continues to blend history into the contemporary mystery via Snow's love of antiques.
Not really a whole lot more I can say that I didn't say in my review for book 1 when it comes to Snow and Winter themselves except that as their relationship continues to move forward I think I fell in love with them even more. Even if Seb hasn't really learned anything about staying out of it😉 The Mystery of the Curiosities is just pure entertaining from beginning to end.
RATING:
Summary:
Matter of Time #6
Jory Harcourt is finally living the dream. Being married to US Marshal Sam Kage has changed him—it’s settled the tumult of their past and changed Jory from a guy who bails at the first sign of trouble to a man who stays and weathers the storm. He and Sam have two kids, a house in the burbs, and a badass minivan. Jory’s days of being an epicenter for disaster are over. Domestic life is good.
Which means it's exactly the right time for a shakeup on the home front. Sam’s ex turns up in an unexpected place. A hit man climbs up their balcony at a family reunion. And maybe both of those things have something to do with a witness who disappeared a year ago. Marital bliss just got a kick in the pants, but Jory won’t let anyone take his family away from him. Before he knew what it felt like to have a home, he would have run. Not anymore. He knows he and Sam need to handle things together, because that’s the only way they’re going to make it.
Original Review 2013:
This was a perfect addition to Jory and Sam's love story. Very interesting to see them in a complete family setting and still never lose a beat of their individual nature. They've both grown so much since their first meeting and yet maintain the fresh passion that brought them together all those years ago. Quite possibly the best in the series.
Overall Series Re-Read 2019:
Again there's really nothing new I can add that would express how much I love Jory and Sam. Not everyone likes the kind of alpha male that Sam Kage is and I too don't always appreciate that element but when the dynamic between the two men is so powerful as Sam and Jory then I completely fall in love. Just because Sam is so alpha don't think Jory is a pushover, oh no he definitely has no problem voicing his opinion either and I think that is what makes them work for me because its an even balance of push and pull from both.
Now as for the audios, there are four different narrators, three for Jory/Sam and one for Duncan/Aaron in Parting Shot. Some might find that off-putting but I actually found it fitting. Just why there is different narrators I don't know but as a listener, I found each one did a brilliant job and yes they are noticeably different but they bring the perfect nuances for where the characters are in their journey, we all change as life goes and Paul Morey, Jeff Gelder, and Finn Sterling showcase that wonderfully. Tristan James brings Duncan and Aaron's story to life that is a perfect fit for the Matter of Time series.
Again there's really nothing new I can add that would express how much I love Jory and Sam. Not everyone likes the kind of alpha male that Sam Kage is and I too don't always appreciate that element but when the dynamic between the two men is so powerful as Sam and Jory then I completely fall in love. Just because Sam is so alpha don't think Jory is a pushover, oh no he definitely has no problem voicing his opinion either and I think that is what makes them work for me because its an even balance of push and pull from both.
Now as for the audios, there are four different narrators, three for Jory/Sam and one for Duncan/Aaron in Parting Shot. Some might find that off-putting but I actually found it fitting. Just why there is different narrators I don't know but as a listener, I found each one did a brilliant job and yes they are noticeably different but they bring the perfect nuances for where the characters are in their journey, we all change as life goes and Paul Morey, Jeff Gelder, and Finn Sterling showcase that wonderfully. Tristan James brings Duncan and Aaron's story to life that is a perfect fit for the Matter of Time series.
RATING:
School and Rock by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:Arizona Raptors #5
When Colorado Penn finds an unexpected package on his front step, his life will be changed forever.
Colorado Penn is living the dream. Starting goalie for the Arizona Raptors when in season, lead singer for a hard rock band when summer rolls around. He’s the quintessential free spirit who’s making sure he enjoys all the carnal blessings of his athleticism, and gritty singing voice. Now the Raptors are moving into their first playoff appearance in years, but the arrival of an unexpected package means that hockey may have to take a backseat to something way more important. Instead of the usual undergarments from adoring fans, he finds a newborn baby with a small note tucked under her carrier, naming him as the father. He refuses to give up his daughter and is determined to be the kind of father he’d dreamed of having. But to keep Madeline, he’ll need help, and he’ll need it fast. Enter handsome emergency manny, Joseph. They may be opposites, but Colorado starts to see that Joseph’s stable, calm influence makes his chaotic lifestyle choices seem less appealing. There’s something about the man that soothes not only his infant daughter but also the wild child inside Colorado.
Joseph is one year away from getting his degree in planetary science, working cover shifts at the planetarium, and pulling in income with short term manny gigs. Stars collide as he provides emergency childcare for the wild man of hockey, a man who moves so fast through life that he doesn’t know how to stop. Homeless, and caring for his niece, Emma, fate brings Joseph into Colorado and baby Madeline’s life. Madeline is a sweetheart, and Colorado is trying his hardest to make the best decision for his baby girl. He offers his home and an indecent salary, to keep Joseph in his life until summer’s end. Colorado brings mysticism and metal to Joseph’s sanctuary of science, but somehow Joseph needs to tame this shooting star and create a family. Nothing in the contract said Joseph had to fall in love to make that happen, but when it’s time for him to leave, will the void in his heart ever heal, or will it remain as cold as space itself?
Original Review November 2020:
WOW!
Who knew you could still create amazing couples after so many books in this hockey universe the authors created? Okay, any fan of RJ Scott & VL Locey knew they could do it but to actually read the latest one and watch it unfold is, well, it's something special.
School and Rock is amazing, no simpler basic term that says it all than "amazing". I knew Colorado's story would be fun, he just has that way about him that makes you think he looks at life as one big smorgasbord where everything is up for whatever he desires. Let's be honest, it probably was and then one day a package arrives at his door. Little Madeline Celeste, or Maddie Boo as the big carefree goalie calls her. I think the minute he picks her up he knows his whole world has just slipped it's axis and is headed on a completely different course, he just doesn't know what that course will look like but he knows it's different than before he opened that door.
I'm going to take a minute to talk about Joseph. I'm not a sciencey kind of gal, if there was one subject in school I had to put in the hate column it would have been science, I trust it but I don't need to know the why or how. HOWEVER, though the subject matter would have been different I can certainly understand the predicament he finds himself in when we are introduced to the character. A subject you've spent your life loving and learning about and someone who should know it too gets something wrong and refuses to accept being corrected? Yeah, I would not only call them on it but I probably would have been even less tactful than Joseph was. Unfortunately, his boss sides with the other guy. That's okay because it puts him in an opportunity to meet Colorado.
I'm not going to go into much more than that, I don't want to spoil the pairs' journey that gets them from chaos to HEA. If you've been reading Scott & Locey's hockey universe(not sure what the universe name would be, perhaps Harris-tonna-ptors😉😉) you are well aware that a HEA is in the cards but the path that gets Colorado & Joseph there is where all the fun, all the meat and potatoes happens. Now if you are new to this world, I highly recommend going back and starting from the beginning with Changing Lines(Harrisburg Railers #1) if only for supporting/cameo character continuity, you won't be lost if you don't I just think you will have a helluva lot more fun experiencing it all.
One last note, I want to mention the supporting cast, the new members to this eclectic world: Simon, Colorado's bodyguard/problem-solver/keeping-things-in-line-minder and Natalie and Emma, Joseph's sister and niece. They each not only bring a bit of themselves to the story but they help to tell the boys' tale as well. Through them and their interactions with Colorado and Joseph we see sides of the men they maybe wouldn't let otherwise shine.
I guess what I'm saying is Scott and Locey have made everyone and everything play a part in School and Rock, none of it is page filler and that is what makes this story, this hockey universe so fun and delightful reading.
RATING:
Summary:
Haven Hart #7
Haven Hart stands on the edge of good and evil. Having balance between the two is the only thing keeping the town from crumbling to the ground. For years, one man has been charged with maintaining that balance. Poe.
The air of mystery surrounding Poe is one of necessity. He’s the keeper of secrets and for good reason. He’s stood alone against the most ruthless men and women, always hiding behind the curtain to help his friends defeat what seeks to destroy them.
Now, after all this time, the city he loves, the people he has protected, and the secrets he’s kept hidden are in serious jeopardy. Poe will need the help of his friends to fight the ultimate battle; not just save Haven Hart but everything and everyone he holds dear to him.
When the dust settles, will betrayals be forgiven? Will the city still be standing? Will Poe’s beloved be at his side or will everything crumble? One thing is for certain, everything will be tested, and questions will finally be answered. Raven’s Hart is the final installment in the Haven Hart Series.
***IMPORTANT***
This is the 7th book in the Haven Hart Series it is NOT a standalone and all others need to be read before this one.
The air of mystery surrounding Poe is one of necessity. He’s the keeper of secrets and for good reason. He’s stood alone against the most ruthless men and women, always hiding behind the curtain to help his friends defeat what seeks to destroy them.
Now, after all this time, the city he loves, the people he has protected, and the secrets he’s kept hidden are in serious jeopardy. Poe will need the help of his friends to fight the ultimate battle; not just save Haven Hart but everything and everyone he holds dear to him.
When the dust settles, will betrayals be forgiven? Will the city still be standing? Will Poe’s beloved be at his side or will everything crumble? One thing is for certain, everything will be tested, and questions will finally be answered. Raven’s Hart is the final installment in the Haven Hart Series.
***IMPORTANT***
This is the 7th book in the Haven Hart Series it is NOT a standalone and all others need to be read before this one.
I'm going to start by saying: WOW! HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! THE FORCE IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE! Now, I've used all those terms repeatedly to express my absolute and complete love for both Davidson King's art of storytelling and the Haven Hart Universe but this time I'm adding it to express my love for Joel Leslie & Philip Alces narration. I've loved their portrayals from the beginning but in Raven's Hart, they are not only telling Poe & Phin's story but all the characters return in this amazing series conclusion(😭BOO! to the ending of this amazing series😭 but 😍YAY! to the brilliance of it's telling😍). Personally, I'll confess I was worried how well the individual characters from past entries would be differentiated. I need not have worried because there wasn't a single second where I wasn't sure who was who. Talented narration, talented storytelling, what more could a person ask for? Maybe more😉😉😉lol.
First, I have to give myself a big hand of applause👏👏👏👏👏👏 because I managed to do something I have never done before with a book that I have anticipated as much as I have with Raven's Hart: I savored the read! That's right, you heard me, I savored the read. Normally, my biggest tell as to whether it's a winning gem is I just have to know how it ends so I read the book as I quickly as life allows but then when I get to the final page I kick myself for not reading it slower to prolong the amazing goodness. HOWEVER, I knew Raven's Hart was the finale to Davidson King's Haven Hart Universe so I forced myself to "linger" so I could put off that final page and the goodbye as long as possible. So excuse me a minute while I give myself another round of applause👏👏👏👏👏👏.
Now on to Raven's Hart. What can I say without spoilers? Very little actually so as to the plot: HOLY HANNAH BATMAN!!! OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!! THE FORCE IS STRONG WITH THIS ONE!!!! Can you tell I liked it? We finally learn Poe's story and what a story it is! Poe, a man who went from yoga-in-the-park BFF to the-man-with-access-to-the-vaults to THE MAN! and he did it all with heart, a heart that beats, breaks, and bleeds. We finally learn what keeps that heart going. That's it, that's all the plot points you are getting from me, any more would just give too much away. Sorry, not sorry😉.
Everyone returns to rally around the man who has helped them(albeit reluctantly at times). I was going to say "the entire cast of characters returns" but I changed it to just "everyone" because to say "cast of characters" puts a spotlight on them being fictional. And yes, I know they are fictional, Haven Hart is fictional, but Davidson King has done such an exceptionally amazing job at world building and character development that they seem so real, that you could meet them pumping gas, getting milk, returning books to the library, etc. I've said it before and I'll say it again: Davidson King is more than an author or writer, she is a storyteller, an attention-grabbing, heart-pounding, adrenaline-pumping storyteller.
If you have been reading Haven Hart from the beginning then you probably already have Raven's Hart in your sights and on your list but if you haven't now is the perfect time to start. As I started with, Poe's story is the finale to this amazing journey so you can read from beginning to end and you really do need to read this series in order. Yes, each entry focuses on a different couple(or throuple in Triple Threat and Snow Storm features Snow and Christopher from Snow Falling which started this amazing journey) with it's own beginning and ending but each book also holds clues to the full mysterious journey. I really can't recommend Haven Hart Universe enough and I'll fill you in on a little secret, if they ever made this into a film series Haven Hart would be a very close second to the Star Wars Saga on my favorite films of all time list(and if you know me then you'll know how huge that is because I've been a SW fanatic since I saw the original back in 1977 when I was only 4 years old)😉.
One last note: I said Raven's Hart is the finale to Haven's Hart and it is but we do get to see more of Simon's story in 2020. Who knows maybe if we are super, duper, uber nice Miss King will write a holiday novella/coda some day😉😉. Either way, its been onehelluva ride, Davidson King and Thank You for this amazing world you gave us.
And one more thing . . . the cover designs for this whole series has been amazing. Morningstar Ashley of Designs by Morningstar have captured the setting of Haven Hart and the ongoing stories incredibly with eye-catching awesomeness.
RATING:
Kick Start by Josh Lanyon
Taylor yanked the wheel, pulling over to the side of the road. The car bumped over rough ground onto the narrow shoulder, and rolled to a stop. He cut the engine and turned to Grant who, even in the enveloping woodland darkness, he could feel watching him warily.
Taylor said, “You have something you want to say to me?”
“No, sir.” Funny how disrespectful “sir” could sound, depending on the tone and the expression.
“Sure you do,” Taylor said easily. “Let’s hear it.”
Grant unsnapped his seatbelt, shoved open his door and got out. “I’ll walk back,” he said, and slammed shut the door with all his force.
“Shit.” Taylor undid his seatbelt and opened the driver’s door. The night air was very cold and rich with the spicy scent of pine and earth.
He followed Grant who was moving fast, fueled by rage, and already several yards away. Grant’s compact silhouette stomped up the steep incline. Taylor loped after him.
“Do I really scare you that much?”
Grant rounded on him. “You don’t scare me at all.”
“Then why are you running away?”
“Because Will won’t like it when I kick your skinny ass from here to Portland.”
Taylor chuckled.
“You think that’s funny?”
He did, yeah. And the offended note in Grant’s voice struck him as even funnier, but Taylor didn’t want to escalate this any higher than necessary.
“Kind of. Don’t you? What are we really fighting about?”
“We’re not fighting. And we won’t fight so long as you stay the fuck away from me.”
“Only the problem is, we’re family now. So I can only stay so far the fuck away from you.”
“You’re not family! You’re just Will’s…friend. He’s not going to—you’re not going to be here forever.”
Ouch. Would it have been different for David Bradley? Taylor had to wonder. Bradley’s military background, even his size and looks, would probably have been more palatable to Grant.
“I wouldn’t bet on that. Why don’t you just tell me what the problem is.”
He could feel anger and frustration coming off Grant in waves. “You know what the problem is.”
“Sure. I have a pretty good idea, but why don’t we get it out in the open.” Taylor gestured at the towering trees and moonlit mountains. “It doesn’t get more open than this, right?”
He could feel Grant’s inward struggle. At last, Grant spat out, “You’re a queer.”
“I don’t like that word, but yep. I’m gay. And you have a problem with that.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you are,” Grant said. “I don’t care about you. I care about Will.”
“I understand that. But Will is who he is. He didn’t become gay for me. I didn’t make him gay.” Taylor’s sense of humor sparked back into life—did Grant think he’d forced Will to watch musicals? Eat quiche?—but he squelched it. This was serious because this angry young man was Will’s little brother and his feelings and opinions mattered to Will. Therefore they needed to matter to Taylor.
“He was never queer before.”
“He’s been queer for as long as I’ve known him.”
Grant made a sound of fury and launched himself at Taylor.
Taylor was ready. Mostly. He had known from the minute he forced Grant to go with him, this was probably going to happen. In fact, he had been pushing Grant into it. Even so, he’d had a long and exhausting day, and as Grant piled into him like a young bull charging a red cape, he felt a flicker of alarm.
He had underestimated his own weariness and stiffness. He had also underestimated Grant, who had been taught to fight by Will.
Grant tackled him low, burying his head in Taylor’s gut, wrapping his arms around Taylor’s knees, and Taylor, who relied on kicks and footwork to avoid getting thrown to the ground where his lack of weight was a dangerous liability, couldn’t maneuver. The wind was knocked out of him and he went down hard in the damp earth with Grant on top.
Worst case scenario. Thirty seconds in and he was about to be pinned in a double leg takedown his own sister could have avoided.
Instinct and adrenaline saved him. That and Grant’s unsportsmanlike attempt to knee him in the balls. Possibly a subconscious wish to neuter him, or maybe not subconscious, but Grant’s shift allowed Taylor to twist and bring his own knees up. He used his left forearm to trap both of Grant’s in an arm bar. That left his right hand free. Taylor swiveled, grappling under Grant’s legs, and throwing his left leg behind Grant’s neck. He was trying to pin Grant face down, but Grant knew that move and yanked out, rolling away to his knees.
Taylor let his own momentum carry him to his feet, and he scrambled ungracefully up. Standing, he was no longer vulnerable. He faced Grant who was upright again as well.
He needed to prevail here. It was that simple. Partly because he would not be able to live down the embarrassment of pushing for a fight he couldn’t win. Partly because with a young guy like Grant, winning was nine-tenths of the law. The law that said Might Makes Right. But he had to do it without seriously hurting Grant—and without letting Grant seriously hurt him. Because Will wouldn’t forgive either of them for seriously harming the other.
Now aware of his own limitations, Taylor waited, breathing hard, for Grant to charge back in—which he did, still too angry to be cautious, throwing a powerful right punch that would have taken out a rib or a lung had it connected. Yeah, that power strike was straight out of the Will Brandt book of hand-to-hand combat. Taylor deflected, grabbed Grant’s lapel and hauled him sideways while delivering a hard kick to the inner knee area of Grant’s weight bearing leg. He was careful not to take out Grant’s knee, but even so the strength and speed of that blow should have brought Grant down.
No such luck.
The Mystery of the Curiosities by CS Poe
TUESDAY MORNING began with a brick through the Emporium window.
The seconds that followed were strangely silent. Nothing but the gentle patter of frozen February rain. Then my heart remembered to keep beating, and I could hear its thud, thud, thud in my ears. A few pieces of glass cracked from the top of the large bay window frame and fell to the wooden floor. The sound of New York City traffic invaded my quiet, cozy cave of a shop.
“What the fuck!” Max shouted. He moved to run by me at the counter, but I grabbed his shoulders.
“Be careful,” I said, pointing at the ceramic coffee mug I’d dropped when the shattered glass scared the ever-loving hell out of me.
Max jumped over the mess and down the steps from the register. He motioned wildly at the window. “What the fuck?” he declared again.
I’ll say.
I walked down the stairs and studied the scene. Glass was everywhere and rain was coming in. “Grab a trash bag from the office.”
“The glass will just slice—”
“To put over the displays before they get soaked. Go.”
Max ran to get the bags.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. What a way to start the week.
Pushing my glasses up, I went to the door, threw it open, and stepped out into the miserable morning. Rain splattered my lenses and dampened my sweater. My breath puffed around me while I looked up and down the sidewalk, as if I’d find the vandal hanging out and waiting to be caught. A couple paying the meter nearby were looking at the window in horror, and a man walking his tiny dog had to pick the animal up to avoid glass on the sidewalk.
Max was spreading out trash bags on nearby displays. “Did someone spray-paint a dick on the door too?” he called.
“No,” I answered before going back inside. “Why?”
“Add insult to injury. Should I move this stuff away from the window?”
I tugged my phone from my back pocket. “Hold on. Let me get some pictures before we move anything.” I snapped photos of the window and floor before motioning him to continue.
When I stepped away from the immediate area, I noticed the brick across the room. I went over, crouched down, and picked it up. It was just an ordinary brick. With a rubber band wrapped around it. I set my phone on the floor beside me and turned it around to see a folded piece of wet paper on the other side.
Hell. There were easier ways to get in touch with me. There was this great invention called the telephone.
Even a carrier pigeon would have been better. Because a pigeon would just crap on my inventory and be gone. A pigeon didn’t require a police report, insurance paperwork, and my jerk of a landlord coming down to inspect this mess.
I yanked the rubber band free and unfolded the paper. I don’t know what I had been expecting as I held it close to read, but it wasn’t I know you like mysteries.
“What’re you doing?” Max asked.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Someone attached a note to the brick.”
“What does it say?”
“‘I know you like mysteries.’”
“Me?”
“No, that’s what the note says,” I replied while waving the paper over my shoulder. I picked up my phone again and stood, knees cracking like I was an old man and not just a crabby thirty-three-year-old. I turned around and saw Max had gone very still. “Are you okay?”
“This isn’t going to be like Christmas, is it?”
Duncan Andrews had thoroughly fucked up my holidays. He’d been responsible for the death of my former boss, had harassed and stalked me, and had shot Detective Calvin Winter.
“No,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “Duncan is rocking an orange jumpsuit now.”
“What about a copycat?”
“Poe never hurled bricks into antique shops. It’s okay, really.”
I told Max to finish with the displays and gave the police a ring to report the vandalism. Two officers arrived after I had gotten off the phone with Luther North, my landlord, who gave me more than an earful about the window, as if I had been asking for punks to hurl bricks at it.
“Do you have insurance, Mr. Snow?” the male officer asked. He’d introduced himself as Officer Lowry and had uncomfortably reminded me of Neil: same build and hair, same strong face and handsome features. But thankfully, there was no relation.
“Yeah. And the landlord is on his way now,” I answered. A cold breeze blew in through the gaping window, and I shivered while crossing my arms over my chest.
The woman officer smiled and pointed at me. “I was here two months ago.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When there was a pig’s heart in your floor.”
“Oh.” I nodded and had to resist the urge to look over my shoulder at the spot in question. “No dismembered body parts this time.”
She laughed quietly. “That’s good.”
Lowry, who had been writing notes, asked me a few more questions. Did I have any disgruntled customers lately? Had I received threats prior? But no. The entire event seemed completely unprovoked. To the point that I had considered someone threw the brick through the wrong window.
Except….
I know you like mysteries.
“Wait, before I forget,” I said suddenly. “There was a note wrapped around the brick.” I pulled the folded paper from the pocket of my sweater. “Here.”
The female officer accepted the note. “Does this mean anything to you?”
I shrugged. “Not really. Unless the person who broke my window is judging me for my reading habits.”
Among other things.
She handed it back. “We’ll see if any businesses across the street have surveillance videos we can look over, but you should know that the chances of catching who did this are very slim.”
“I figured,” I replied. “Worth a shot, though.”
Luther walked into the shop as the officers left. He spoke with them briefly at the door before working his way through the cramped aisles toward me. His big belly pushed objects around on their displays as he moved through, and Max came up behind him to fix everything.
“Sebastian,” Luther said with a bit of a wheeze. “What happened?”
“Exactly as I said on the phone, Mr. North. Someone threw a brick through the window.”
“Why?” he asked, yanking a wadded pile of tissues from his coat pocket to dab his face.
“I didn’t think to ask them,” I answered.
“There you go with those smart-aleck responses. And before this, it was that creepy queer kid! He’s in jail now, right?”
“Yup.”
Luther paused from wiping his face. “Er—no offense with the queer thing.”
“My fragile ego is still intact. Mr. North, it’s currently raining in my store. How soon can this window be fixed?”
“Oh, well! It’s simply not that easy, Sebastian! I have to file a claim with the property insurance.”
“Which they’ll pay. Vandalism by an unknown assailant isn’t worth their time to investigate.”
“Yes, but it still takes a few days.”
“It’s raining in here,” I stated again, in case he hadn’t noticed.
“I can get a tarp.”
“Not exactly going to keep the riffraff out.”
“That’s why stores have metal gates,” Luther pointed out, as if I were dense.
“That’s fine. But I have books in here that are worth up to five grand. If they get warped or damaged—”
“I’ll have my boys come down and put up some sheets of plywood!” Luther growled. “Happy?”
“I’ll be happy when I have a new window.”
The seconds that followed were strangely silent. Nothing but the gentle patter of frozen February rain. Then my heart remembered to keep beating, and I could hear its thud, thud, thud in my ears. A few pieces of glass cracked from the top of the large bay window frame and fell to the wooden floor. The sound of New York City traffic invaded my quiet, cozy cave of a shop.
“What the fuck!” Max shouted. He moved to run by me at the counter, but I grabbed his shoulders.
“Be careful,” I said, pointing at the ceramic coffee mug I’d dropped when the shattered glass scared the ever-loving hell out of me.
Max jumped over the mess and down the steps from the register. He motioned wildly at the window. “What the fuck?” he declared again.
I’ll say.
I walked down the stairs and studied the scene. Glass was everywhere and rain was coming in. “Grab a trash bag from the office.”
“The glass will just slice—”
“To put over the displays before they get soaked. Go.”
Max ran to get the bags.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and took a deep breath. What a way to start the week.
Pushing my glasses up, I went to the door, threw it open, and stepped out into the miserable morning. Rain splattered my lenses and dampened my sweater. My breath puffed around me while I looked up and down the sidewalk, as if I’d find the vandal hanging out and waiting to be caught. A couple paying the meter nearby were looking at the window in horror, and a man walking his tiny dog had to pick the animal up to avoid glass on the sidewalk.
Max was spreading out trash bags on nearby displays. “Did someone spray-paint a dick on the door too?” he called.
“No,” I answered before going back inside. “Why?”
“Add insult to injury. Should I move this stuff away from the window?”
I tugged my phone from my back pocket. “Hold on. Let me get some pictures before we move anything.” I snapped photos of the window and floor before motioning him to continue.
When I stepped away from the immediate area, I noticed the brick across the room. I went over, crouched down, and picked it up. It was just an ordinary brick. With a rubber band wrapped around it. I set my phone on the floor beside me and turned it around to see a folded piece of wet paper on the other side.
Hell. There were easier ways to get in touch with me. There was this great invention called the telephone.
Even a carrier pigeon would have been better. Because a pigeon would just crap on my inventory and be gone. A pigeon didn’t require a police report, insurance paperwork, and my jerk of a landlord coming down to inspect this mess.
I yanked the rubber band free and unfolded the paper. I don’t know what I had been expecting as I held it close to read, but it wasn’t I know you like mysteries.
“What’re you doing?” Max asked.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Someone attached a note to the brick.”
“What does it say?”
“‘I know you like mysteries.’”
“Me?”
“No, that’s what the note says,” I replied while waving the paper over my shoulder. I picked up my phone again and stood, knees cracking like I was an old man and not just a crabby thirty-three-year-old. I turned around and saw Max had gone very still. “Are you okay?”
“This isn’t going to be like Christmas, is it?”
Duncan Andrews had thoroughly fucked up my holidays. He’d been responsible for the death of my former boss, had harassed and stalked me, and had shot Detective Calvin Winter.
“No,” I said firmly, shaking my head. “Duncan is rocking an orange jumpsuit now.”
“What about a copycat?”
“Poe never hurled bricks into antique shops. It’s okay, really.”
I told Max to finish with the displays and gave the police a ring to report the vandalism. Two officers arrived after I had gotten off the phone with Luther North, my landlord, who gave me more than an earful about the window, as if I had been asking for punks to hurl bricks at it.
“Do you have insurance, Mr. Snow?” the male officer asked. He’d introduced himself as Officer Lowry and had uncomfortably reminded me of Neil: same build and hair, same strong face and handsome features. But thankfully, there was no relation.
“Yeah. And the landlord is on his way now,” I answered. A cold breeze blew in through the gaping window, and I shivered while crossing my arms over my chest.
The woman officer smiled and pointed at me. “I was here two months ago.”
“I’m sorry?”
“When there was a pig’s heart in your floor.”
“Oh.” I nodded and had to resist the urge to look over my shoulder at the spot in question. “No dismembered body parts this time.”
She laughed quietly. “That’s good.”
Lowry, who had been writing notes, asked me a few more questions. Did I have any disgruntled customers lately? Had I received threats prior? But no. The entire event seemed completely unprovoked. To the point that I had considered someone threw the brick through the wrong window.
Except….
I know you like mysteries.
“Wait, before I forget,” I said suddenly. “There was a note wrapped around the brick.” I pulled the folded paper from the pocket of my sweater. “Here.”
The female officer accepted the note. “Does this mean anything to you?”
I shrugged. “Not really. Unless the person who broke my window is judging me for my reading habits.”
Among other things.
She handed it back. “We’ll see if any businesses across the street have surveillance videos we can look over, but you should know that the chances of catching who did this are very slim.”
“I figured,” I replied. “Worth a shot, though.”
Luther walked into the shop as the officers left. He spoke with them briefly at the door before working his way through the cramped aisles toward me. His big belly pushed objects around on their displays as he moved through, and Max came up behind him to fix everything.
“Sebastian,” Luther said with a bit of a wheeze. “What happened?”
“Exactly as I said on the phone, Mr. North. Someone threw a brick through the window.”
“Why?” he asked, yanking a wadded pile of tissues from his coat pocket to dab his face.
“I didn’t think to ask them,” I answered.
“There you go with those smart-aleck responses. And before this, it was that creepy queer kid! He’s in jail now, right?”
“Yup.”
Luther paused from wiping his face. “Er—no offense with the queer thing.”
“My fragile ego is still intact. Mr. North, it’s currently raining in my store. How soon can this window be fixed?”
“Oh, well! It’s simply not that easy, Sebastian! I have to file a claim with the property insurance.”
“Which they’ll pay. Vandalism by an unknown assailant isn’t worth their time to investigate.”
“Yes, but it still takes a few days.”
“It’s raining in here,” I stated again, in case he hadn’t noticed.
“I can get a tarp.”
“Not exactly going to keep the riffraff out.”
“That’s why stores have metal gates,” Luther pointed out, as if I were dense.
“That’s fine. But I have books in here that are worth up to five grand. If they get warped or damaged—”
“I’ll have my boys come down and put up some sheets of plywood!” Luther growled. “Happy?”
“I’ll be happy when I have a new window.”
I DIDN’T want to spend the day cleaning up broken glass, wiping down and checking antiques that had gotten wet, and listening to the sexy voice of Frank Sinatra get drowned out by three of Luther’s construction guys nailing plywood over the empty window frame, but I did. And I wasn’t pleased about it. Leaving the shop for the night with such bulletproof security made me nervous.
Not that I could be blamed.
Explaining to Luther just how much my inventory was worth caused him to stay behind and personally oversee his workers.
I guess I should have been flattered.
But frankly, by the time I got home, kicked off my shoes, and dropped my coat on the floor while heading for the kitchen, I was tired. And cranky. I had a headache that was still in sync with the echo of hammers. I popped off the cap to a beer bottle and took a swig. I tugged a take-out menu free from under a fridge magnet, brought it closer to read, and took another sip.
I had gotten as far as sweet-and-sour chicken and was deciding over dumplings or fried rice as a too-greasy side dish when there was a knock at the door. I raised my head and listened. I heard a key push into the lock and the door get nudged open.
Thank Christ.
I stepped out of the kitchen. “Hey. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Calvin smiled as he shut and locked the door behind him. “Did you just get home?”
“Few minutes ago. I thought you couldn’t make it tonight?”
“Want me to go?” he countered.
“Don’t even try.”
Calvin tugged off his coat and hung it up. “How was your day?” he asked, walking across the room toward me. He took my face into his big hands, leaned down, and kissed my mouth.
“Better now,” I murmured, kissing him again. “Catch any bad guys?”
“Sure did.” Calvin threaded his fingers through my hair. “You okay?”
“Headache. I just listened to the Hammer Symphony in E Minor for the last hour.”
“Come again?”
“Someone broke one of my windows today.”
“You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Threw a brick through it. My landlord had some plywood put up. It’s really classy.”
Calvin moved his hands to squeeze my shoulders. “Sorry to hear that, baby.”
“It’s fine. Worse things have happened.” I tugged him down by his tie. “Come here. I’m not done with you yet.”
A smile crossed his face once more, and his warm mouth touched mine. Calvin tasted like home, if home were his trademark flavors of coffee and cinnamon mints and male, at least. I hadn’t seen him in a few days, and I starved for him when we were apart. Nothing could fill that emptiness but Calvin himself.
We had officially started dating just before the New Year. It was both terrifying and perfect.
He was perfect.
I pushed his suit coat open and tugged it from his shoulders. Calvin helped, tossing it onto the couch. He broke away long enough to unbuckle his shoulder holster and take his weapon off. Setting it aside with his coat, Calvin then grabbed the back of my head, pulling me into another hot and heavy kiss.
My stomach growled loudly.
I stilled, and Calvin laughed against my mouth.
“Shut up,” I muttered.
He grinned and stroked my cheek. “Let’s eat first.”
My face felt flushed as I took a step back. “The needs of my stomach aren’t as strong as the needs of my dick.”
“I believe you,” Calvin said as he moved by and walked into the kitchen. “Chinese?”
Damn it. If Calvin hadn’t eaten today, as he was prone to doing while working, I’d definitely lost my chance at a quickie.
“Did you eat?” I asked, following him back to the kitchen.
“Not yet.”
Calvin was staring at the open menu when I walked in. I leaned against the doorframe, hands in my pockets, studying him. Even though we’d been together for a month and a half, this was still surreal as hell. Sometimes I thought my vision was getting worse, and I’d watch him extra hard, as if to be sure he wasn’t a trick of the eye that would slowly dissipate.
But Calvin was real.
Real and breathing and mine.
When I first met Calvin, it was frightening to come to the realization that he was my soul mate. It was a nightmare when the world around us seemed insistent that we would never be an item. It had broken my heart, frankly. It’s pretty fucking melodramatic, but there was a brief moment last year when I didn’t know how I would live without loving Calvin.
A bullet really changes things. It makes you realize how short and precious life actually is.
And it gave Calvin the courage to come out at his age. To his family, who had all but locked him out of their homes and hearts, to his partner, Quinn Lancaster, to my dad, and to the world in general, really. And I know it must have scared him.
But he did it for us.
“Are you staring at me?” Calvin asked, not looking up from the list of food.
I blinked and straightened. “Sure am.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re pretty.”
He snorted and glanced at me. “I’ll order. What do you want?” Calvin pulled his phone out.
“Sweet-and-sour chicken.” I walked into the kitchen and wrapped my arms around him from behind, resting my forehead against his back as I listened to Calvin call the restaurant and place our order for delivery. “I hope my fortune cookie says I get lucky tonight,” I said as he hung up.
Calvin laughed as he put his phone away. “I wouldn’t worry too much about what the cookie says.”
FOR HOW shitty the day started, it certainly ended on a high note: cheap food, a few beers, and classic Buster Keaton films on the couch with Calvin. I liked old black-and-white movies. They were easier to watch, what with never being overwhelmed by the mess of tones and colors blending into one another that represented modern cinema. Plus, silent films were underappreciated. Keaton was by far more brilliant than most of today’s actors, and I don’t care how old and crotchety that statement makes me sound. I sat cross-legged, cardboard container balanced on my knee. Snapping a pair of chopsticks apart, I dug into dinner.
“What’s this one called?” Calvin asked, pointing at the screen.
“Sherlock Jr.,” I said between bites. “One of my favorites.”
“It would be.”
“Don’t tease.”
Calvin laughed quietly. He took a few bites of his food, which really meant he cleaned out half of the container, before asking, “So what happened with the brick?”
“The brick,” I muttered in annoyance. “Some asshole failed to recognize that I have a telephone.”
“What?”
I waved the chopsticks in my hand while finishing the bite I’d just taken. “Sorry. There was a note attached to the brick.” I turned to look at Calvin in the dim light, realizing I had his full and undivided attention. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?” he repeated.
“You went from Calvin to Detective Winter real fast.”
He frowned. “What did the note say?”
I leaned over to set the takeout on the coffee table before pulling the folded note out again. I opened it and handed it over. “‘I know you like mysteries.’”
Calvin took the paper, narrowing his eyes as he looked it over. “I’m assuming you filed a police report?”
“Yup.”
“Did you tell them about this?”
“Yeah. They didn’t really seem to think much of it.”
Calvin handed it back. “Sounds personal.”
“I guess.” I set the note on the coffee table before turning to Calvin. “But what am I supposed to make of it? I read Christopher Holmes’s mysteries, so sue me.”
“And Christie, Doyle, English—”
“All right, all right. I read a lot of mysteries. I get it.”
Calvin put a hand on my knee. “Nothing else out of the ordinary has happened?”
“No.” I put my hand over his, running my fingertips along his knuckles. “Max brought up an interesting point, though.”
“What’s that?”
“A copycat.”
Calvin slowly shook his head. “No, I don’t believe that’s the case. A copycat tries to emulate the original criminal, so he or she wouldn’t have acknowledged you in such a forward fashion in this case. Andrews couldn’t rationalize the world outside of Poe’s writing. I’d suspect anyone else attempting to pick up where he left off would at least reproduce his form of communication.”
“That’s more or less what I figured,” I replied. “Still. It’s… weird.”
“I’ll make some calls tomorrow,” Calvin said. “Check in and see if he’s had any visitors.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Of course, sweetie.” Calvin resumed eating again before he asked, “Promise me one thing?”
I leaned over to grab my food from the table, but paused and looked sideways at Calvin. “What’s that?”
“You won’t take it upon yourself to investigate, if something else were to happen.”
“Very funny,” I muttered, taking my carton.
“I’m being serious, Seb.”
“I’m well aware of who the detective is in this relationship.”
Calvin grunted.
The only murders I was trying to solve these days were in the paperbacks I’d read a dozen times already. I admit that hunting for clues and piecing a real-life mystery together was a thrill I could easily become addicted to, but in the end, I wasn’t one for violence. The thought of firing another gun in my lifetime was more than enough to rein me in.
We all have our strengths and should stick to what best suits us. Calvin was made to fight bad guys. It was in his DNA to be a hero, to save people, to solve crimes. Me? I’m a hoarder of information. I know the history of picture buttons and of Victorian mourning clothes. I know how to spot fake tin types. And I liked what I did.
Antiques suited my temperament just fine.
Besides. Solving crimes Calvin-style meant being extremely fit, and I was more of the second-slice-of-cake sort of guy.
After Sherlock Jr., we watched Buster Keaton’s Cops, which got quite a number of laughs from Calvin. We were about halfway through Steamboat Bill, Jr. when the effects of greasy food, beers, and a dark room began to get the best of me. I felt Calvin pet my head and I opened my eyes.
“Want to go to bed?”
“Did I fall asleep?” I asked in return, yawning.
“Dozed off.”
I blinked a few times and sat up from where I had been leaning against Calvin’s shoulder. The sound of heavy rain could be heard over the slapstick music.
Calvin reached for the remote and turned the film off. “Come on.”
I nodded, got to my feet, and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and take out my contacts. When I came out again, Calvin had already turned off the lights and locked up for the night. I went into my bedroom and changed for bed while he took his turn in the bathroom.
We definitely weren’t living together, but Calvin did prefer to spend what little time he had at my place instead of vice versa. My apartment was bigger, for one, but I think, more importantly, it had a homey feel. My place was well lived-in, whereas Calvin’s felt like a glorified hotel room. And because he tried to spend at least an evening or two a week with me, a few extra garments had found their way into my closet.
It was always a bit exciting to see one of his suits hung up beside my crappy sweaters. It was an ever-present reminder that Calvin wasn’t a vivid hallucination. He was real, he was wonderful, and he wanted to be with me.
I yawned again, plugging my phone into the charger and beginning to set the alarm clock when Calvin walked in. I glanced over, watching as he unbuttoned his shirt and dropped it into my dirty laundry. Strong muscles flexed as he continued undressing, and I realized it’d been nearly a week since I’d gotten to dig my fingers into his back and arms.
Calvin sat on the right side of the bed—his side—before leaning over and kissing the back of my neck. “Lay down,” he whispered.
“What time do you need to be up?” I countered, hand still on the alarm clock.
“Worry about it later,” Calvin said, trailing a hand down my back and under the ratty T-shirt I’d thrown on.
“Copy that, Major,” I answered, hastily setting my glasses aside and turning to face him.
He rolled onto his back, wrapped a hand around my neck, and tugged me toward him. I climbed on top, legs on either side of Calvin’s hips, and leaned down to kiss his mouth. I moved my hands up and down his bare chest, fingertips practically buzzing as they caressed warm skin and hair. Calvin’s own hands moved along my back as he kissed me, then slid down to cup my ass.
“I want to suck your cock,” Calvin growled.
“Yeah?” I whispered.
He grinned against my mouth. “Yeah, baby. Come up here.”
I nodded and sat up, letting Calvin help me out of my pajama pants and toss them somewhere in the dark. I moved to rest my knees on either side of Calvin’s chest, leaning over him. “Like this?”
He hummed in contentment, reaching up to stroke me slowly. “Look at how big and beautiful. I want your entire dick down my throat.”
It was a good thing it was dark, otherwise Calvin was sure to see I was blushing like an idiot. He was so sexy, everything he said and did turned me on to no end, but he’d been trying to get me to reciprocate with the dirty talk lately and I failed miserably at it. When a hot and horny mountain of a cop tells you to beg for his cock, you beg. But really, what exactly was he begging for when I tried?
“Sebastian?”
I shook my head. “What?”
“Something wrong?”
“No.”
“You’re getting soft.”
God, this was embarrassing. “N-Nothing, really. I… just… feel stupid trying to talk like you.”
Calvin scooted up a bit, resting on his elbows. “Sebastian, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“It’s just talking, though,” I said lamely.
“That doesn’t matter. Do you want me to stop?”
“What? No. I love it when you do it,” I said, feeling my entire face heat up. I took his hand and guided it back to my cock. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to kill the mood.”
“It’s okay.”
“Can we try again?”
In the faint gray light that came in through the bedroom window, Calvin appeared to be nodding before he lay back down. “Come here.”
I leaned over him, the head of my cock bumping his lips. Calvin’s tongue darted out, warm and wet, and I sighed and closed my eyes, rocking my hips gently.
“That’s right,” Calvin whispered. “Come here. Fuck my face.” His hands came around to cup my ass again, pulling me toward him. He opened his mouth and took my cock, sucking eagerly.
“Shit,” I swore quietly.
Reaching back to grab his hands, I yanked them up above his head and held them firmly. I rolled my hips again, a bit more enthusiastically when Calvin moaned in response. Watching him work my length with his throat was so goddamn hot.
I let go of one hand and wrapped mine around the back of his head, holding him in place. Even though I felt insecure as hell, I knew Calvin wanted me to talk. He got off on it, and sex was a two-way street. He couldn’t do all the work and let me have all the fun.
So I manned up and told Calvin, “Take it all.” I shoved in rougher, and he groaned loudly around my dick.
He reached down with his free hand to stroke himself quickly in time with my thrusts.
The wet, tight heat of Calvin’s mouth after a week of not touching him was enough to send me over the edge like an inexperienced teenager. A prickle of sweat broke out across my body, and my stomach muscles tightened as I felt my orgasm coming.
“Oh God…. Cal…!” I let go of his other hand and gripped his hair in both hands, fucking his face hard and fast, like my very life depended on coming down his throat. “Fuck! I’m gonna—!”
I lost all capability to form thoughts at that point. It was too much. Calvin’s mouth, his tongue, the heat between our bodies, but then a fingertip pressed gently into me, and I came with his name on my lips. My entire body shuddered as Calvin swallowed, and when I managed to pull free from his thoroughly fucked mouth, he tensed and came in his hand.
Moving down his body, I slid my arms under his, holding Calvin close as we both came down from that incredible high. “Jesus,” I muttered. “I think I forgot my middle name.”
His deep voice rumbled in his chest. “Speaking of, did you ever notice your initials spell SAS?”
“What are you trying to say?” I raised my head to look at him, brushing damp hair from Calvin’s forehead.
“Aptly named. You’re always a bit sassy,” he teased.
“Uh-huh.” I rolled off, taking a few deep breaths.
Calvin chuckled as he leaned over me, kissed my chest, and grabbed a tissue from the bedside table. He wiped himself clean before settling onto his side.
I rolled over and pressed up against his back, snaking an arm around his waist. I fell asleep like that. Blissful and content.
But for You by Mary Calmes
Chapter One
THE man was a pig, and it wasn’t just me who thought so. Rosa Martinez, who lived on the other side of the Petersons, agreed with me. In fact, all the women who lived on our cul-de-sac were of the same mind. Oliver Peterson, whose wife had just caught him cheating on her—again —was filth. It wasn’t the fact that they already had two children; it was the fact that she was currently pregnant with a third.
Sam, the love of my life, my partner, husband, and the guy who was parenting two small people with me, just shook his head the night before and kissed me breathless after telling me for the nine-hundredth time to please not get involved. Leave the neighbors alone; this was not Housewives of Wherever, we were not on reality TV. I had explained over the McDonald’s that the man had brought home instead of having me cook—which, after the last time, we had both agreed would never happen again—that I was involved because I was her friend.
“No,” he told me as we put the kids down. “You use that word so loosely. She’s an acquaintance, Jory, she’s not a friend.”
“She’s my neighbor, Sam, and her man’s a dog, and if she needs my help with whatever, I’m gonna give it to her.”
“I’m not saying not to be nice to her, but just don’t stick your nose in their business.”
I ignored him.
“Jory Harcourt!”
I gave him the most indignant look I could manage. “So I’m what, nosy now? I’m the busybody neighbor?”
He threw up his hands in defeat.
I gave him a superior grunt because I thought he was on his way out of the bedroom to check the house, make sure all the doors were locked, make sure the stove burners were all off, but then I realized he hadn’t moved. “What?”
“You’re very cute.”
I squinted at him. “Thirty-five-year-old men are not cute.”
“You’ll always be the twenty-two-year-old club kid I saw for the first time lying in the street with a beagle on top of him.”
“I thought George was a Jack Russell.”
“Nope.” He came toward me. “Beagle.”
“Go away.” I smiled at him, trying to shoo him out of the room. “Go make sure the zombie horde can’t get us.”
But instead of leaving, he grabbed me and slammed me up against the wall in our room. With his hot mouth nibbling up the side of my neck, his hands frantically disrobing me, and his hard groin pressed to my ass, my mind went completely blank. There was no way to concentrate when I had 220 pounds of hard-muscled man focused on getting me in bed.
But the next day, as I staggered around my kitchen—I never had been and never would be a morning person—and saw my neighbors on their front porch, Christie Peterson smiling tentatively, her husband scowling, I just wanted to go over and punch him out. I had an idea what I must have looked like: robe on, T-shirt and pajama bottoms under that, bunny slippers looking all bright-eyed and happy, I resembled the nosy neighbor in every sense.
A throat cleared behind me.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I asked pointedly. It was Wednesday, not Saturday.
The warm rumbling chuckle was next. “You think maybe now since you’ve got one kid in preschool and the other in first grade that you should start thinking about going back to working from your office?”
Obviously my sanity was in question, because I was still working from home. I hoped the look I gave him when I turned and squinted conveyed my displeasure.
He snorted out a laugh.
I all-out scowled at the supervisory Deputy US Marshal standing beside me at the kitchen sink. We had both been looking at the Petersons. “Why would you say that?”
“Say what?”
I growled.
He pressed his beautiful lips together in a hard line so he wouldn’t smile.
“Sam?”
“No reason.”
“Spit it out.”
He cleared his throat. “I just think that perhaps you being home during the day is giving you cabin fever, and maybe you need to get back out in the real world and talk to the grown-ups.”
I huffed out an exasperated breath. “Sam, just because I don’t go to the office doesn’t mean I’m starved for adult contact. I talk to Dylan every day, I talk to Fallon every day. They’re my business partners, they need me, and they keep me involved with what’s going on at the office.”
“Okay.”
“I send out more e-mails than both of them combined!”
“I’m sure you do,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of my neck, then squeezing gently, massaging, and easing me closer. “I just think that maybe getting out of this house during the day would do you some good.”
I batted his hand away, whirling on him. “I go to the store, to the park, drop kids off at school, pick them up… when do I not see people?”
He grunted, rolled his eyes, and put his coffee cup down in the sink before his dark smoky-blue eyes flicked to mine.
“No,” I almost squeaked, turning to run.
So not fast enough.
You would think that a big man could not move like that, with so much speed, but Sam Kage’s athleticism and strength were never to be underestimated. At forty-six, he was just as powerful as he’d been when I first met him, and I finally understood the whole getting better with age thing. The man looked the best he ever had, and he lived well in his skin, so content, so happy both personally and professionally.
I was so proud of him and told him so often. He was an amazing father, a wonderful husband, a great son, and the kind of friend anyone would be happy to claim. I was biased because I loved him, but still, I saw people look at him and knew the truth. Four years after beginning his new job as a marshal, he was now the supervisor of the Chicago field office, overseeing five other deputies and three clerks. I had thought once he moved up, he’d become a sheriff, but apparently all they did was add the “supervisory” in there. A sheriff was a totally different thing. It made no sense from a Western standpoint. In every movie I had ever seen, the deputy got moved up to sheriff. As usual, Sam had just shaken his head at me.
As I ducked around the island in the middle of the kitchen, I thought for half a second that I would get away from him, but as he grabbed, yanked, and pinned me against the refrigerator, I realized how wrong I had been.
“All I meant to imply,” he began, tilting my head up with a hand on my chin, “was that since you have a six-year-old and a four-year-old now, you can do a half day at the office instead of working full-time from home. It might be nice after you drop them off to pick up a fancy cup of coffee and go to your office and actually see Dylan and Fallon and talk to them face to face.”
I was really far too interested in his mouth to listen to him. He had the kind of lips made for kissing, plump and dark, and when he smiled, there was this curve in the corner that could break your heart. Not that the rest of his rugged features were without appeal. His dark smoky blue-gray eyes with the deep laugh lines at the corners, his long straight nose, the hard square jaw, and the thick copper-gold eyebrows were a treat too. And his voice, over the phone or in person, deep and husky, edged with a growl, could send rippling heat through my entire body. But the man’s mouth, the shape of it, the feel of it… really, I was a fan.
“Are you listening to me?”
I lifted up from my height of five nine to his of six four, and he bent down at the same time. Our lips met and parted, and his tongue slid deep to taste me.
The sounds from the peanut gallery—choking and retching—and the tug on my robe instantly drained the heat from the encounter. Sam snorted out a laugh as he broke the kiss, both of us eyeing the short people standing close to us.
“That’s disgusting,” Kola assured me with a glare that a six-year-old shouldn’t have had, full of judgment and revulsion.
“Why?” I asked snidely.
“Your mouth has germs,” he informed me haughtily. “That’s why you told Hannah not to lick Chilly.”
“No, I told her not to lick Chilly because the cat doesn’t like to be licked by her.”
“He licks his body.”
“He does,” Hannah, our four-year-old, agreed with a nod. “Kola’s right.”
“But he doesn’t want you to do it,” I assured my daughter, directing my comment to her.
“How do you know?” Kola questioned.
“Yeah,” Hannah Banana chimed in again, always her big brother’s backup. “How do you know?”
I had to think.
Kola waited, squinting at me.
Hannah was waiting as well, one of her perfectly shaped dark brows arching. It was new. She had the same way of looking at me that her father did, like I was an idiot.
“Do not lick the cat! Nobody licks the cat!” Sam ordered when the silence stretched for too long.
I started laughing; only my husband would have to make such rules.
He looked down at his son, Mykola Thomas Kage, six years old going on forty, who was full of questions and opinions.
We had adopted him when he was three, from an agency in the Netherlands. When we had made the final trip to bring him home, he had seen us from the window of the orphanage director’s office and run to the door to meet us. We had been there two weeks and he already called Sam Daddy, which Sam was madly in love with hearing. But though Kola had been taught the American word meaning father, it was not his, not the one he had grown up hearing and had been waiting to use for someone who belonged to him. So he had tried out the one he knew on me.
Pa.
So simple a word but it meant so much.
I had heard it in the streets when we visited, along with the more formal, vader, and seen kids run to their fathers using it. Not the papa I knew, not what Sam’s father was called by his grandchildren, but instead just pa. When Kola called to me, I answered to it, and his face, the way it lit up, the absolute blinding joy, had been a gift.
Sam was Daddy, and Daddy represented Kola’s new life and his new family in the United States, and I was the comfort of the old. I was Pa, and he had named me.
Of course it didn’t matter to me what name he settled on. He could have called me Jory for all I cared; he was my kid, and that was all I gave a damn about. He was legally and completely mine and Sam’s, and that was what mattered. And we were good, the three of us, until the first agency we had contacted back when we’d started the whole adoption process called to tell us that there was a little girl from Montevideo ready for adoption. I had forgotten about them because they had never come through, but that turned out not to be the case. You heard from them when it was time, and it finally was.
I was surprised, Sam unsure, until the professional but not personable and definitely not warm gentleman slid the picture across the desk for us. He needed to know if we wanted the little girl in the photograph.
Yes, we wanted the angel very much.
Our family went from three to four with the coming of the little sister that Kola wanted nothing to do with until we were all home under one roof. He resented all of us going to the airport to pick her up, hated her crying in the car, and was really annoyed that Sam was carrying her instead of him. He was starting to fret, it was all over his face—until Sam knelt and picked him up too. Kids are so funny. As soon as Kola figured out that Hannah was planning on sharing us with him, that she wasn’t there to take his spot, that nothing was changing in the love department, just some tweaking in the time area, he decided he liked her. And now, with him at six and her at four, their bond was noticeable.
They fought like cats and dogs… but only sometimes. She cried, he moped, they chased each other and roughhoused, but nine times out of ten, I found her in his room in the morning. When we were out, he held her hand, he fixed things when she couldn’t, and he was supremely patient when she was trying to impart some tidbit of information. I was like, Spit it out, kid, but Kola just nodded and waited until some incident about a bug on a flower was all communicated in excruciating detail.
He brushed her off if she fell down, made her remember her mittens and hat, and could be counted on to translate her wishes to others if Sam and I were absent. Dylan Greer, my best friend, was really surprised because she was certain that, sometimes, Hannah Banana—or B, as we all called her—spoke in tongues. But Kola would just say that she wanted milk or a crayon or a flashlight. And he was never wrong. He was an excellent big brother, and she adored him.
Hannah Regina Kage—her middle name after Sam’s mother—had the most adorable little button nose on the planet. I would lean in to kiss her sometimes and nibble on her nose instead. It made her squeal with delight. Putting her toes in my mouth was also cause for raucous laughter. Even at a year old, she had a good laugh. It was not timid or soft. She was small, but how she expressed herself was big. People heard the deep, throaty sound and were enchanted. I had been under her spell at first glance.
In our neighborhood in River Park, sometimes people still looked at us when we were out walking. And most questioned Kola when they got close, since with his deep-set cobalt-blue eyes, sharp European features, and dark-brown hair, he didn’t look like either me or Sam. But Hannah, who was half-Uruguayan, was obviously adopted. What was funny, though, was that people sometimes questioned whether Gentry—born with my brother Dane’s charcoal eyes instead of my sister-in-law Aja’s honey-brown ones—actually belonged to his own mother. I always wondered why people cared. If your kid was blue and you were orange, who gave a crap as long as you loved and cherished the blue kid? People still surprised me.
“Pa.”
Hannah was looking up at me like I was the village idiot.
“What?”
“If Kola can’t lick Chilly, you can’t lick Daddy.”
I had a terrible image of giving Sam a blow job just then, and he probably knew it, which was why he grabbed me and covered my mouth with his hand. “Will you two go finish your breakfast, please?”
They left then, but not without casting looks back.
Sam moved his hand but bent and kissed me. I received it happily, and of course, there was more retching.
“Kola Kage!” I admonished him even as I laughed. “Will you knock that off?”
“Ewww,” Hannah squeaked out.
When I looked over at them, Kola was mixing his oatmeal with butter and brown sugar, making it burp with his spoon.
“Just eat it,” I told him.
“I’m making it edible.”
Edible. Damn kid and his damn vocabulary.
“Leave the Petersons alone,” Sam sighed, long-suffering as he was.
“I am.” I bit my bottom lip.
“Jory…,” he cautioned me.
I tried for innocent.
“Daddy,” Kola said, back beside us, looking up at Sam.
“Don’t lick the cat,” Sam reiterated, bending down to one knee as his son stepped into his arms and put his hands on his face. “All right?”
“Okay.” Kola nodded.
“Okay,” Sam sighed, pulling Kola close, hugging him tight for a minute.
“What’s homonic?”
“I dunno.” Sam yawned, leaning back so father and son could look at each other. “Where’d you hear it?”
“Pa told Auntie Dyl that Jake’s parents won’t let him come play at my house ’cause they’re homonic.”
Sam nodded. “That’s homophobic, and that means that Jake’s parents don’t want him to come over because you have two fathers.”
Kola squinted at Sam. “Why?”
“Some people just don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I think that some people are afraid of what it means.”
He shook his head. “What does it mean?”
“That if you can have two fathers, maybe things are changing.”
His scowl made his little eyebrows furrow. It was adorable. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you will when you’re older, buddy.”
“It’s dumb.”
“Yes it is,” Sam agreed, hugging him again. “But I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He hugged Sam back tight, both arms wrapped around his neck. “Stuart and his mom are coming with me and Pa and Hannah and Uncle Evan and Bryce and Seth and Auntie Dyl and Mica and Mabel and Tess and her dad to the movies next Saturday, so Jake’s the one who’s missing out.”
“Who’s coming again?” Sam teased him.
“Stuart and his mom are coming with—”
“Stop,” I cut Kola off. “Your father heard you the first time.”
Sam grunted and looked up at me. “How come I didn’t get invited to the movies?”
“First”—I smiled at him—“the Chipmunks give you hives, and secondly, won’t you be fishing with Pat and Chaz that Saturday?”
“What Saturday are we talking about?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow for Phoenix, for the reunion, and we’ll come home Sunday.”
“Yes, I know this.”
“Okay, so then I’m talking about not this coming Saturday, since we’ll be out of town, but the one after that.”
“Oh, so that’s right, then.” He smiled brightly. “I’ll be fishing. Sorry I won’t make the movie, babe.”
“Liar,” I said flatly.
He cackled.
But it was going to be fun. I was going with my two kids, my buddy Evan was bringing his sons Bryce and Seth, and Dylan was schlepping her two kids: her son, Mica, who was her oldest, and Mabel, her daughter, who was the same age as Kola. It was unfortunate that they had made another Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, but all the kids were dying to see it, so we were making a day of it. I was still waiting to hear from Aja to see if she was coming along as well. I knew that Robert and Gentry were just as interested in helium-fueled rodents as the rest of our kids, but Aja wasn’t, and she could use a day off.
Aja, who had been in the public school realm when she first married my brother, as first a principal and then assistant superintendent of schools, had found herself unable to enact change at that level. Aja could not amend policy or allocate funds, but instead of growing bitter about what she saw happening around her—the apathy and deliberate ignorance—she decided to do something about it. In her present position as the associate dean of education at De Paul University, training and inspiring the next generation of teachers, she was preparing bright minds for the real world as well as toughening skins. She armed them and motivated them and made sure they knew she would always be a resource for them even after they graduated. All that plus parenting two children, being a wife, attending a myriad of social functions with her husband, and the result was a worn-out Aja Harcourt. I wanted to help lessen her load.
As I was driving back home after dropping off Kola and Hannah—they both went to the same Montessori school close to Oak Park—I called Aja from the car and offered to take her two short people off her hands instead of having her join us. I was immediately called a saint.
“Jory, I need some me and Dane time.”
“How ’bout I pick Robbie and Gen up next Friday after school and keep them until Sunday morning? We’ll all go to brunch and you can have them back. But that gives you Friday night and all day Saturday. Whaddya say?”
I thought she was going to cry, she was so thankful.
“So is that a yes?”
“Ohmygod, yes, that’s a yes!”
“You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“What is family for?”
“But you’re the only one I trust.”
“That’s not true.” I smiled into the phone as I turned from the side street I was on into traffic on Harlem Avenue, heading for home. I went maybe ten feet before I and everyone else on the street came to a grinding halt.
“Yes, but since Carmen got her dream job globetrotting around the world and my folks fled to Florida and Alex to Delaware, you and Sam are the only family I’ve got here.”
“You have a lot of other girlfriends,” I told her as I tried to see what the problem was around the SUV in front of me.
“I know, but I would check in with the others, I don’t need to check with you and Sam. He’ll kill anyone that comes near my kids, and you worry more than I do.”
“I don’t worry.”
She snorted out a laugh over the phone.
“That was very undignified,” I said as I leaned back in the driver’s seat of the sleek black minivan I utterly adored. Everyone else I knew had SUVs that were, I was certain, helping to destroy the environment. My minivan was not part of Satan’s master plan, and I loved my car that proclaimed me married with children as well as safety conscious. I was looking forward to Kola starting soccer in the spring so the picture of domestic bliss would be complete. I had a sweater all picked out.
“You bring it out of me,” Aja cackled.
“Whatever, I’ll call you when I get back from the reunion on Sunday.”
She started snickering.
“What?”
“Family reunion.” She was laughing now. “Oh the horror!”
“It’ll be fine,” I told her as I noticed a man striding by my window. It was weird that he was walking down the middle of the street and not on the sidewalk, but since we were in gridlock, he was in no danger of getting run over. “Hey, your kids like Mountain Dew and Oreos, right?”
“They’re staying with you for two days. Feed them whatever you want.”
I was laughing when I hung up, but when the SUV in front of me suddenly reversed, crashing into my front bumper, I yelled and laid on my horn. But the car didn’t stop—it kept grinding metal, and I realized that he, or she, was trying to get enough of an angle to go up onto the curb to the right.
I took a picture of the license plate with my phone, thanked God that my kids weren’t with me, and was about to call the police to report the accident when I saw the passenger door of the SUV open. What was confusing was that the small woman who scrambled out had keys in her hand. It was like she had been driving but had not wanted to get out of the driver’s side door. When she flung open the back door, a little rocket seat was visible: she had a toddler.
I got out fast and went around the back of my van—even as the guy in the car behind me honked, leaned out, and told me to get back behind the fucking wheel—and darted to her side.
She whirled on me with a can of pepper spray in hand.
“Wait! I’m here to help.”
Her eyes were huge as she looked at me, shoved the can into my chest, and told me to look out for the guy so she could get her son out of the car. She had been too frightened to even open her door.
“What guy?”
“I don’t know, some psycho. I think he killed the man in the car in front of me,” she cried. “I think he has a gun or—oh God!”
Turning, I saw a man advancing on us. “Move your fucking cars!”
“Get inside!” I ordered her. “Lock it!”
She climbed into the backseat around her kid, and I heard the locks behind me as the man advanced on me fast.
He had a lug wrench, not a gun, and since I could run if I needed to, I went from terrified to annoyed very quickly. “What the hell are you doing?” I barked at him. “You’re scaring the crap out of this lady!”
“Move your cars! This whole street is just full of fucking cars!”
He wasn’t even looking at me; I doubt he could have told me where he was or what he was doing. Maybe the road rage had made him snap; perhaps something else. I didn’t know and I didn’t care—he was carrying around an automotive tool like a weapon. That was really my only concern. The lady in the SUV was freaked because her kid was in the car and this guy was acting crazy. If my kids were with me, I would have had the same reaction.
“Stop,” I ordered him. “Don’t come any closer.”
He kept coming, and he raised the wrench like maybe he was thinking of braining me with it. I aimed the nozzle of the pepper spray and made sure to get his face.
His scream was loud and wounded, but he didn’t drop the tool.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
It was the guy who had yelled at me earlier, whose car was in gridlock behind mine.
“You just attacked this guy?” he roared right before he hit me.
I went down hard, hitting the van as I bounced off it, but from my angle, I could see the guy I had sprayed coming at him.
Kicking hard, I knocked the guy who had just hit me off balance, and he tumbled to the ground beside me.
“What the fuck are you—”
“Look out!” I yelled as the guy with the lug wrench came after us.
“Oh shit,” he screamed, scrambling back away from me, moving to run.
“Drop the weapon!”
“Get on the ground!”
Normally, policemen—even though I’m married to an ex one—are not my favorite people. As a rule, they catch me doing crap I shouldn’t be but somehow miss everyone else talking on their cell phones, running red lights, and speeding.
But right at that moment, as I saw the uniforms, noted the drawn guns, and heard the orders being roared out, I was comforted.
The guy dropped the lug wrench and went to his knees.
“All the way down, face on the pavement!”
“You saved my life,” the guy who hit me said.
“I—”
But something slammed the back of my head, and everything went dark.
MY HUSBAND, my brother, family, and friends would say that yes, Jory Harcourt is a trouble magnet, but I think it’s more coincidence than anything else when fate decides to screw with me. Especially this time: I was going home from dropping off my kids, a trip I made Monday through Friday, normally without incident. How was I to know that I would end up in the crosshairs of accidental crazy?
“A what?” the policeman who was taking my statement at the hospital asked.
“Trouble magnet,” I told him as I sighed deeply.
“How did you get knocked out?” he asked me.
“I guess the lady I told to stay in her SUV, she opened the door really fast and I was sitting right beside her car and… you know.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“That’s why vans are better, the doors slide,” I educated him.
His smile was patronizing.
“I—”
“Jory!” His yell bounced off the walls, and I winced.
The officer looked startled. “Who was—”
“Scooch back,” I ordered, and took a breath to get the required amount of air into my lungs. “In here!”
The curtain was flung open moments later and there was Sam, jaw clenched, muscles cording in his neck, eyes dark and full of too many things to soothe at once.
“Detective Kage?”
Sam turned to the officer.
“Oh, no, marshal.” He tried to smile at my glowering man.
Sam’s attention returned to me, and I smiled as I lifted my arms for him.
Moving fast, Sam closed the short distance between us and hauled me forward and crushed me against him.
It was not gentle; the entire movement was jarring and hard.
I loved it.
“Scared me,” he said as he clutched me tight.
I knew I had, which was the reason for the grab. I leaned into him, nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, and slid my arms under the suit jacket and over the crisp dress shirt. He smelled good, a faint trace of cologne, fabric softener, and warm male. I whimpered softly in the back of my throat.
“Those calls take years off my life, you know?”
“What calls?”
“The Jory’s in the hospital calls.”
I nodded, and there was a rumble of a grunt before he leaned back and looked down into my face. His eyes clocked me, checking, making sure I was whole and safe.
“I’m fine,” I said as he lifted his hand and knotted it into my hair, tilting my head back as he examined my right eye and my cheek.
“Yeah, you don’t look fine,” he said, and his voice was low and menacing. “Who did this?”
“There was a guy behind me, and he didn’t understand why I sprayed the man with the lug wrench, and he—”
“Stop,” he cut me off, dropping his hand from my hair as he turned his head to the policeman. “Talk.”
I could tell from his change of tone that he wasn’t waiting on me, but apparently the officer could not. “Hello?” Sam snapped icily.
“Oh-oh,” the guy stammered and then recounted to Sam the events of the morning.
“So the lady in the SUV knocked him out when she opened the door?” He was trying to make sure he understood everything.
“Yes.”
Sam grunted.
“She’s really sorry about it. She told me that your partner there saved her life.”
That didn’t make it any better, at least for Sam.
“My van is—”
“We’ll take care of the van and get you a rental until it’s fixed. Just don’t worry about it.”
“No, I know,” I snapped at him. Sometimes—a lot of the time—Sam treated me like an invalid. It was happening more and more lately, like I needed to be taken care of, same as the kids, because I couldn’t think for myself or reason things out. “I just wanted to know where my vehicle was towed to… Officer.”
I had turned to the man in uniform, pinned him with my gaze—my question was directed to him—and he was still looking at Sam to see if he should answer me.
“Officer?”
“I can find out where the—”
“No,” I shut Sam down, eyes wide as I waited. “Where’s my car?”
“We, um.” He coughed as he passed me a business card from his clipboard. “Had it towed to a garage downtown and—”
“Just stop,” Sam barked at me, snatching the card away. “Sit here while I go find your doctor and figure out if you have a concussion or—”
“Sam—”
“After I get you home, then we’ll worry about the damn van.”
“I can—”
“Stop,” he ordered again, and because I didn’t want to have a scene, I went still and quiet and stared at the clock on the wall.
The officer muttered something and left, and Sam told me that he had to go and find out about the other people in the accident and would see about my release at the same time.
I stayed quiet.
“You’re gonna sulk now?”
I turned my head and was about to say something when he lifted his hand.
“I don’t wanna fight with you. Just let me do this.”
“I’m not a child, Sam. I can take care of my own car. I can do—”
“So I shouldn’t be here? I shouldn’t have even come?”
“No, I just… lately it seems to be the Sam Show and not the Sam and Jory Show. You do everything, and I don’t get why that’s happening.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Sam? Do you think I’m helpless?”
The glare I was getting would have terrified most people. But this was the guy who loved me, and as always, when I stopped and actually used my brain, I understood what was really going on.
He was terrified.
I had scared the crap out of him that morning, and because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway… it was almost like he was expecting bad news. And he was—he was expecting the worst.
“You think me and Kola and Hannah could get taken away.”
“What? No,” he said quietly, not a lot of force behind his words. “No.”
He was such a liar.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, putting my hands on his heavily muscled chest, unable to stop myself from curling my fingers into his shirt, holding on. Yes, he was being overprotective, but not for the reasons I thought. He didn’t think I was stupid; he just didn’t want to let me, or his kids, out of his sight for any reason. Not ever. And because he was trying not to be suffocating, he was managing the exact opposite. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He took a breath. “What’re you talking about?”
“The more you work, the more you see, the more you realize that this, what we have, is not the norm. Most people don’t get the kind of happiness that we have, the home we have, so you get over protective and smothering.”
He furrowed his brows, and I smiled up at him as I hooked my legs around the back of his thighs. He leaned closer, hands on either side of me on the narrow hospital bed. “You think you know me?”
I nodded, my fingers unclenching from his shirt. “Yes. I know you well.”
He bent toward me, and I twined an arm around his neck to draw him close. His breath fanned softly across my face before his mouth settled over mine.
I loved to kiss him. Whenever, however, for as long as he’d let me or as long as he wanted to. I was his for the taking.
He swept his tongue in, mating it with mine, tangled, rubbed, pushed, and shoved. Our lips never parted, not once, even for air. I felt his arms wrap around me, crush me to his chest, and hold tight. I had a hand knotted in his hair, and the moan I couldn’t stifle was low and aching. When he suddenly shoved me back, breaking the scorching, devouring contact, my whine of protest was loud.
He was flushed and panting, his lips swollen, his pupils blown as he stared at me.
I was breathing hard, my lungs heaving for air as I smiled at him.
“Crap.” He finally managed to get out a word.
My smile was wicked.
“You’re not supposed to kiss me at work.”
“You kissed me,” I reminded him.
“Crap,” he said again and swallowed hard as he straightened up, stepping away from me, obviously fighting to get his body back under control.
“You can nail me in your car.”
His frown came fast, and so did my grin.
“What?” I smiled wide.
“A Deputy US Marshal does not nail his spouse in the car.”
I arched an eyebrow for him. “Are you sure?”
He pointed at me. “I will take you home to our bed and nail you.”
“Oh yes, please.” I waggled my eyebrows for him.
“Just sit there,” he growled at me. “And wait while I get you signed out of here so we can go get the kids.”
“Not today, Marshal,” I told him.
He looked surprised. “You didn’t plan to pick up your children today?”
“No, your mom’s picking them up and then we’re going there for dinner.”
He squinted at me.
“You know she’s a planner,” I said cheerfully.
“Lemme get this straight,” he sighed. “We’re gonna be with them on a plane tomorrow, with them at a resort from Thursday to Saturday, and then with them again on a plane on Sunday coming home, but we’re still eating with them tonight because they won’t see us?”
“Your mom likes to coordinate and you know this, so just let it go.”
“Why?” He was annoyed.
“Why does she like to plan things or why are we indulging her?”
“The second one,” he grumbled. “Why do we do that?”
“Because we love her,” I said like it was obvious.
“No, screw that. I’m gonna call her and tell her we—”
“Why would you rock the boat? Why would you upset the delicate balance of all things Regina?”
I loved his mother, Regina Kage, with absolute abandon, and of everyone—her own children, their spouses, and all her grandchildren combined—she and I got along best. The reasons for that were twofold: first, because I’d never had a mother and craved one like a drug; second, and most of all, because I didn’t ever try to change her. We never fought; I allowed her to rearrange anything in my house she wanted, make suggestions on parenting—because really, her kids came out good, so where was the argument?—and most of all, when she fussed, whenever she fussed, I was at her disposal to lend a hand. We were good.
“Jory—”
“Let it go, Sam.”
He rolled his eyes, but we both knew he wouldn’t say a word. No one said a word to Regina Kage. We all did exactly as she wanted. She was the matriarch, after all.
“Seriously, though, we should cancel, you’re in no—”
“I’m fine, and besides, I think she had trip itineraries printed up, and I want to make sure to get mine.”
He was disgusted, but I got the smile I was after with the shake of his head, the you are too much and I give up one that I loved.
“So,” I said softly as my gaze skated over him. God, I loved looking at him. The broad shoulders that the suit jacket accentuated, the snug fit of the tailored dress shirt over his massive chest, and the stubble that covered his square, chiseled jaw even though he’d shaved that morning before work.
“What?” he asked, and his voice was husky as he stared at me.
“You’re gonna take me home?”
“Yes.”
“And stay with me?”
“Yeah. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I stared into those eyes that I loved as much now as I had the first time he’d kissed me all those years ago. “You’re taking care of me again.”
He grunted and it was all male, all growly bear. “And?”
“And it’s nice.” I smiled at him, taking a loose hold of his tie.
He sighed and I got a trace of a smile. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait,” I said before he could leave.
“Why? What?”
“Come gimme kiss.”
“No.” He snorted out a laugh and then bent and kissed my forehead before he walked out of the room.
I was lost in thought, every brain cell I possessed absorbed with Sam Kage and what I was going to do to him with an afternoon alone, when my name was called.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
When I turned, there was a doctor there, and I registered almost instantly that it really wasn’t fair. He got to look like that and be brilliant? Normally you were smart or pretty, not both. He even had bright blue-green eyes. I noticed that because they were the exact shade of turquoise that I wanted when I was growing up. I had hated my brown eyes with a passion. Now things were different. My daughter and I had almost the same shade of deep chocolate brown with hints of gold, and the man who woke up in bed with me every morning never failed to mention that as eyes went, mine were his favorite color.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I flashed him a quick grin. “That’s me.”
“Hi.” He smiled warmly as he closed in, offering me his hand. “I’m Dr. Dwyer, and—”
“Jory, you—”
“Sam?”
My doctor called my man by his first name.
Sam stood there looking utterly gobsmacked.
Both men, my partner and the doctor, froze as they stood staring at each other.
What the hell…?
Doctor Dwyer had been interrupted by Sam’s return, and Sam had apparently been quite startled to see the doctor when he came charging back into the room.
I kept looking between them, feeling weirder by the second.
“Kevin,” Sam finally said.
The man took a step forward, and the smile, the light that hit his eyes, the shiver that ran through his long, lean swimmer’s frame, was not to be mistaken for anything other than absolute, quivering, pulse-pounding, blood-racing joy. Whoever he was, he was deliriously surprised and delighted to see Sam Kage.
I waited and realized that I had stopped breathing.
Who was this heavenly creature, this doctor who was looking at Sam like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life?
“You….” Sam sucked in a breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Jesus,” the doctor gasped and rushed forward, arms lifted, ready to reach out and grab hold, reclaim.
Sam moved faster, meeting him and cutting him off, so basically, with his forward momentum halted, the good doctor was brought up short, almost to a jarring, lose-your-balance stop. Sam leaned, gave him the guy clench, tight-tight, then pushed off and back so Dr. Dwyer was basically left abandoned and bewildered, arms empty, looking lost.
“Nice to see you,” Sam said quickly, stepping close to the bed and taking my hand at the same time. “Jory, this is Dr. Kevin Dwyer. We met in Columbia when I was there working that drug bust after Dom went into witness protection. He was with Doctors Without Borders at that time. What are you doing here in Chicago?”
Years ago, Sam had left me recovering in the hospital to track down a drug cartel in Colombia on a tip from his corrupt partner. We had been apart for three years, and at some point he had met the good doctor.
Dr. Dwyer seriously looked like someone had punched him in the gut or run him over with a truck. It was hard to tell which better described him at that moment. “I,” he started but stopped, and then his eyes flicked to mine. “Jory?”
I smiled at him. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Sam told me all about you.”
And yet Sam had never, ever mentioned Kevin Dwyer to me. “Did you date?” I asked the doctor, because I didn’t mess around.
“Jor—”
“No,” he cut Sam off. “We lived together for three months.”
And my world imploded.
THE man was a pig, and it wasn’t just me who thought so. Rosa Martinez, who lived on the other side of the Petersons, agreed with me. In fact, all the women who lived on our cul-de-sac were of the same mind. Oliver Peterson, whose wife had just caught him cheating on her—again —was filth. It wasn’t the fact that they already had two children; it was the fact that she was currently pregnant with a third.
Sam, the love of my life, my partner, husband, and the guy who was parenting two small people with me, just shook his head the night before and kissed me breathless after telling me for the nine-hundredth time to please not get involved. Leave the neighbors alone; this was not Housewives of Wherever, we were not on reality TV. I had explained over the McDonald’s that the man had brought home instead of having me cook—which, after the last time, we had both agreed would never happen again—that I was involved because I was her friend.
“No,” he told me as we put the kids down. “You use that word so loosely. She’s an acquaintance, Jory, she’s not a friend.”
“She’s my neighbor, Sam, and her man’s a dog, and if she needs my help with whatever, I’m gonna give it to her.”
“I’m not saying not to be nice to her, but just don’t stick your nose in their business.”
I ignored him.
“Jory Harcourt!”
I gave him the most indignant look I could manage. “So I’m what, nosy now? I’m the busybody neighbor?”
He threw up his hands in defeat.
I gave him a superior grunt because I thought he was on his way out of the bedroom to check the house, make sure all the doors were locked, make sure the stove burners were all off, but then I realized he hadn’t moved. “What?”
“You’re very cute.”
I squinted at him. “Thirty-five-year-old men are not cute.”
“You’ll always be the twenty-two-year-old club kid I saw for the first time lying in the street with a beagle on top of him.”
“I thought George was a Jack Russell.”
“Nope.” He came toward me. “Beagle.”
“Go away.” I smiled at him, trying to shoo him out of the room. “Go make sure the zombie horde can’t get us.”
But instead of leaving, he grabbed me and slammed me up against the wall in our room. With his hot mouth nibbling up the side of my neck, his hands frantically disrobing me, and his hard groin pressed to my ass, my mind went completely blank. There was no way to concentrate when I had 220 pounds of hard-muscled man focused on getting me in bed.
But the next day, as I staggered around my kitchen—I never had been and never would be a morning person—and saw my neighbors on their front porch, Christie Peterson smiling tentatively, her husband scowling, I just wanted to go over and punch him out. I had an idea what I must have looked like: robe on, T-shirt and pajama bottoms under that, bunny slippers looking all bright-eyed and happy, I resembled the nosy neighbor in every sense.
A throat cleared behind me.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I asked pointedly. It was Wednesday, not Saturday.
The warm rumbling chuckle was next. “You think maybe now since you’ve got one kid in preschool and the other in first grade that you should start thinking about going back to working from your office?”
Obviously my sanity was in question, because I was still working from home. I hoped the look I gave him when I turned and squinted conveyed my displeasure.
He snorted out a laugh.
I all-out scowled at the supervisory Deputy US Marshal standing beside me at the kitchen sink. We had both been looking at the Petersons. “Why would you say that?”
“Say what?”
I growled.
He pressed his beautiful lips together in a hard line so he wouldn’t smile.
“Sam?”
“No reason.”
“Spit it out.”
He cleared his throat. “I just think that perhaps you being home during the day is giving you cabin fever, and maybe you need to get back out in the real world and talk to the grown-ups.”
I huffed out an exasperated breath. “Sam, just because I don’t go to the office doesn’t mean I’m starved for adult contact. I talk to Dylan every day, I talk to Fallon every day. They’re my business partners, they need me, and they keep me involved with what’s going on at the office.”
“Okay.”
“I send out more e-mails than both of them combined!”
“I’m sure you do,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of my neck, then squeezing gently, massaging, and easing me closer. “I just think that maybe getting out of this house during the day would do you some good.”
I batted his hand away, whirling on him. “I go to the store, to the park, drop kids off at school, pick them up… when do I not see people?”
He grunted, rolled his eyes, and put his coffee cup down in the sink before his dark smoky-blue eyes flicked to mine.
“No,” I almost squeaked, turning to run.
So not fast enough.
You would think that a big man could not move like that, with so much speed, but Sam Kage’s athleticism and strength were never to be underestimated. At forty-six, he was just as powerful as he’d been when I first met him, and I finally understood the whole getting better with age thing. The man looked the best he ever had, and he lived well in his skin, so content, so happy both personally and professionally.
I was so proud of him and told him so often. He was an amazing father, a wonderful husband, a great son, and the kind of friend anyone would be happy to claim. I was biased because I loved him, but still, I saw people look at him and knew the truth. Four years after beginning his new job as a marshal, he was now the supervisor of the Chicago field office, overseeing five other deputies and three clerks. I had thought once he moved up, he’d become a sheriff, but apparently all they did was add the “supervisory” in there. A sheriff was a totally different thing. It made no sense from a Western standpoint. In every movie I had ever seen, the deputy got moved up to sheriff. As usual, Sam had just shaken his head at me.
As I ducked around the island in the middle of the kitchen, I thought for half a second that I would get away from him, but as he grabbed, yanked, and pinned me against the refrigerator, I realized how wrong I had been.
“All I meant to imply,” he began, tilting my head up with a hand on my chin, “was that since you have a six-year-old and a four-year-old now, you can do a half day at the office instead of working full-time from home. It might be nice after you drop them off to pick up a fancy cup of coffee and go to your office and actually see Dylan and Fallon and talk to them face to face.”
I was really far too interested in his mouth to listen to him. He had the kind of lips made for kissing, plump and dark, and when he smiled, there was this curve in the corner that could break your heart. Not that the rest of his rugged features were without appeal. His dark smoky blue-gray eyes with the deep laugh lines at the corners, his long straight nose, the hard square jaw, and the thick copper-gold eyebrows were a treat too. And his voice, over the phone or in person, deep and husky, edged with a growl, could send rippling heat through my entire body. But the man’s mouth, the shape of it, the feel of it… really, I was a fan.
“Are you listening to me?”
I lifted up from my height of five nine to his of six four, and he bent down at the same time. Our lips met and parted, and his tongue slid deep to taste me.
The sounds from the peanut gallery—choking and retching—and the tug on my robe instantly drained the heat from the encounter. Sam snorted out a laugh as he broke the kiss, both of us eyeing the short people standing close to us.
“That’s disgusting,” Kola assured me with a glare that a six-year-old shouldn’t have had, full of judgment and revulsion.
“Why?” I asked snidely.
“Your mouth has germs,” he informed me haughtily. “That’s why you told Hannah not to lick Chilly.”
“No, I told her not to lick Chilly because the cat doesn’t like to be licked by her.”
“He licks his body.”
“He does,” Hannah, our four-year-old, agreed with a nod. “Kola’s right.”
“But he doesn’t want you to do it,” I assured my daughter, directing my comment to her.
“How do you know?” Kola questioned.
“Yeah,” Hannah Banana chimed in again, always her big brother’s backup. “How do you know?”
I had to think.
Kola waited, squinting at me.
Hannah was waiting as well, one of her perfectly shaped dark brows arching. It was new. She had the same way of looking at me that her father did, like I was an idiot.
“Do not lick the cat! Nobody licks the cat!” Sam ordered when the silence stretched for too long.
I started laughing; only my husband would have to make such rules.
He looked down at his son, Mykola Thomas Kage, six years old going on forty, who was full of questions and opinions.
We had adopted him when he was three, from an agency in the Netherlands. When we had made the final trip to bring him home, he had seen us from the window of the orphanage director’s office and run to the door to meet us. We had been there two weeks and he already called Sam Daddy, which Sam was madly in love with hearing. But though Kola had been taught the American word meaning father, it was not his, not the one he had grown up hearing and had been waiting to use for someone who belonged to him. So he had tried out the one he knew on me.
Pa.
So simple a word but it meant so much.
I had heard it in the streets when we visited, along with the more formal, vader, and seen kids run to their fathers using it. Not the papa I knew, not what Sam’s father was called by his grandchildren, but instead just pa. When Kola called to me, I answered to it, and his face, the way it lit up, the absolute blinding joy, had been a gift.
Sam was Daddy, and Daddy represented Kola’s new life and his new family in the United States, and I was the comfort of the old. I was Pa, and he had named me.
Of course it didn’t matter to me what name he settled on. He could have called me Jory for all I cared; he was my kid, and that was all I gave a damn about. He was legally and completely mine and Sam’s, and that was what mattered. And we were good, the three of us, until the first agency we had contacted back when we’d started the whole adoption process called to tell us that there was a little girl from Montevideo ready for adoption. I had forgotten about them because they had never come through, but that turned out not to be the case. You heard from them when it was time, and it finally was.
I was surprised, Sam unsure, until the professional but not personable and definitely not warm gentleman slid the picture across the desk for us. He needed to know if we wanted the little girl in the photograph.
Yes, we wanted the angel very much.
Our family went from three to four with the coming of the little sister that Kola wanted nothing to do with until we were all home under one roof. He resented all of us going to the airport to pick her up, hated her crying in the car, and was really annoyed that Sam was carrying her instead of him. He was starting to fret, it was all over his face—until Sam knelt and picked him up too. Kids are so funny. As soon as Kola figured out that Hannah was planning on sharing us with him, that she wasn’t there to take his spot, that nothing was changing in the love department, just some tweaking in the time area, he decided he liked her. And now, with him at six and her at four, their bond was noticeable.
They fought like cats and dogs… but only sometimes. She cried, he moped, they chased each other and roughhoused, but nine times out of ten, I found her in his room in the morning. When we were out, he held her hand, he fixed things when she couldn’t, and he was supremely patient when she was trying to impart some tidbit of information. I was like, Spit it out, kid, but Kola just nodded and waited until some incident about a bug on a flower was all communicated in excruciating detail.
He brushed her off if she fell down, made her remember her mittens and hat, and could be counted on to translate her wishes to others if Sam and I were absent. Dylan Greer, my best friend, was really surprised because she was certain that, sometimes, Hannah Banana—or B, as we all called her—spoke in tongues. But Kola would just say that she wanted milk or a crayon or a flashlight. And he was never wrong. He was an excellent big brother, and she adored him.
Hannah Regina Kage—her middle name after Sam’s mother—had the most adorable little button nose on the planet. I would lean in to kiss her sometimes and nibble on her nose instead. It made her squeal with delight. Putting her toes in my mouth was also cause for raucous laughter. Even at a year old, she had a good laugh. It was not timid or soft. She was small, but how she expressed herself was big. People heard the deep, throaty sound and were enchanted. I had been under her spell at first glance.
In our neighborhood in River Park, sometimes people still looked at us when we were out walking. And most questioned Kola when they got close, since with his deep-set cobalt-blue eyes, sharp European features, and dark-brown hair, he didn’t look like either me or Sam. But Hannah, who was half-Uruguayan, was obviously adopted. What was funny, though, was that people sometimes questioned whether Gentry—born with my brother Dane’s charcoal eyes instead of my sister-in-law Aja’s honey-brown ones—actually belonged to his own mother. I always wondered why people cared. If your kid was blue and you were orange, who gave a crap as long as you loved and cherished the blue kid? People still surprised me.
“Pa.”
Hannah was looking up at me like I was the village idiot.
“What?”
“If Kola can’t lick Chilly, you can’t lick Daddy.”
I had a terrible image of giving Sam a blow job just then, and he probably knew it, which was why he grabbed me and covered my mouth with his hand. “Will you two go finish your breakfast, please?”
They left then, but not without casting looks back.
Sam moved his hand but bent and kissed me. I received it happily, and of course, there was more retching.
“Kola Kage!” I admonished him even as I laughed. “Will you knock that off?”
“Ewww,” Hannah squeaked out.
When I looked over at them, Kola was mixing his oatmeal with butter and brown sugar, making it burp with his spoon.
“Just eat it,” I told him.
“I’m making it edible.”
Edible. Damn kid and his damn vocabulary.
“Leave the Petersons alone,” Sam sighed, long-suffering as he was.
“I am.” I bit my bottom lip.
“Jory…,” he cautioned me.
I tried for innocent.
“Daddy,” Kola said, back beside us, looking up at Sam.
“Don’t lick the cat,” Sam reiterated, bending down to one knee as his son stepped into his arms and put his hands on his face. “All right?”
“Okay.” Kola nodded.
“Okay,” Sam sighed, pulling Kola close, hugging him tight for a minute.
“What’s homonic?”
“I dunno.” Sam yawned, leaning back so father and son could look at each other. “Where’d you hear it?”
“Pa told Auntie Dyl that Jake’s parents won’t let him come play at my house ’cause they’re homonic.”
Sam nodded. “That’s homophobic, and that means that Jake’s parents don’t want him to come over because you have two fathers.”
Kola squinted at Sam. “Why?”
“Some people just don’t like it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I think that some people are afraid of what it means.”
He shook his head. “What does it mean?”
“That if you can have two fathers, maybe things are changing.”
His scowl made his little eyebrows furrow. It was adorable. “I don’t understand.”
“I think you will when you’re older, buddy.”
“It’s dumb.”
“Yes it is,” Sam agreed, hugging him again. “But I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He hugged Sam back tight, both arms wrapped around his neck. “Stuart and his mom are coming with me and Pa and Hannah and Uncle Evan and Bryce and Seth and Auntie Dyl and Mica and Mabel and Tess and her dad to the movies next Saturday, so Jake’s the one who’s missing out.”
“Who’s coming again?” Sam teased him.
“Stuart and his mom are coming with—”
“Stop,” I cut Kola off. “Your father heard you the first time.”
Sam grunted and looked up at me. “How come I didn’t get invited to the movies?”
“First”—I smiled at him—“the Chipmunks give you hives, and secondly, won’t you be fishing with Pat and Chaz that Saturday?”
“What Saturday are we talking about?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow for Phoenix, for the reunion, and we’ll come home Sunday.”
“Yes, I know this.”
“Okay, so then I’m talking about not this coming Saturday, since we’ll be out of town, but the one after that.”
“Oh, so that’s right, then.” He smiled brightly. “I’ll be fishing. Sorry I won’t make the movie, babe.”
“Liar,” I said flatly.
He cackled.
But it was going to be fun. I was going with my two kids, my buddy Evan was bringing his sons Bryce and Seth, and Dylan was schlepping her two kids: her son, Mica, who was her oldest, and Mabel, her daughter, who was the same age as Kola. It was unfortunate that they had made another Alvin and the Chipmunks movie, but all the kids were dying to see it, so we were making a day of it. I was still waiting to hear from Aja to see if she was coming along as well. I knew that Robert and Gentry were just as interested in helium-fueled rodents as the rest of our kids, but Aja wasn’t, and she could use a day off.
Aja, who had been in the public school realm when she first married my brother, as first a principal and then assistant superintendent of schools, had found herself unable to enact change at that level. Aja could not amend policy or allocate funds, but instead of growing bitter about what she saw happening around her—the apathy and deliberate ignorance—she decided to do something about it. In her present position as the associate dean of education at De Paul University, training and inspiring the next generation of teachers, she was preparing bright minds for the real world as well as toughening skins. She armed them and motivated them and made sure they knew she would always be a resource for them even after they graduated. All that plus parenting two children, being a wife, attending a myriad of social functions with her husband, and the result was a worn-out Aja Harcourt. I wanted to help lessen her load.
As I was driving back home after dropping off Kola and Hannah—they both went to the same Montessori school close to Oak Park—I called Aja from the car and offered to take her two short people off her hands instead of having her join us. I was immediately called a saint.
“Jory, I need some me and Dane time.”
“How ’bout I pick Robbie and Gen up next Friday after school and keep them until Sunday morning? We’ll all go to brunch and you can have them back. But that gives you Friday night and all day Saturday. Whaddya say?”
I thought she was going to cry, she was so thankful.
“So is that a yes?”
“Ohmygod, yes, that’s a yes!”
“You’re starting to sound like me.”
“Thank you, baby.”
“What is family for?”
“But you’re the only one I trust.”
“That’s not true.” I smiled into the phone as I turned from the side street I was on into traffic on Harlem Avenue, heading for home. I went maybe ten feet before I and everyone else on the street came to a grinding halt.
“Yes, but since Carmen got her dream job globetrotting around the world and my folks fled to Florida and Alex to Delaware, you and Sam are the only family I’ve got here.”
“You have a lot of other girlfriends,” I told her as I tried to see what the problem was around the SUV in front of me.
“I know, but I would check in with the others, I don’t need to check with you and Sam. He’ll kill anyone that comes near my kids, and you worry more than I do.”
“I don’t worry.”
She snorted out a laugh over the phone.
“That was very undignified,” I said as I leaned back in the driver’s seat of the sleek black minivan I utterly adored. Everyone else I knew had SUVs that were, I was certain, helping to destroy the environment. My minivan was not part of Satan’s master plan, and I loved my car that proclaimed me married with children as well as safety conscious. I was looking forward to Kola starting soccer in the spring so the picture of domestic bliss would be complete. I had a sweater all picked out.
“You bring it out of me,” Aja cackled.
“Whatever, I’ll call you when I get back from the reunion on Sunday.”
She started snickering.
“What?”
“Family reunion.” She was laughing now. “Oh the horror!”
“It’ll be fine,” I told her as I noticed a man striding by my window. It was weird that he was walking down the middle of the street and not on the sidewalk, but since we were in gridlock, he was in no danger of getting run over. “Hey, your kids like Mountain Dew and Oreos, right?”
“They’re staying with you for two days. Feed them whatever you want.”
I was laughing when I hung up, but when the SUV in front of me suddenly reversed, crashing into my front bumper, I yelled and laid on my horn. But the car didn’t stop—it kept grinding metal, and I realized that he, or she, was trying to get enough of an angle to go up onto the curb to the right.
I took a picture of the license plate with my phone, thanked God that my kids weren’t with me, and was about to call the police to report the accident when I saw the passenger door of the SUV open. What was confusing was that the small woman who scrambled out had keys in her hand. It was like she had been driving but had not wanted to get out of the driver’s side door. When she flung open the back door, a little rocket seat was visible: she had a toddler.
I got out fast and went around the back of my van—even as the guy in the car behind me honked, leaned out, and told me to get back behind the fucking wheel—and darted to her side.
She whirled on me with a can of pepper spray in hand.
“Wait! I’m here to help.”
Her eyes were huge as she looked at me, shoved the can into my chest, and told me to look out for the guy so she could get her son out of the car. She had been too frightened to even open her door.
“What guy?”
“I don’t know, some psycho. I think he killed the man in the car in front of me,” she cried. “I think he has a gun or—oh God!”
Turning, I saw a man advancing on us. “Move your fucking cars!”
“Get inside!” I ordered her. “Lock it!”
She climbed into the backseat around her kid, and I heard the locks behind me as the man advanced on me fast.
He had a lug wrench, not a gun, and since I could run if I needed to, I went from terrified to annoyed very quickly. “What the hell are you doing?” I barked at him. “You’re scaring the crap out of this lady!”
“Move your cars! This whole street is just full of fucking cars!”
He wasn’t even looking at me; I doubt he could have told me where he was or what he was doing. Maybe the road rage had made him snap; perhaps something else. I didn’t know and I didn’t care—he was carrying around an automotive tool like a weapon. That was really my only concern. The lady in the SUV was freaked because her kid was in the car and this guy was acting crazy. If my kids were with me, I would have had the same reaction.
“Stop,” I ordered him. “Don’t come any closer.”
He kept coming, and he raised the wrench like maybe he was thinking of braining me with it. I aimed the nozzle of the pepper spray and made sure to get his face.
His scream was loud and wounded, but he didn’t drop the tool.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
It was the guy who had yelled at me earlier, whose car was in gridlock behind mine.
“You just attacked this guy?” he roared right before he hit me.
I went down hard, hitting the van as I bounced off it, but from my angle, I could see the guy I had sprayed coming at him.
Kicking hard, I knocked the guy who had just hit me off balance, and he tumbled to the ground beside me.
“What the fuck are you—”
“Look out!” I yelled as the guy with the lug wrench came after us.
“Oh shit,” he screamed, scrambling back away from me, moving to run.
“Drop the weapon!”
“Get on the ground!”
Normally, policemen—even though I’m married to an ex one—are not my favorite people. As a rule, they catch me doing crap I shouldn’t be but somehow miss everyone else talking on their cell phones, running red lights, and speeding.
But right at that moment, as I saw the uniforms, noted the drawn guns, and heard the orders being roared out, I was comforted.
The guy dropped the lug wrench and went to his knees.
“All the way down, face on the pavement!”
“You saved my life,” the guy who hit me said.
“I—”
But something slammed the back of my head, and everything went dark.
MY HUSBAND, my brother, family, and friends would say that yes, Jory Harcourt is a trouble magnet, but I think it’s more coincidence than anything else when fate decides to screw with me. Especially this time: I was going home from dropping off my kids, a trip I made Monday through Friday, normally without incident. How was I to know that I would end up in the crosshairs of accidental crazy?
“A what?” the policeman who was taking my statement at the hospital asked.
“Trouble magnet,” I told him as I sighed deeply.
“How did you get knocked out?” he asked me.
“I guess the lady I told to stay in her SUV, she opened the door really fast and I was sitting right beside her car and… you know.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“That’s why vans are better, the doors slide,” I educated him.
His smile was patronizing.
“I—”
“Jory!” His yell bounced off the walls, and I winced.
The officer looked startled. “Who was—”
“Scooch back,” I ordered, and took a breath to get the required amount of air into my lungs. “In here!”
The curtain was flung open moments later and there was Sam, jaw clenched, muscles cording in his neck, eyes dark and full of too many things to soothe at once.
“Detective Kage?”
Sam turned to the officer.
“Oh, no, marshal.” He tried to smile at my glowering man.
Sam’s attention returned to me, and I smiled as I lifted my arms for him.
Moving fast, Sam closed the short distance between us and hauled me forward and crushed me against him.
It was not gentle; the entire movement was jarring and hard.
I loved it.
“Scared me,” he said as he clutched me tight.
I knew I had, which was the reason for the grab. I leaned into him, nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck, and slid my arms under the suit jacket and over the crisp dress shirt. He smelled good, a faint trace of cologne, fabric softener, and warm male. I whimpered softly in the back of my throat.
“Those calls take years off my life, you know?”
“What calls?”
“The Jory’s in the hospital calls.”
I nodded, and there was a rumble of a grunt before he leaned back and looked down into my face. His eyes clocked me, checking, making sure I was whole and safe.
“I’m fine,” I said as he lifted his hand and knotted it into my hair, tilting my head back as he examined my right eye and my cheek.
“Yeah, you don’t look fine,” he said, and his voice was low and menacing. “Who did this?”
“There was a guy behind me, and he didn’t understand why I sprayed the man with the lug wrench, and he—”
“Stop,” he cut me off, dropping his hand from my hair as he turned his head to the policeman. “Talk.”
I could tell from his change of tone that he wasn’t waiting on me, but apparently the officer could not. “Hello?” Sam snapped icily.
“Oh-oh,” the guy stammered and then recounted to Sam the events of the morning.
“So the lady in the SUV knocked him out when she opened the door?” He was trying to make sure he understood everything.
“Yes.”
Sam grunted.
“She’s really sorry about it. She told me that your partner there saved her life.”
That didn’t make it any better, at least for Sam.
“My van is—”
“We’ll take care of the van and get you a rental until it’s fixed. Just don’t worry about it.”
“No, I know,” I snapped at him. Sometimes—a lot of the time—Sam treated me like an invalid. It was happening more and more lately, like I needed to be taken care of, same as the kids, because I couldn’t think for myself or reason things out. “I just wanted to know where my vehicle was towed to… Officer.”
I had turned to the man in uniform, pinned him with my gaze—my question was directed to him—and he was still looking at Sam to see if he should answer me.
“Officer?”
“I can find out where the—”
“No,” I shut Sam down, eyes wide as I waited. “Where’s my car?”
“We, um.” He coughed as he passed me a business card from his clipboard. “Had it towed to a garage downtown and—”
“Just stop,” Sam barked at me, snatching the card away. “Sit here while I go find your doctor and figure out if you have a concussion or—”
“Sam—”
“After I get you home, then we’ll worry about the damn van.”
“I can—”
“Stop,” he ordered again, and because I didn’t want to have a scene, I went still and quiet and stared at the clock on the wall.
The officer muttered something and left, and Sam told me that he had to go and find out about the other people in the accident and would see about my release at the same time.
I stayed quiet.
“You’re gonna sulk now?”
I turned my head and was about to say something when he lifted his hand.
“I don’t wanna fight with you. Just let me do this.”
“I’m not a child, Sam. I can take care of my own car. I can do—”
“So I shouldn’t be here? I shouldn’t have even come?”
“No, I just… lately it seems to be the Sam Show and not the Sam and Jory Show. You do everything, and I don’t get why that’s happening.”
His eyes searched mine.
“Sam? Do you think I’m helpless?”
The glare I was getting would have terrified most people. But this was the guy who loved me, and as always, when I stopped and actually used my brain, I understood what was really going on.
He was terrified.
I had scared the crap out of him that morning, and because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop anyway… it was almost like he was expecting bad news. And he was—he was expecting the worst.
“You think me and Kola and Hannah could get taken away.”
“What? No,” he said quietly, not a lot of force behind his words. “No.”
He was such a liar.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, putting my hands on his heavily muscled chest, unable to stop myself from curling my fingers into his shirt, holding on. Yes, he was being overprotective, but not for the reasons I thought. He didn’t think I was stupid; he just didn’t want to let me, or his kids, out of his sight for any reason. Not ever. And because he was trying not to be suffocating, he was managing the exact opposite. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He took a breath. “What’re you talking about?”
“The more you work, the more you see, the more you realize that this, what we have, is not the norm. Most people don’t get the kind of happiness that we have, the home we have, so you get over protective and smothering.”
He furrowed his brows, and I smiled up at him as I hooked my legs around the back of his thighs. He leaned closer, hands on either side of me on the narrow hospital bed. “You think you know me?”
I nodded, my fingers unclenching from his shirt. “Yes. I know you well.”
He bent toward me, and I twined an arm around his neck to draw him close. His breath fanned softly across my face before his mouth settled over mine.
I loved to kiss him. Whenever, however, for as long as he’d let me or as long as he wanted to. I was his for the taking.
He swept his tongue in, mating it with mine, tangled, rubbed, pushed, and shoved. Our lips never parted, not once, even for air. I felt his arms wrap around me, crush me to his chest, and hold tight. I had a hand knotted in his hair, and the moan I couldn’t stifle was low and aching. When he suddenly shoved me back, breaking the scorching, devouring contact, my whine of protest was loud.
He was flushed and panting, his lips swollen, his pupils blown as he stared at me.
I was breathing hard, my lungs heaving for air as I smiled at him.
“Crap.” He finally managed to get out a word.
My smile was wicked.
“You’re not supposed to kiss me at work.”
“You kissed me,” I reminded him.
“Crap,” he said again and swallowed hard as he straightened up, stepping away from me, obviously fighting to get his body back under control.
“You can nail me in your car.”
His frown came fast, and so did my grin.
“What?” I smiled wide.
“A Deputy US Marshal does not nail his spouse in the car.”
I arched an eyebrow for him. “Are you sure?”
He pointed at me. “I will take you home to our bed and nail you.”
“Oh yes, please.” I waggled my eyebrows for him.
“Just sit there,” he growled at me. “And wait while I get you signed out of here so we can go get the kids.”
“Not today, Marshal,” I told him.
He looked surprised. “You didn’t plan to pick up your children today?”
“No, your mom’s picking them up and then we’re going there for dinner.”
He squinted at me.
“You know she’s a planner,” I said cheerfully.
“Lemme get this straight,” he sighed. “We’re gonna be with them on a plane tomorrow, with them at a resort from Thursday to Saturday, and then with them again on a plane on Sunday coming home, but we’re still eating with them tonight because they won’t see us?”
“Your mom likes to coordinate and you know this, so just let it go.”
“Why?” He was annoyed.
“Why does she like to plan things or why are we indulging her?”
“The second one,” he grumbled. “Why do we do that?”
“Because we love her,” I said like it was obvious.
“No, screw that. I’m gonna call her and tell her we—”
“Why would you rock the boat? Why would you upset the delicate balance of all things Regina?”
I loved his mother, Regina Kage, with absolute abandon, and of everyone—her own children, their spouses, and all her grandchildren combined—she and I got along best. The reasons for that were twofold: first, because I’d never had a mother and craved one like a drug; second, and most of all, because I didn’t ever try to change her. We never fought; I allowed her to rearrange anything in my house she wanted, make suggestions on parenting—because really, her kids came out good, so where was the argument?—and most of all, when she fussed, whenever she fussed, I was at her disposal to lend a hand. We were good.
“Jory—”
“Let it go, Sam.”
He rolled his eyes, but we both knew he wouldn’t say a word. No one said a word to Regina Kage. We all did exactly as she wanted. She was the matriarch, after all.
“Seriously, though, we should cancel, you’re in no—”
“I’m fine, and besides, I think she had trip itineraries printed up, and I want to make sure to get mine.”
He was disgusted, but I got the smile I was after with the shake of his head, the you are too much and I give up one that I loved.
“So,” I said softly as my gaze skated over him. God, I loved looking at him. The broad shoulders that the suit jacket accentuated, the snug fit of the tailored dress shirt over his massive chest, and the stubble that covered his square, chiseled jaw even though he’d shaved that morning before work.
“What?” he asked, and his voice was husky as he stared at me.
“You’re gonna take me home?”
“Yes.”
“And stay with me?”
“Yeah. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
I stared into those eyes that I loved as much now as I had the first time he’d kissed me all those years ago. “You’re taking care of me again.”
He grunted and it was all male, all growly bear. “And?”
“And it’s nice.” I smiled at him, taking a loose hold of his tie.
He sighed and I got a trace of a smile. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
“Wait,” I said before he could leave.
“Why? What?”
“Come gimme kiss.”
“No.” He snorted out a laugh and then bent and kissed my forehead before he walked out of the room.
I was lost in thought, every brain cell I possessed absorbed with Sam Kage and what I was going to do to him with an afternoon alone, when my name was called.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
When I turned, there was a doctor there, and I registered almost instantly that it really wasn’t fair. He got to look like that and be brilliant? Normally you were smart or pretty, not both. He even had bright blue-green eyes. I noticed that because they were the exact shade of turquoise that I wanted when I was growing up. I had hated my brown eyes with a passion. Now things were different. My daughter and I had almost the same shade of deep chocolate brown with hints of gold, and the man who woke up in bed with me every morning never failed to mention that as eyes went, mine were his favorite color.
“Mr. Harcourt?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I flashed him a quick grin. “That’s me.”
“Hi.” He smiled warmly as he closed in, offering me his hand. “I’m Dr. Dwyer, and—”
“Jory, you—”
“Sam?”
My doctor called my man by his first name.
Sam stood there looking utterly gobsmacked.
Both men, my partner and the doctor, froze as they stood staring at each other.
What the hell…?
Doctor Dwyer had been interrupted by Sam’s return, and Sam had apparently been quite startled to see the doctor when he came charging back into the room.
I kept looking between them, feeling weirder by the second.
“Kevin,” Sam finally said.
The man took a step forward, and the smile, the light that hit his eyes, the shiver that ran through his long, lean swimmer’s frame, was not to be mistaken for anything other than absolute, quivering, pulse-pounding, blood-racing joy. Whoever he was, he was deliriously surprised and delighted to see Sam Kage.
I waited and realized that I had stopped breathing.
Who was this heavenly creature, this doctor who was looking at Sam like he was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his entire life?
“You….” Sam sucked in a breath. “What are you doing here?”
“Jesus,” the doctor gasped and rushed forward, arms lifted, ready to reach out and grab hold, reclaim.
Sam moved faster, meeting him and cutting him off, so basically, with his forward momentum halted, the good doctor was brought up short, almost to a jarring, lose-your-balance stop. Sam leaned, gave him the guy clench, tight-tight, then pushed off and back so Dr. Dwyer was basically left abandoned and bewildered, arms empty, looking lost.
“Nice to see you,” Sam said quickly, stepping close to the bed and taking my hand at the same time. “Jory, this is Dr. Kevin Dwyer. We met in Columbia when I was there working that drug bust after Dom went into witness protection. He was with Doctors Without Borders at that time. What are you doing here in Chicago?”
Years ago, Sam had left me recovering in the hospital to track down a drug cartel in Colombia on a tip from his corrupt partner. We had been apart for three years, and at some point he had met the good doctor.
Dr. Dwyer seriously looked like someone had punched him in the gut or run him over with a truck. It was hard to tell which better described him at that moment. “I,” he started but stopped, and then his eyes flicked to mine. “Jory?”
I smiled at him. “Yes.”
He nodded. “Sam told me all about you.”
And yet Sam had never, ever mentioned Kevin Dwyer to me. “Did you date?” I asked the doctor, because I didn’t mess around.
“Jor—”
“No,” he cut Sam off. “We lived together for three months.”
And my world imploded.
School and Rock by RJ Scott & VL Locey
One
Colorado
There were quite a few ways to wake up that ensured a day would be a good one.
Not being able to roll over due to the hot, nude bodies sharing a bed was one of my favorites, hands down. Speaking of hands…
I touched a thick leg, a thigh, quite hairy. Tossing my left hand outward, the back of my fingers rested on a substantial breast. I breathed in the smells of warm skin and sex, and rubbed my whiskery cheek against the firm belly my head was pillowed on. A little purr bubbled out of me when my nose bumped a soft cock. Shifting one leg back, I found a hard, muscular body with a meaty calf. I smiled as my eyes remained shut to block out the blazing Arizona sun. Three to one. Yeah, that sounded about right. Even though I was pan I did tend to prefer dudes. That didn’t make my orientation any less valid though. My bed and heart were open to all.
Taking a moment to center and listen to the gentle sounds of so many sleeping lovers, I let my mind wander to the party last night. It had been one hell of a blowout. My place had been packed with fans, groupies, my fellow musicians, and even a couple of the Raptors. The braver ones. A lot of the team shied away from the rock parties.
Which I respected. I didn’t do drugs and drink. Ever. I had few rules in my life but drugs and booze were totally off limits. If others wanted to toke up, snort a line, or dive into a bottle of Jack that was on them. Live and let live. My days were all about pleasure, penning songs, and playing hockey. Oh yeah, and the occasional party like last night’s…
The Chaotic Furballs had signed a record deal with Black Crack Records after the rep, Dilly Andrews, had wooed us fucking hard. And we were more than pumped to sign on the dotted line. Black Crack was one of the biggest and hottest recording companies on the metal scene. They’d risen from obscurity over the past two years by signing new hard rock bands that the other companies were scared to take on. While most places were lusting after K-Pop bands and anyone who sounded like Taylor Swift, Black Crack was all about the metal. They were my kind of people. The band was looking at a massive influx of cash and prestige, something we had worked our asses off for. Now that we’d signed, we’d have to produce. But all that had to wait for hockey to end after we’d just clinched a wild card slot in the playoffs. It was hard balancing two great loves. I’d have been hard-pressed to pick which I adored more, hockey or rock. Both were fundamental to my soul. Both were the most important things in my life. I wasn’t going to turn my back on my band or my team. A real man didn’t walk away from responsibility.
Whoever was playing my pillow was hungry. His belly rumbled in my ear. I kissed his navel, opened my eyes, and snickered to see it was Dilly whose stomach was making so much noise. Right, the record exec had wooed us hard and I’d fucked him twice as hard. And the pink-haired dude, and the blonde chick with the nice tits, and the big roadie who’d been carting drums for us over the past few months. Love was meant to be shared. I should’ve gotten that inked on my ass cheek.
“Rock and roll,” I mumbled, wiggling free of the arms and legs, knotted blankets, and stuffed emu tangled around a skinny dude with pink hair and the lone female in my bed. Pouting when I saw my stuffed Kricker— I missed my fucking emu, stupid wildlife laws— I stumbled around my bedroom naked. A warm wind blew through the open sliding doors carrying the heady scent of desert lavender. Nice.
I found my jeans, a retro pair with huge bell bottoms, and pulled them up over my bare ass. Then I spied the sheer zebra-print kimono the busty blonde sleeping under the roadie had worn last night. I pulled it on then padded out of my room on bare feet. The satiny robe rubbed my neck and I winced. Stopping by a mirror on the wall, I tipped my head to the right. The new ink I’d gotten last night was tender. The redness had gone down and the musical notes were fucking intense. My gaze fell to the tattoo of Kricker wearing a bowler hat on my pectoral.
“Always in my heart, bruh,” I mumbled then patted my chest.
As I ambled through my airy desert home I stopped to check on people, my bandmates in particular, who were all curled around a woman, or two, sleeping off their well-deserved celebrations. I was the only Furball who liked cock, or at least the only one who would freely admit it. Yawning and scratching my belly, I stopped to use the bathroom and stepped over a dude in a kilt sleeping with a red bong in one hand and a green dildo in the other.
“Looks like you had a good night,” I said then relieved myself, flushed, and washed my hands. I took a closer look at myself in the mirror, smiled at the man I saw, and then pattered downstairs, taking care to avoid the empty bottles of booze, a few random kegs, and assorted people I knew and didn’t know. Not to mention there was a drum set in the living room that someone had filled with water and the four fat koi from the cement pond out back. Sniggering at The Beverly Hillbillies reference, I cruised into the kitchen, blinked at the brightness, and glanced around for the electric tea kettle as I wondered where my phone had gone. I found the kettle in the fridge filled with prawns. My phone was sandwiched between the massive cookstove that I never used, and the counter.
“Dudes,” I sighed then washed out the kettle and turned it on.
I always started my day with two cups of ginseng tea sweetened with honey. It was one of a dozen things that my grandmother Alchemy did every morning that I’d incorporated into my routines. Most of my grandmother’s habits were pretty righteous and aimed at taming the beast inside my breast. I missed her company but she was living in Vermont now, heading a co-op of hippie seniors. Soon as hockey was over and the band had laid down some tracks, I was heading to Vermont— the land of Ben & Jerry’s.
While the kettle heated, I dropped my phone into the charger and whispered, “Alexa, play ‘Dude (Looks Like a Lady) by Aerosmith’ on the whole house system. Volume setting concert level.”
I threw my head back, spun in a circle, and started belting along with my idol Steven Tyler. My voice was similar to his, and my stage screams were close. Not that anyone could possibly recreate the majesty of his voice, of course. Shaking my ass through Joe Perry’s guitar solo— if I had a fucking buck for every time I spanked my meat to the fantasy of being wedged between Tyler and Perry I’d own the motherfucking Grand Canyon— I sang along as I filled a mug with hot water, dunked my tea bag, and stirred in some clover honey that Alchemy had sent me last week.
I got a sip in when I thought I heard the doorbell ring. Hard to tell with Aerosmith rocking so loud the windows were humming, but it sounded like the bell. I jumped over two half-naked Asian dudes sleeping on the Italian marble in the foyer curled around each other like a couple of cats. Dio’s “Holy Diver” fired up next. I dropped to my knees, silky kimono fluttering out like wings, and offered up a rock prayer to the dearly departed legend.
The guys behind me giggled. I gave them a wink and then passed my tea along to them to warm themselves before getting to my bare feet and yanking the door open. I expected to see a dude with a brown truck asking me to sign for a delivery. Furball fans and Raptors backers were always mailing me shit. I looked out at the sweeping driveway but there was nothing to be seen but cactus, a roadrunner, and a well-tended flower garden that I never paid any attention to. Gardeners took care of it, just like a cleaning service would come in after I was on the plane to tidy up the house. My agent took care of all that. Who had time?
“Colorado, we’re cold,” one of the dudes— they might have been twins— behind me called in a sing-song voice.
Assuming someone from the party had pranked my ass, I was about to slam the heavy front door shut and warm up the two chilly groupies when a small little mewl, like that of a kitten, drew my attention downward. Thank all the fucking gods I’d passed along that scalding cup of tea to those guys. My whole mental state went blank as I gaped at the tiny baby staring up at me from within its carrier-tote thing. It had a big head with soft, dark peach fuzz and blue eyes. It was all in pink so I figured it was a girl, but why not be more gender-neutral? Come on people. The edge of an envelope stuck out from the base of the carrier, so I wiggled it free.
“Yo,” I said to the baby. It gurgled. “Where’s your mother, little person? Is she around back sleeping it off with Buick? He’s into MILF’s.” Drummers were horn dogs. Proven fact. Just like goalies are weird. I totally owned my shit.
Ripping open the wrinkled letter as a breeze ruffled my stolen kimono and the baby’s soft fuzz, I sat down cross-legged beside the infant and shook open the incredibly short missive.
Colorado,This baby is yours. I named her after my grandmothers Madeline and Celeste.
My gaze flicked to the kid chewing on her fingers. “Grandmothers are cool,” I told her and she gabbled around her fist. I gave her a lopsided smile then the first line of the note sank in and my gut flipped. I focused back to the note written in purple pen.
Raise her well. You can afford her, I can’t. Next time use a condom you slutty man whore.One of a thousand
“Shit,” I whispered, the note fluttering off in the morning wind. Madeline Celeste and I started at each other for a millisecond. Then I dove into what could only be described as a major freak-out. Like I lost it biblically. Snapping up the carrier with the baby I then raced back into the house, a banging tune by Tenacious D blaring throughout the sixty-seven thousand square foot Mediterranean-style mansion. The baby, Madeline, began wailing, which really didn’t do a damn thing for my mental state or Jack Black’s ripping vocals. The twins took one look at me and the screaming infant and melted into the shadows.
I raced into the kitchen, placed the baby on the counter, barked at Alexa to shut the hell up, and then pounced on my phone. There was no way to be sure Madeline was mine without a blood test, but she had some impressive pipes so maybe she was my kid. Although she had blue eyes and mine were a greenish-brown hazel so maybe she wasn’t?
I called Alchemy but her answering machine— honestly, who the hell used an answering machine anymore other than hippie octogenarians— informed me she was on a spirit quest and would not return to this realm until Friday so please leave a message.
In lieu of saying anything, I held out my phone so she could hear my kid… the kid… screaming bloody murder. Allegedly my kid. Right. Allegedly. No proof. Just a letter from someone who thought they were a member of the Borg collective. One of a thousand. Did she hang out with Seven of Nine?
Colorado, stop with the Star Trek shit and focus on the problem before I kick your fucking ass.
“So yeah, this is happening. Can you please call me when you’ve returned to your mortal shell?!” I shouted at my grandmother then immediately felt terrible. “Sorry, just a bit stressed. Please call me, okay. I really need to talk to you. Love. Peace out. Oh my shit, she’s like red in the face!”
I hung up, unfastened the little belt holding the raging baby in the carrier, and slid a hand under her. Recalling holding a teammate’s new baby at a social function last month, I cradled Madeline’s head and placed her against my chest. She quieted instantly. Snot and drool coated my shoulder. Not that I was freaked out by that. Life wasn’t worth living if you didn’t have some sort of bodily fluid on your skin.
“Okay, yeah good,” I mumbled, rocking side to side as I made another frantic call. “Yeah, that’s a good girl. Not everyone can relate to Tenacious D in the bright and early. Come on, Vlad, pick up the mother… loving phone before I— Vlad! Oh man, I have a small issue here. Like, really small. Maybe seven pounds and… no, dude, it is not a baby emu. It’s a baby.” Madeline nuzzled my collarbone, sucking madly. Shit. Was she hungry? When had she eaten last? What kind of person dropped a kid off at the door of a notorious asshole rock and roll goalie without some grub? “What do you feed a baby? What? No, dude, I told you it’s not a baby animal. Seriously? Why would I buy a tiger cub? Okay, yeah, it would be cool and does kind of sound like something I’d do. I’ll grant you that one. Vlad, listen, some chick dropped a baby off at my front door and— Yes! A real baby. A human baby. Note said it’s mine.”
My whiskery cheek rested on her soft head as we waltzed around the kitchen. She smelled good, like sunshine and warm kitten fur. A rush of Russian flowed into the room from Vlad. I rolled my eyes as we danced around my phone lying on the counter. All I’d wanted was some tea, some food, maybe one quick round with the four people still snoozing in my bed, and a shower before I left for the airport. Was that asking too—?
“Stay there. I will be over quickly,” Vlad said then hung up.
The panic attack backed off a bit, just enough to jar me into motion. Someone in this mansion had to know what to do for a baby. Every chick I woke up to feed Madeline got super pissy and called me a sexist asshole for asking only women how to care for a baby. Who was I going to ask? Buick? My best buddy in the band could barely feed himself let alone an infant. A mewling, whining baby cleared out the house fast. I suspected she may have shit herself as well if the stench I was smelling was coming from her and not my unwashed skanky man whore ass. I was never so happy to see the arrival of my team captain in my whole life. I was less happy to see Coach Carmichael and his boyfriend.
“Dude, why the hell did you call them?” I barked at Vlad as soon as they entered the house.
“He called because I’m your head coach,” Coach C snapped.
Mark, one of the owners of the Raptors, slid between us with bags of stuff dangling from his fingers. “Take these,” he said and reached to take Madeline from me. I jerked to the side, holding her little body tightly to my chest. Mark gave me a look that screamed irritation. “Take the bags. There’s formula, bottles, and diapers for her.”
I glanced from Vlad to Coach to Westman-Reid while my… Madeline nuzzled my clavicle.
“Thanks.” I hooked the shopping bags on my fingers then carried Madeline into the white living room. There were two. One was white and the other was… sort of an off-white.
“What the hell happened in here?” Coach asked as I laid the baby on a loveseat and sat there staring at her. She really stank.
“We signed a record deal and got a wild card slot,” I replied as Madeline stared holes into my soul.
“Ah, did you party all night?” Mark asked in a tone that immediately sent his comment to my mental trash bin. The owners had never liked me. There were days I wasn’t sure Coach did, but he’d headhunted me, so here I was, in all my Penn family glory.
“I’m clean. I’ll go piss in a jar when we arrive in Vegas, but right now the band and the team kind of take a back seat, yeah?” They all nodded sheepishly. Vlad muttered something about calling Child Services just as I’d worked up the courage to unsnap the tiny pink sleeper Madeline was wearing to check for a diaper disaster. The stench that rolled up from inside her sleeper made us all choke. “No,” I said as my eyes watered and Coach took a step back. “We are not sending my kid to foster care.”
“Colorado, you don’t know she’s yours,” Coach pointed out. I gagged a bit. How could a person so small make such a massive stink? “We’re due in Nevada in five hours for the first round of the playoffs. You cannot travel with that baby. The wise thing to do would be to call Child Services, have the blood test, and if you’re determined to be the father then you can search for the mother. Don’t shake your head, there are legalities that need to be—”
“No. I am not turning my back on her. She’s mine until it’s proven otherwise. Good parents do not leave their kids for other people to raise!” I yelled.
Coach glowered but he didn’t call me out. Mark and Vlad stood in the distance like golems for several seconds until Westman-Reid said something that was actually useful.
“My sisters-in-law use nannies all the time. They might be able to help us out.” Mark glanced around. I nodded. Coach nodded. Vlad nodded. “Okay, so change that diaper and we’ll figure out the formula so she can eat.”
Mark turned his back on us while he rang up a sister-in-law. I peeled open the diaper, just one side, and drew back in total horror. Coach and Vlad left the room like Satan was nipping at their balls. Madeline kicked and giggled.
“Yeah, you think it’s funny but it ain’t,” I mumbled as my eyes watered. “I got you though, baby girl.”
Raven's Hart by Davidson King
A light tap caught my attention, and I looked up to see Tony and Snow standing there. Snow, ever his curious self, was looking up, down, and around, absorbing it all, never to forget.
“Thank you, Tony, I’d like to speak with Snow alone, and then perhaps, if he has further questions pertaining to security and what you know, the two of you can talk later.”
“Okay, holler if you need me.” He smiled at Snow who nodded, and then left the room.
It wasn’t so much an uncomfortable silence as it was worrisome. Snow wasn’t a quiet person. He spoke up for everything he believed in, and on many occasions, gave me a good tongue lashing. To see him walking through my office and not making eye contact with me was jarring.
“Snow?” He jumped when I spoke but turned my way. “Would you like a drink?”
He chuckled, but it held very little humor. “What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?”
Ahh, so he was having trouble with all this. Understandable. I walked over to the small cart with some beverages and poured us each a Jack and ginger ale. I knew he didn’t like drinking because of his father, but he wasn’t kidding that he wanted a drink.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the drink and sipped it. “So, this is really weird.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Did you read my note?”
He rolled his eyes at my obviously stupid question. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. You have Jason Momoa over there come to my house, tell me he can’t say much but to read this thing and to follow him. You’re lucky Christopher wasn’t home, or Bill for that matter, or I wouldn’t have been able to sweet talk Donny into trusting my life choices and going with Aquaman.”
“Thank you, Tony, I’d like to speak with Snow alone, and then perhaps, if he has further questions pertaining to security and what you know, the two of you can talk later.”
“Okay, holler if you need me.” He smiled at Snow who nodded, and then left the room.
It wasn’t so much an uncomfortable silence as it was worrisome. Snow wasn’t a quiet person. He spoke up for everything he believed in, and on many occasions, gave me a good tongue lashing. To see him walking through my office and not making eye contact with me was jarring.
“Snow?” He jumped when I spoke but turned my way. “Would you like a drink?”
He chuckled, but it held very little humor. “What’s the strongest thing you’ve got?”
Ahh, so he was having trouble with all this. Understandable. I walked over to the small cart with some beverages and poured us each a Jack and ginger ale. I knew he didn’t like drinking because of his father, but he wasn’t kidding that he wanted a drink.
“Thanks,” he said as he took the drink and sipped it. “So, this is really weird.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Did you read my note?”
He rolled his eyes at my obviously stupid question. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. You have Jason Momoa over there come to my house, tell me he can’t say much but to read this thing and to follow him. You’re lucky Christopher wasn’t home, or Bill for that matter, or I wouldn’t have been able to sweet talk Donny into trusting my life choices and going with Aquaman.”
Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called "the Agatha Christie of gay mystery."
Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
Josh is married and they live in Southern California.Her work has been translated into eleven languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. In 2016 Fatal Shadows placed #5 in Japan's annual Boy Love novel list (the first and only title by a foreign author to place on the list).
The Adrien English Series was awarded All Time Favorite Male Male Couple in the 2nd Annual contest held by the Goodreads M/M Group (which has over 22,000 members). Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.
C.S. Poe is a Lambda Literary and two-time EPIC award finalist, and a FAPA award-winning author of gay mystery, romance, and speculative fiction.
She resides in New York City, but has also called Key West and Ibaraki, Japan, home in the past. She has an affinity for all things cute and colorful and a major weakness for toys. C.S. is an avid fan of coffee, reading, and cats. She’s rescued two cats—Milo and Kasper do their best to distract her from work on a daily basis.
C.S. is an alumna of the School of Visual Arts.
Her debut novel, The Mystery of Nevermore, was published 2016.
Mary Calmes lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor's degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will so not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Davidson King, always had a hope that someday her daydreams would become real-life stories. As a child, you would often find her in her own world, thinking up the most insane situations. It may have taken her awhile, but she made her dream come true with her first published work, Snow Falling.
When she's not writing you can find her blogging away on Diverse Reader, her review and promotional site. She managed to wrangle herself a husband who matched her crazy and they hatched three wonderful children.
If you were to ask her what gave her the courage to finally publish, she'd tell you it was her amazing family and friends. Support is vital in all things and when you're afraid of your dreams, it will be your cheering section that will lift you up.
Josh Lanyon
SMASHWORDS / iTUNES / BOOKBUB
EMAIL: josh.lanyon@sbcglobal.net
CS Poe
FB GROUP / GOOGLE PLAY / B&N
KOBO / PAYHIP / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: contact@cspoe.com
Mary Calmes
EMAIL: mmcalmes@hotmail.com
Davidson King
EMAIL: davidsonkingauthor@yahoo.com
But for You by Mary Calmes
School and Rock by RJ Scott & VL Locey
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