Текст книги "Family Love"

Автор книги: Liz Crowe

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She molded herself against him, the most natural feeling in the world to her then. When he turned them so her back was against the barn wall, she reached down and put her palm right on his zipper, breathless at what she felt there. He groaned into her mouth and lifted her hand to his neck all the while turning her world inside out with his kiss.

Finally, breathing heavily, he cupped her cheek and broke their lip lock, leaving her hungry for more. She grabbed his belt loops and tried to get him to press against her again. His lips, dear Lord in heaven, the man’s lips were perfect and delicious, firm, yet soft, and in command as he trailed them down her neck to the open space right above her breasts. He cupped one, briefly, then dropped his hand and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I won’t do this,” he whispered. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” she demanded, her body in full overdrive now. Every nerve and synapse she possessed was on fire with need for this man. He ran his warm palms down her arms, then up, teasing her in a way that made her crazy.

“Please. I want … you. I want this. Now.” She took his hand and pressed it to her breast, then started unbuttoning her shirt. “Oh, God, Anton.” His breathing was fast and harsh as he watched her. Then he stepped away, his dark eyes shining in the barn’s deep gloom. Once she had her shirt open, she reached around and unhooked her bra.

“No,” he said, his voice harsh and loud in the empty barn. “Stop it, right now.”

She slid her shirt off her arms and let her bra fall to the floor, stepping toward him. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” She pulled him with her into an empty stall, grappling with his zipper, beyond eager now. Her need was so great it roared in her ears, deafening her.

He grabbed her hands and held her at arm’s length.

“What is the matter with you? You don’t want this?” She lifted his now-shaking hand to her bare breast, putting the other one to her cheek.

“I do,” he croaked, making her shiver with the pass of his thumb over her peaked nipple. “But I won’t take you here, like a … damn barn hand in the hay.” He ducked around her and picked up her bra and shirt, handing them to her while keeping his gaze on the floor.

She took them, heart racing, skin tingling, anger filling her chest. “Who cares where it is? You want me and I need this.” She cupped the bulge at his zipper, biting her lip at the marvel of it.

“I care, Lindsay,” he said, his voice firm now. “Get dressed and go on home. I need some sleep.”

“We’re not done here,” she whispered, pulling him close once she had herself put together again. “Kiss me again. Please?”

He nodded and let his finger trace her lips once before doing as she asked. When he ended the kiss, she felt strangely close to tears. He cradled her face between his work-roughened palms.

“No, Lindsay. We are done here. You’re getting married, and I’m not gonna do this, much as I want to.” He dropped his arms and stepped away from her, his face a mask of neutrality.

But she knew better. She could practically read his mind now.

“You won’t let him take this,” she said, grabbing his hand and placing it between her legs while she draped her other arm around his neck, keeping him close. “Please, Anton. I want you to.” She licked his neck, loving the combination of flavors on his skin. He pressed his fingers against her before pushing her away gently, but with resolve.

“Don’t make this worse than it already is,” he said, before turning and running off into the gloom, leaving her breathless and needy, eager and unfulfilled and miserable, alone in the barn among the horses.

Chapter Eight

Lindsay went into shutdown mode the week before her wedding. After a week in which she had begged, pleaded, screamed, cried, slammed doors, and broken perfectly good china from her hordes of gifts, the path of least resistance seemed her only alternative. Everything she’d done had only hardened her mother further, made her determined to not only get Lindsay married off, but also to get “those Italians” off her property.

Lindsay’s father had remained mostly absent, unwilling to engage his wife’s increasingly vehement insistence on firing the best set of stable managers he’d had since his beloved Patrick turned seventy and claimed he couldn’t handle the workload anymore. Lindsay refused to eat with the family, so she went a solid week not seeing anyone but Nellie, who brought her meals, and her brothers, who brought her news.

By rehearsal day, the weather had turned oppressively hot and humid, with dark clouds roiling on the horizon every day, threatening violence but never producing. Lindsay lay under the turning ceiling fan, rigid with fury and barely contained restlessness. Her boycott of all things Halloran had, of course, meant she had to neglect her animals, which was making her nuts, especially since Frank had told her Daisy’s foot had lamed up bad and they’d called a vet.

“She’s pining for you, Linds,” he’d said to her as she lay on her side facing away from him. “You really need to at least come down and—”

“She’ll be fine,” Lindsay had said as tears rolled down her face. “I’ll see her in a few days.”

“Well, Zelda has lost her dang mind. I tried to take her out for exercise this morning, and she took a hunk out of my hat and nearly pinned me in the corner of her stall before Tony heard me yelling and calmed her.”

Lindsay had smiled at that, for more reasons that one. “So they’re still here? Lorenzo and … um … Tony?”

“Not for much longer,” he said. “I gotta go. Want me to take your food?”

“I don’t care.” She’d pulled the cover over her head until he left.

Only Nellie—one of the few adults in her life she actually respected—had been able to get her up, into a shower and her rehearsal dinner dress, stockings and shoes.

“Here, drink this,” she said after she’d arranged Lindsay’s thick auburn hair into an appropriately fancy up-do. Lindsay stared at herself in the mirror, touching her bright red lips, her exposed shoulders, the nape of her neck. “Go on, quick, before your mama sees me giving you liquor.” Nellie was holding a thimbleful of amber liquid and glancing nervously over her shoulder.

Lindsay grabbed the heavy crystal decanter she recognized from her father’s supply in his study from Nellie’s other hand. Without a word, she removed the top and swallowed a mouthful, then another, straight from the decanter. Nellie watched, her dark eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a disapproving line. Lindsay wiped her fingers across her mouth, forgetting she would smear her lipstick until it was too late. With a shrug, Nellie downed the small portion she’d poured, grabbed tissues, and began repairing Lindsay’s makeup.

An hour later, Lindsay sat in the massive formal living room of her childhood home, warmed from the inside thanks to two more healthy pulls from her daddy’s bourbon. Frozen in place, rendered immobile, and disoriented by the past days’ worth of hunger strike and isolation, she kept her fingers interlaced tight in her lap while she waited for her brother to drive her to the Methodist Church where, in less than twenty hours’ time, she’d become Missus William Scott. Her mother had already gone ahead. Any excuse, Lindsay knew, to avoid her. She assumed her father would be there at some point. He did have giving away duties to perform.

A tear slid down her cheek. She let it drop onto her lap. When she heard the car horn, she got up, smoothed the skirt of the deep violet shantung dress, and walked out the front door. The heat smacked in her in the face like a wet towel. Sweat prickled along her upper lip. Frank got out and opened the passenger’s side door with a courtly flourish. She stood, staring at him, her heart pounding so loud she figured they could hear it.

“Come on baby sister,” JR called from behind the wheel. He kept his eyes trained on the windshield. “Doesn’t pay to be late to your wedding rehearsal.”

Once they arrived, Lindsay got out of her brother’s car and ascended the long flight of marble steps to the church door. The usual sights and sounds seemed distant, muffled, as she joined her passel of giggly girlfriends, led by Kathy. They threw open the doors and pulled her inside, handing her a fake bouquet created from a paper plate and the bows off of her bridal tea gifts. Lindsay let herself be dragged into the fray, told what to do, where to stand, how to walk.

By the time her father showed up, he reeked of whiskey, and his face was flushed in a way that made her mother’s lips turn down even farther. Lindsay barely acknowledged his boozy smell, thanks to the fact that Frank had sneaked into the bridal room with a fifth of bourbon that she allowed him to pass around to the girls, most of whom refused it with prim blushes and fingers pressed to their lips. She’d grabbed it and sucked down a huge swallow, coughing and spluttering when it hit her throat, then taking another one, much to everyone’s consternation

“What’re you staring at?” she’d muttered to Kathy as she stood there, wobbly, dizzy, hungry and miserable.

Kathy had grabbed her right elbow and motioned for another friend to take her left and they’d guided her out into the large, echoing vestibule where her father stood. He wasn’t alone. Her mother was there, in mid-stream about the whole Italian “barn help thing.”

“Give it a rest, Mama,” Lindsay said, coming up behind her and smiling at her daddy, who seemed relieved to see her. “Go on now, mothers process first.”

She turned to see Will’s mama, glaring at their little tableau. “Oh, hello, Mama Scott. I was telling my Daddy how very happy I am to be so close to my weddin’ night. You know what I mean.” She winked. The woman’s face flushed so red Lindsay thought she might have sent her into heart-attack territory.

Her father grabbed her arm. “Knock it off, young lady.” His words sent a boozy rush of air into her face. She jerked her arm out of his grip.

“Let’s get this over with,” she declared, taking her gift-bow bouquet and nodding at Kathy. After Frank and JR escorted the mothers down the aisle, her friends did their processing. She stood, gripping her father’s elbow, sweaty, and well on her way to being roaring drunk.

He patted her hand. “It’s gonna be just fine, honey. I promise.”

She kept her gaze straight ahead. “No, Daddy. It won’t.”

The wedding march boomed out from the huge organ. She looked down the middle aisle and spotted Will in a nice suit and tie, looking just about as miserable as she felt. His friends were all lined up alongside him.

She swallowed hard. “Don’t make me,” she whispered. Her father sighed. They started walking.

***

The rehearsal dinner was held at The Grove, a lovely old mansion transformed into an expensive bed and breakfast and banquet hall. It was about a thirty-minute drive there, which was spent in complete silence in the car she shared with her brothers. At one point, Frank passed her the nearly empty flask, which she polished off in two quick sips.

“What happened to them, to … Tony and Lorenzo?” The alcohol gave her the nerve to ask. JR glared at her while he waited at a stoplight.

“They’re to be gone by tomorrow at four p.m.”

Four p.m. The exact moment of her wedding. She closed her eyes and slumped against the car door. She almost fell onto the pavement when Frank opened the door. Steeling herself, she walked through the gracious foyer, accepting congratulations from the staff and keeping an eye out for Will. She didn’t see him until they sat at their appointed places, in the middle of a long table that faced out onto a room set with eight round ones. Their parents sat on either side of them. Friends and others invited to this pre-game warm-up, as she kept referring to it in her head, filled the rest of the room. Waiters poured wine. Food materialized. She stared at her plate while sucking down two glasses of wine.

At one point, Will leaned into her ear. “You think getting drunk is gonna make this better?”

She turned and studied him. He looked unhappy as he downed his glass and raised it for more. But his expression morphed into something different while he waited, staring at her—something with a hard edge to it that made her nervous.

“Eat, Lindsay,” he said, turning to stare out at the crowd. “You’re gonna need your strength.”

She tried, and managed a few bites of the filet mignon and delicate scalloped potatoes, plus a few green beans. Will kept glancing at her, but didn’t say anything else. Finally, the toasts were given and the dessert plates cleared. She stood to go to the ladies’ room and nearly fell over her shoes in the process.

Will eyed her, but didn’t comment. Her mother glared. Her father kept drinking his own booze. She hid out in the restroom, crying a little, cursing a lot, and wondering how in the hell she might escape.

When she emerged, Will had left, presumably for the bachelor party ritual. She sighed and let Frank and JR guide her to the car and drive her home again in total silence. When he pulled up to the front door, she got out and without a word or a backward glance, started down the hill to the barns.

“Hey!” JR yelled. She heard Frank say something to him she couldn’t hear, but assumed was about leaving her alone. It wouldn’t have mattered. She was not about to go into that house now.

Stumbling and weaving, she made her way into the common area between the barns, and shoved open the door to reveal bright lights and a couple of men she didn’t recognize at first standing at Daisy’s stall. When she didn’t immediately see the tall, gray horse, her heart sank. She kicked off her shoes, runs in her stockings be damned, and dashed over.

Someone stepped in front of her right before she reached them, grabbing her arms and forcing her to stop. “Get off me,” she demanded, struggling to break free. But he didn’t let go. She glared into Anton’s deep brown eyes. “Let go of me. I need to check on my horse.”

“No, Lindsay. You don’t.” His deep voice sounded serious.

“Damn you,” she let herself relax. When he did the same, she wrenched herself away and ducked under his arm. Shoving the strange men aside, she glared into the empty stall, ears ringing. “What have you done with my prize horse?” she screamed at the men. “Daisy.” She pointed to the empty hay. “Where is she?”

She knew where Daisy was, of course. Anton tried to pull her away, but she lashed out at him, punching, kicking, and yelling. The barn seemed to dim. He kept pulling until she was in the circle of his arms, sobbing into his neck, clutching his shirt.

While she’d spent the last two weeks whining and pouting and breaking things, her horse, her Daisy, her champion, had been suffering. She stepped away, hugging herself. “Why … why … didn’t anyone tell me?”

Anton dropped his arms to his sides. “I told them to,” he said. “But I guess it didn’t make it past your mother.”

They stood staring at each other for a solid minute. The booze sloshing around in Lindsay’s system made itself known in a quick gush of nausea. “My … mother.”

He nodded, crossing his arms. He was not wearing a Halloran Farms labeled shirt tonight. “I want to see her, Daisy. Where did they take her?”

“She’s gone, Lindsay. You don’t need to see her.”

“I’ll be the one to decide what I need. She’s my horse.”

“She’s dead. She’s gone. Drop it and go up to the house.”

Chapter Nine

Lindsay opened her mouth with a retort when Zelda’s loud neigh cut her off at the same second a bright blue flash of lightning lit the interior of the barn. The thunderclap came an instant later, and so loud Lindsay felt as if it had exploded from her chest.

Anton’s face was fully visible again in the second flash of light. He looked devastated, yet resolved. She shoved her way past him and grabbed Zelda’s tack. The horse had calmed the second she caught sight of Lindsay, letting the girl prepare her for a seeming ride into the storm.

“Stop,” Anton called out above the thunderclap, which was quickly followed by the rain pounding on the barn roof. She jumped into the saddle while they were still in the barn, knowing better, but no longer caring.

Anton stepped in front of her, making Zelda rear up in alarm.

Lindsay held on tight, her mind blanking out the danger she was creating.

“God damn it.” Anton tried to grab for Zelda’s bridle, but Lindsay jerked Zelda’s head to the side, another thing she should never do to a horse with as sensitive a mouth as this one had.

“Lindsay!”

She heard him calling her name, but Zelda bucked then, protesting her mistress’s rough handling, and it took Lindsay a few seconds to calm her. She stroked her warm neck, staring out into the deluge.

“Let’s go,” she whispered. Zelda bobbed her head, excited but reluctant. “Go,” she said, digging her heels in. The horse pounded through the puddles and out toward the open field.

“Lindsay, stop!” Anton’s voice filled her ears, but she no longer listened to anyone. She was through being manipulated by people who claimed they cared about her. The sound of the hoofbeats, thunderclaps, and the rain hitting her skin combined to trigger the sort of exhilaration she’d not experienced in years, maybe ever. She laughed out loud and leaned in closer to Zelda’s neck, urging her on, fast, faster. But the fearless horse required zero encouragement.

They hit the open pasture and flew across the wet grass. Lightning flashed non-stop. The very air was saturated with electricity and noise and violence. It made her laugh even louder. But she sobbed even as she acknowledged how completely insane she must be. Weeping for herself, for what she’d have to face when she returned to her life, wet, muddy, and sure to be torn to shreds by her mama’s vicious tongue. And for her horse, Daisy, who’d suffered all alone.

Anton.

Anton would be gone.

When a fork of lightning hit the ground in front of them, Zelda reared up with a loud cry of terror. Lindsay held on tight, using every muscle she had to keep from tumbling off and hitting her head, and very possibly under the full weight of her horse if she couldn’t get her balance. She dismounted to one side, gripping Zelda’s reins and trying to calm her.

Rain blinded her. Thunder deafened her. She was screaming now, trying to be heard over the weather and the horse’s wild neighing. Within minutes, the huge animal had calmed, but her nostrils kept flaring and she trembled all over.

Guilt over putting her one remaining horse in direct danger washed over her. “I’m sorry,” she said into Zelda’s warm neck. “I’m sorry!” she screamed up to the sky, letting the rain pelt her upturned face. “I can’t.” Her throat hurt. Her chest ached. She was shaking as much as Zelda while they stood huddled together.

The sound of loud galloping made her brush her dripping hair off her face. A figure was approaching fast on one of the farm’s quarter horses. She couldn’t make him out at first, and figured it was Frank, the only brother who gave a rip about her.

“Come on,” a deep, gravelly voice boomed. “Get on and follow me. Hurry.”

She nodded and mounted the slippery saddle, patting Zelda’s neck to encourage her to go forward, to not stay still and hope the terrible noises and cold rain would stop. Finally, as though she trusted the man on the horse in front of her, Zelda trotted after him, picking up speed when he did. Lindsay focused on Anton’s broad shoulders, staying close enough that he was visible in the downpour. She didn’t care where they went, as long as it wasn’t back to the Halloran barns.

They rode alongside the Lucas River for a while. Then, from one moment to the next, the rain was gone, though Lindsay’s ears still rang from the cacophony. She shook her head and clucked for Zelda to follow Anton across the river at a shallow point, amazed when the animal obeyed. She’d tried to cross here before with no luck.

When they emerged from woods, they were on the outskirts of downtown Lucasville, the small burg to the south of her family’s farm. The horses skittered on the asphalt, but Zelda kept following Anton’s lead. He stopped at the edge of Main Street and dismounted close to a small building behind the main one. Throwing open the doors, he led the quarter horse in and gestured for Lindsay to follow him. She did, marveling at how sober she felt in spite of all the booze she’d guzzled that day.

It was warm in the building, and it had a funny, yeasty smell, akin to bread baking. There were wooden barrels stacked floor to ceiling along one wall, and a few bales of hay along the other. Wincing when she heard the wind pick up speed, she led Zelda to where her barn mate stood.

Anton whistled, two low quick notes, and Zelda’s ears perked up. She jerked her reins out of Lindsay’s wet hands and walked over to Anton, who was holding out a carrot. Once both animals had calmed, Lindsay wrung out her sopping hair and dropped onto a hay bale. Anton joined her, holding two brown, unlabeled bottles. She took one, clinked to his, and drank. The rich, honey-flavored beer surprised her.

“Wow,” she said, putting her nose close to it to see if she’d imagined the honey thing. But she smelled it, along with a citrus-tinged astringency. “Nice work. Assume it’s another one of yours.”

“Yep,” he said, tipping up his bottle for another drink.

“Not a bad hobby, then.” Something about this strangely peaceful moment, both of them soaked to their skins, the whole place reeking of wet horse and a tang of danger, comforted her.

“Not so much a hobby I’d guess.” He pushed his ratty cowboy hat up off his forehead. His grin shone in the dim light. “Take a look at that.” He pointed to a bunch of stainless steel kegs near the door, next to the tall stacks of wooden ones.

She got up to see what he was talking about. There was a large, red, oval-shaped label on every one of the metal containers. She squinted to see the words “Love Bros. Brewing Co.” superimposed on a giant heart with an arrow through it. “Lucasville. The Heart of Kentucky.”

Frowning, she turned to find him right behind her. She took a breath. “These.” She pointed to the kegs and the stacks of barrels. “All this.” She swept her arms wide open. “It’s yours?”

“Well, yeah, but this is just storage.” He slid the door open about a foot, letting wind-blown rain patter onto the concrete floor. “That’s the brewery up there.” He jerked his chin up toward the building that fronted the main street. It was lit, she could tell, but the parking lot was empty.

“A brewery,” she said, savoring the word. “How?

“My uncle Dom won a bundle at two races last year. He’s sort of a drunk, and has little use for that much money, so my oldest brother Leo talked him into a kitchen table loan. He and I have been brewing for …” He stopped and scratched his head. “Oh, at least ten years between us. It’s our dream.”

“Your dream is to make beer,” she said, trying not to sound incredulous.

“Yeah, but not any old beer. This kind of beer.” He held up the bottle. “Great beer. Unique beer. Beer you go out of your way to find and drink, to have with the right kind of food.”

She stared at him, noting how his eyes sparkled as he gazed up at his dream that was apparently coming true. “Wow. That’s pretty … great.” She sipped, standing next to him, their shoulders almost but not quite touching.

“Don’t marry him.” His low, firm voice shocked her.

She blinked, thinking she must have misheard. But he turned, took the beer from her and gathered her close, filling every one of her senses with all that was Anton, all she’d been fantasizing about for weeks. His lips hovered over hers, tempting. She put her arms around his waist, sure of what she wanted right then.

“Why not?” She smiled at the look on his face—a combination of lust and resolve.

“Because you’re going to marry me.”

“I’ll drive you insane. I’m spoiled. I can’t cook a lick. I don’t know if you can—”

But his lips shut her up. They were soft at first, then firm when he went deep, not letting her go, closing her mind and heart to anything that wasn’t of him, of Anton. Anton Dominic Love.

Gasping, he stopped and dropped his arms. On fire with a need that almost hurt, she moved closer, tracing her fingertip across his stubbled jaw to his lips.

He closed his eyes and grabbed her hand, kissing the palm. “I love you, Lindsay. God help me, but I do.”

She bit her lip. Love was not a word she’d had occasion to use very often. She wasn’t even sure she understood its full meaning yet or if she could associate it with this man. “I … I don’t know what to say.” She circled his neck with her arms and snuggled close, feeling every inch of him, including the press against her hip of something she wanted. “I don’t know what to do, either, Anton. Will you show me? Please?”

He kissed her again, cupping her breast through the sopping wet, now-ruined dress. Fumbling, unsure and yet somehow sure, she reached for his belt, keeping their lips locked, loving his touch and wanting to finish it. To do the deed, but not with Will, with Anton.

“Not here,” he said with a sigh, grabbing her hand before she could get him unzipped. “I won’t do this here.”

“Then where?” She was practically panting. She felt on fire, burning up, aching and empty and confused. “There is no place else.”

He bracketed her face between his rough hands. She stared into his eyes and sensed something in her melting. Tears ran down her face. “I don’t know if I love you. But I … I …”

“Shh …” He kissed her softly then let her go, wincing and adjusting his zipper in a way that fascinated her. “We should take the horses home. Storm’s passed.” He slid the door open wider so the remaining rain could cool their faces.

She turned to study him. His shirt was molded to his body, hugging his torso, and making her mouth water.

“I don’t want to go home. I’m never going home. Shut the door.”

He shook his head. “No, Lindsay, don’t be childish.”

The rage she’d been holding off for days came roaring out of her, ripping at her throat as she shrieked and slammed the door. She turned, chest heaving, staring at him while she took hold of the drenched silk dress and yanked it off her shoulders to the floor. Stepping out of it, she shed her panties, stockings, and bra, all the while watching his eyes widen and his mouth drop open.

Finally she stood in front of him, naked as the day she was born. She reached for him, pulling him close by a belt loop. Quickly she unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped him. But when she reached for his shorts, he stayed her hand. “It’s not like I’m this, uh, expert or anything. I’ve only ever … oh, shit.”

She smiled and lifted the waistband of his underwear away from his erection. It was a glorious thing, it was all hers, and she meant to have it. Right now.

He shuddered when she smoothed her palm, and then her fingers, up and down it, loving its length and heft, its heat, the moisture at its tip.

“Oh, God,” he groaned when she reached lower, cupping the warm flesh below, feeling it contract at her touch.

He grabbed her legs, lifting her up, kissing her while he moved toward a hay bale. All Lindsay knew were his mouth and hands and the heat below, between her legs, which urged her forward in ways that scared her. “Please, please, please,” she sighed as he sat, settling her on his lap, her legs on either side of his. He latched onto a nipple, sucking hard and making her shudder.

Lightning had resumed. It lit Anton’s face as he looked up at her, gripping her ass, his eyes shining. She combed her fingers through his thick, wet hair. “I’m not scared. I want this.”

He nodded. She lowered herself slowly, gasping at the new sensation, of being penetrated, spread by the part of his body that was inside hers. He sighed, and then pressed his lips against her sweaty neck before letting them slip to her breasts. Her hips seemed to move of their own accord. She pressed all the way down. It hurt, but in the most glorious way possible. She ground against him, finding friction while at the same time igniting something new, deep inside her, that made her move faster.

He let her set the pace, licked and suckled her breasts, fingertips digging into her hips. A tornado of sensation rose in her, heating her from between her legs, where she felt every inch of him, to her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her face, even making her scalp tingle, while she moved faster and faster, racing toward … it.

“Oh … oh … oh, yes!” She yelped while her entire body shivered and seemed to pulse with a new and wonderful sort of energy.

Anton had his face against her chest. His breathing came in ragged gasps. “I’m … gonna …” He arched up, and she reached over him to prop her hands on the wall, watching his face, fascinated by his expression as a sudden warmth filled her below. His hips kept moving. He kept groaning. She kept watching. Knowing that her life would never, ever be the same again.