Читать книгу Never Give You Up - Shady Grace - Страница 6

Brown, soggy leaves. No vase of fresh or artificial flowers. No colorful cradle to crest the headstone. Nothing but a dismal carpet of dead leaves to grace her husband’s grave.

Mary Billings, widow of little more than four months, absently toed some of the leaves around with the tip of her boot.

Nestled near a tattered and lifeless tamarack, the headstone rested in the furthest northern section of Silver Creek Cemetery. In bold letters, his name, along with birth and death dates, engraved the existence of his life. Now he was just a lone monument, tucked away from all the others in this depressing place.

That’s what you deserve.

Maybe she was a cruel person for not missing him. Did her lack of hysteria mean she was as nasty as he had been when he was alive? Now she questioned everything in life because nothing made sense anymore. She had been devastated when the RCMP first arrived with the news of his death, but with the continuing silence came acceptance. Tom had hurt her both physically and emotionally for years. Now that he was gone, Mary had a strange sense of peace.

Sometimes she wondered how drowning would feel. Did it hurt? Did you simply feel cold and fall asleep? Maybe that wasn’t harsh enough for Tom. Maybe he should’ve suffered more, as she suffered through their marriage.

Look where your stupidity got you, Tom. Look where it got me.

His sudden death had set her free. Sad to say, but she was too afraid to leave him when he was alive, and today would be her final visit to his grave. She couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t pay her respects to a man who did nothing but hurt her since the beginning of their toxic marriage.

She may have loved him from the start, when she was younger and he’d put a spell on her, but it quickly turned poisonous shortly after the wedding. His control over her was as strong and unyielding as granite.

“Goodbye, Tom.” Despite her will to be strong, her voice sounded weak, distant, as if it came from somewhere else with the wind.

She had to be tough now. Soft people never survived out here.

With a heavy heart, but an odd sense of relief, Mary returned to the north gate of the cemetery on the outskirts of her small town. She untied the reins attached to her big bay stallion, lifted up onto the saddle and urged Blue onto the road leading home. She needed the crisp air to fill her lungs and feel the connection of woman and horse today, rather than a lifeless drive in a lonely vehicle, listening to the same old boring voice on the radio. At least the noise of the wilderness sounded different every day.

She patted Blue’s neck. “Time to go home, boy. I’ll give you an apple.”

Blue had been her saving grace many nights when Tom was still alive and she needed an escape from his violence. At least Blue could take her places no vehicle could traverse. He was sturdy and strong, never afraid of an unfamiliar or rough trail, and he never argued. Blue gave her a sense of security, and belonging. Right in this moment he was her only friend.

Spring filled the air in her little mountain town, but the cheery, fresh air and new growth did nothing to set her mind at ease. She felt like that dead tamarack in the cemetery.

She was alone—alone in a small town with nobody to share her time. Her best friend was busy being in love with her new man, and everyone else stared at Mary as if she was a husband killer.

Rumors traveled fast in small towns. Some of the story was true, some of it stretched beyond belief. It first started at the café shortly after Tom’s funeral service. She heard the whispers, noticed the glares. A helicopter and a group of thugs were mentioned, and apparently they had been Mary’s friends, or maybe her father’s. Probably sent to help her kill Tom so she could keep the trapline and the house.

Maybe she was just like her father they had whispered. Crazy and alone in the middle of nowhere. But they knew nothing about her, not really. She was a quiet woman who kept to herself and plodded through life as best she could.

She didn’t have a group of female friends. She didn’t get mixed up in other people’s affairs. Maybe that was her problem. She’d never taken the time to really get to know anybody. Not in a true sense. Her only real friend was Mima.

Look at her. She pushed our beloved Tom into that freezing river. How dare she show her face here?

Sometimes she wished she did push him. After all, he thought nothing of hitting her whenever he felt the need, or whenever she didn’t do anything good enough. Did the town not know what kind of animal their precious Tom really was? Just because he was a tall figure in town and supported local businesses and charities—didn’t make him a great husband. No. People did bad things behind closed doors all the time.

She resented being treated like an outsider simply because she wasn’t well-known like Tom. And because of their shallow minds and ignorance, Mary became sour. She wanted nothing to do with most of them. Only a few treated her with respect and kindness, and they were few and far between.

Ambling along at an easy pace, she guided Blue along the side of the dirt road leading home, trying to forget the townsfolk and their notions, not at all happy to return to a house with nothing but seven dogs and a hut full of furs to be skinned and tanned, waiting for her.

The road toward home curved around huge boulders, thick wilderness, and beautiful rolling hills, all beneath towering mountains. The scenery never failed to impress her.

An hour later she unsaddled Blue and urged him into his stall in the little barn beside the house. Once he was tucked away and content with an apple treat, hay, and water, she made her way across the yard.

It was well past dinnertime, but she didn’t feel like cooking. Instead, she grabbed a bottle of rum, put on her favorite jazz CD, and settled onto the chair beside the living room window.

With the beautiful view of the wilderness around her home, Mary sipped her drink and stared outside, until the jagged tips of the surrounding mountains no longer felt like her prison guards.

* * * *

A cool blast of air whipped her hair about. Evergreen and poplar branches swayed in the wind. A mountain fresh scent filled the swirling air.

She glanced up at the pale blue sky, wondering if Tom was staring down at her with his ever-present scowl. What would he think of her now, surviving without him?

One of the dogs wined, followed by a long, low howl from the others. To anyone else it may have sounded like a pack of wolves lingering nearby. To Mary the sound was eerie and beautiful.

She paused along her trek by the river. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled.

A familiar hum resounded through the mountain range.

Her eyes widened as that all-too-familiar black chopper crested the nearest mountain peak.

Oh God. Not him.

She made a mad dash for the house, hoping to have a few minutes to do something reasonable with herself. Maybe put half a face on, or powder her puff. Thank God she had power and running water out here on this side of the mountain.

Time to play.

She tossed her hat and coat somewhere near the hallway table and ran into the bathroom. Quickly, she washed her hands and set out to fix herself up, excited yet angry that her unexpected guest could be a tall blond man with dangerous blue eyes. If it was him she’d slap the crooked grin right off his sexy face. Since Tom’s death, the handsome criminal couldn’t seem to leave her alone.

The dogs barked with excitement. Mary’s hands shook as she removed her clips, whipped her shoulder-length hair about and clouded her head with hairspray. She applied some concealer and powder, pinched her cheeks, and rushed to the back door just in time as the unmarked chopper set down in the clearing on the other side of her driveway.

Frozen in the back door, Mary watched, transfixed, as the passenger door to the chopper opened. He stepped down, tall and lithe, dressed in a black leather bomber and blue jeans. He hunched low to avoid the blades whirling above his head, his golden hair whipping around as he came toward her with intent, with dark purpose, eyes flashing deep sexual desires. She should step back and lock the door. She should grab her rifle.

But she couldn’t.

There was something about him that made her stand there like a nervous fool, unable to tell him to leave her alone.

Since his last visit, her dreams had been plagued with hot, sweaty nights, naked in his arms. She’d awaken with her fingers between her legs, shrieking in delightful orgasm or on the very edge, it tormented her all day. Her cheeks heated as he slowed his pace and took the first step at the back door.

“Hello, Mary.”

His voice. His voice did things to her insides that should be punishable by law. Maybe he had a handful of women waiting to please him back in the city. Maybe he had all the wrong intentions.

Today she didn’t care.

She’d been through too much to care about anything but feeling something good. Something tangible.

Without a word, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and yanked him into the doorway. If he was surprised by her actions he didn’t say anything, didn’t pull away. His lips felt like wicked perfection against hers, as she forced him to give her what she wanted.

Her heart lurched as his strong arms went around her, crowding her against the doorframe. The sturdy wood pressed against her back painfully, but she didn’t care. Not when his hot mouth made her tremble and burn under his searing touch.

Fast and frenzied, they backed into the house. The screen door banged against the frame. Terry trapped her between the hallway wall and his hard body, and when Mary felt his erection press against her abdomen, she boldly reached down and stroked him over his jeans.

“Mmmm,” he moaned, and rocked into her hand.

“Yes,” she moaned, excited and surprised by how large he felt in her hot grip. “Give it to me.”

Without finesse, Mary unzipped his jeans and pulled his cock out, eagerly dropping to her knees and took his bulbous head into her mouth—

A loud knock rapped on the back door.

Mary jerked up in bed and blinked from the bright beam of light shining through the bedroom window, and looked around in stunned delirium.

Panting, she ripped her fingers away from between drenched lips, painfully close to orgasm, and sucked in a shuddering breath.

Jesus Christ.

Another loud knock pounded the door, followed by a few more. She rubbed her head and groaned, the knocking right on her fragile skull.

How did I get to bed? The last thing she remembered was crying at the window after polishing off half a bottle of rum.

In her dazed and flustered state, she whipped her legs over the side of the bed and shouted, “Who is it?”

“It’s Gabe. Are you awake?”

I am now you son of a—“Yes! Just a minute.”

With an unladylike curse, Mary plodded across the chilly wooden floor and grabbed her housecoat from the hook by the door. Still in an aroused yet angry state, she made her way to the back door and yanked it open.

“What do you want?” She tried to control her heaving chest.

Gabe raised a teasing brow. “What, no hello?”

She folded her arms over her bust and glared at him. “Hello. Now what do you want?”

With a casual shrug and a disarming grin, Gabe brushed past her, into the hallway toward the kitchen, as if he had a share in the property. “I thought I’d swing by and check up on you. Good thing I did. You smell like a pub. Everything okay with you?”

Mary made a face behind his back and shut the door. She tightened the sash of her robe and followed him into the kitchen, annoyed by his horrible timing, yet grateful when he saved her the trouble of having to make coffee.

“I’m lovely. Where’s Mima?”

“At home,” he said over his shoulder.

Curious to the strange visit, Mary took a seat at the kitchen table and watched in tired silence as he patiently waited for the brew then fixed each of them a steamy cup. Apparently his untimely visit needed coffee before more words were exchanged. She was okay with it, for now.

Mary eyed him up as he puttered around. Gabe may have swept her best friend off her tough feet, but Mary still felt awkward around him, even when he came by with Mima to help with some of the more difficult tasks Tom used to handle. Gabe may be somewhat of a decent man and wouldn’t harm her, there was still something about him she couldn’t trust, and it had nothing to do with who he was, but what he did.

Her life had drastically changed when he crashed his plane into their woods. Sometimes she wondered if Gabriel Miller pushed her husband into the freezing Athabasca River. It made no sense that a strong man like Tom, who lived in the woods for thirty years, would drown so easily.

She eyed him with mixed emotions as he spooned cream and sugar into his mug and lifted it close to his lips. “How’ve you been lately? I haven’t had the chance to swing by in a while.” His expression turned more serious. “Mima had to put one of the dogs down. She’s not in the best of moods.”

He sipped his coffee and absently glanced around the room.

Mary’s heart ached for her friend, knowing those dogs were like children to Mima, as Mary’s were to her. “Poor girl. Which one had to be put down?”

Gabe shrugged. “No idea. I can’t keep track of them all.”

She glared at the heartless man across from her. “There’s only five of them.” Of course he wouldn’t remember the name of the dog, but he’d never forget his Lady Diana specially kept in the city. After all, he constantly talked about how fast and smooth she was. Men like Gabe had their cars, while she and Mima had their dogs.

She took another deep pull of her coffee, watching his demeanor. He appeared calm but the puffed out vein in his forehead didn’t go unnoticed. “Come out with it. I know you didn’t come here to check up on me.”

Gabe rumbled with laughter. “You got me all figured out.” He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a deep breath. Once he set his cup back down, he eyed her more seriously. “Actually, I have a business proposition for you.”

The mere mention of that word made her tense up. “What does your business have to do with me?”

“I have a friend who needs a place to unwind. Nothing gets more private than this.”

She tried not to react physically to those words, but her heart pounded and every nerve jumped to life when she knew who he was talking about. “No.” There was only one man who’d want to come here, and he made everything in her body come to life without her consent.

Gabe’s comical look grated her nerves. “What if I told you it was Terry?”

A strike of fear and unwanted excitement ripped through her, but she tried her best to appear passive. Why did he have to say his name and confirm her wicked suspicion? “Terry?” She shrugged, but her stomach fluttered with anxiety and it became harder to sit still on the damned chair.

“Got your attention now, don’t I?”

Despite the chaos they’d created in her life, she couldn’t help thinking about the man with eyes like a glacier that made her stomach flip, and a sexy smile that made her want to let him do things with his hot mouth. The same man she lost her control with and kissed on a lonely night after one too many beers, one month after Tom’s death.

Her cheeks burned at the thought, not only from the shame of kissing a man this soon after her husband’s death, but also from the heated memory of that night. Despite her inhibitions from drinking, she remembered how his sensual, exploring kiss made her feel bold, brash. If he hadn’t pulled away, she would have given him much more.

And the dreams . . . .

She squared her shoulders, forcing herself to think smart. By all means, a group of gangsters could come charging in and flip her world over just when she was getting back on her feet again. Having Terry here would end in disaster and possible death, and the kind of heartbreak a woman couldn’t get over. She already had enough heartbreak to last a lifetime.

Gabe at her kitchen table was bad enough. As much as she appreciated his help, having a criminal swinging by to visit didn’t seem natural. She couldn’t imagine regular folks hanging out with drug smugglers and murderers over coffee and deer sausage.

Gabe’s sharp gaze settled on hers and it cut right through her. “Seriously. Terry needs a vacation. He looks like shit.”

She eyeballed him right back. “So?”

He lifted his steaming mug and took another sip before answering. He was taking too long to explain himself. “You don’t want him to come here?”

She rubbed her sweaty palms over the robe covering her thighs. “Not really. And since when does Terry McCoy need a vacation? Did something happen and he needs to hide out with a convenient little widow like me who lives in the middle of nowhere?”

“Of course not.”

“Bullshit.” Mary glared at him, regretting opening the door this morning when she could’ve enjoyed an earth-shattering dream.

Gabe shrugged. “Look, all I know is, he wants a break and he wants it to be here with you.”

Her back stiffened. She looked around the room, anywhere but directly at Gabe. He seemed pushy about this apparent vacation, and it scared her. When she had the nerve to finally look back at him, something strange lingered in his calculating eyes that made her think this visit was a cover-up to something else. She had her dumb moments like everyone else, but she wasn’t an idiot. The McCoy’s probably owned several vacation homes across the world. It made no sense to Mary he’d want to come here to her quaint little cabin in the woods, where nothing but hard work was the highlight of the day.

“Why didn’t he just call me if he wanted to see me?” She didn’t bother to mention she’d left messages on Terry’s voicemail, and his lack of a response hurt her feelings. Now she was frustrated and angry.

Right now all men were the same in Mary’s eyes. They couldn’t be relied upon or trusted.

Gabe’s smile faded slightly. Perhaps he sensed she wasn’t comfortable with the conversation. “He’s been busy, Mary, and to be honest, he’s been out of sorts lately.”

“When you two flew into my life my husband wound up dead.” She took another long drink from the mug, needing a rush of caffeine. Maybe something stronger would be more appropriate during this strange conversation.

Gabe cleared his throat and looked down at his cup. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He tapped his hand against the cup, the silver ring on his baby finger ticking the seconds away.

She blew out a shaky breath. “Don’t mention it. The asshole treated me like garbage anyway. Now I finally get to do what I want.” She hoped to God he couldn’t tell how hard it was for her to say that. How much it hurt to be alone, even when the pain didn’t physically hurt anymore. She didn’t want him thinking she was still the same terrified woman he’d first met a few months back. All this back talk and toughness was only a front. Deep down, she was a lot like her father.

Gabe’s brow arched but he made no further comment.

“Why doesn’t Terry stay with you and Mima?” Mary picked up her coffee cup, pushed her chair back and strolled over to the kitchen window, which faced a thick stand of pines. Maybe Gabe wouldn’t notice how upset this conversation made her.

All alone with Terry. The criminal who kissed me then left me hanging.

Even when he’d come to say hello and checked up on her, he always had some kind of bodyguard with him, which in itself made her uneasy. Even if she agreed, there’d be men with guns behind the trees. She didn’t want to live in fear again, even if it was for a short while.

“Mima’s cabin has one bedroom. We’d be packed like sardines.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sure he has other friends in your business that could show him a good time.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s looking for a good time. More like a good rest, with someone he trusts.”

Mary sighed. It seemed as if everything she said was going in one ear and out the other. “I’m sure there are many other private locations, resorts, small towns, hookers, to keep him busy.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“He wants to be here with you. It’s really that simple.”

Nothing is simple these days. She closed her eyes tight, wishing she could be somewhere else, and rubbed the sudden ache in her forehead. “We barely know each other.” A part of her wanted to run and hide, but the other wanted to hear more.

She opened her eyes and stared out the window, feeling hopeless and alone, picturing that night. He’d told his man to wait in the chopper. Then he closed the back door before he pressed her against the hallway wall and made her mind blank with lust. It happened so quickly after a few drinks that, like a common floozy, she’d held him tight and taken everything he’d given. Those criminal lips still held an imprint on her soul.

To say that she felt ashamed of her actions was an understatement.

Pushing aside her wayward thoughts, Mary sought out the picture of her and Tom standing in front of the house a few years back. She knew damn well the smile on her face was fake, his grip on her arm too tight. Everything was a lie. Everything was forced. Terry would probably hurt her, too.

“Did Tom really drown? Be honest with me.”

Gabe’s expression remained the same. Calm, cool, and completely unreadable. “Yes. He drowned. It’s a common way to die.”

She shook her head in disbelief and turned back to the window, trying to fight the tears rushing to the surface. Her whole body trembled. Why did she have to be leery of everything? She wished she was strong enough to throw caution to the wind and be like everybody else who didn’t give a shit about action versus consequences. She cared too much about every little thing it physically pained her.

A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked around in horror. “Jesus, you scared me,” she panted. “You guys are always sneaking up on me.” She backed away. “Don’t do that anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Gabe stepped back and looked down at her with what appeared to be sympathy in his eyes. “I would never hurt you, and Terry wouldn’t either. He’s not an evil man.”

Mary swallowed the lump in her throat. What was the true meaning of evil anyway? A man who hit his wife or a man who took another man’s life?

Gabe frowned. “I’m confused. I thought you two were really hitting it off? He hasn’t shut up about you since the doc took that bullet out of his shoulder.”

Mary couldn’t look him in the eye. “I don’t know what to tell you.” She blew out a deep breath and stared out the window again, her gaze lost in the endless sway of green. Knowing Terry talked about her lifted her spirits, but there were still many questions left unanswered. “He made me feel like I was beautiful.” She bit her lip, realizing she’d said that out loud, and turned back to Gabe with her shoulders square. “But now I know better than to believe anything a player says.”

Gabe appeared to be taken back by her words but didn’t say anything else in Terry’s defense. “Would fifty-grand make it easier on you?”

She’d just taken another sip of coffee and nearly choked on it. “What?”

“I’ll pay you to babysit him. Think of yourself as an innkeeper, or bed and breakfast hostess . . . whatever.”

Mary threw her hands up in frustration, cursed out loud, and opened the cupboard door. “I’d have to cook for him too?” She grabbed a bottle of liquor and added three fingers to her coffee. The bottle rattled against the cup. She sorely needed hair of the dog.

Fifty-thousand dollars. Holy shit.

Gabe stood there completely silent as she took a shaky drink. “And if I say no, then what? People come banging down my door anyway, like I have no say in the matter?” Why am I shaking so much? “I don’t think I’ve ever seen fifty-thousand dollars before.”

She set her coffee cup down, unable to keep a steady hand. It would take her several years of hard work to earn that much money.

Gabe shrugged as if he was talking about beer money. “Put it this way, if after his little vacay is over and you still want him gone, then I understand. Take the money and run if you want. Nobody is telling you what to do. I’m just asking for your help.”

She breathed a little better knowing she wouldn’t be forced into anything, yet this whole situation was so crazy she didn’t even know what to say. Gabe’s proximity, and the fact that he was such a huge guy didn’t help either, even though he let her have her own space.

A long, awkward silence fell over them until Gabe cleared his throat. “Ben has been dealt with.”

Mary swallowed. The mention of that psycho’s name made her skin crawl. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to trust me, and Terry couldn’t tell you himself. He can’t call you and report our actions.” He lifted a teasing brow and Mary wanted to hit him. “I’m sure he’ll make it up to you somehow. So, what do you say?”

She took a shaky breath. Why am I even having this conversation with him? Fifty-thousand dollars. Maybe she could skip town and go on a vacation or something. Let Terry stay here on his own and fend for himself.

“I don’t know, Gabe. This is insane.”

“Not really.” He chuckled. “It’s not like he’s a complete stranger to you. Think of all the fun you could have.” He waggled his eyebrows then winked, showing that strange humor she was still trying to get used to.

“I . . . .” She turned and moved a safe distance away, her cheeks burning knowing he was right. “I have a hard time trusting people, especially after what happened.”

“You can trust me, you know.”

She whirled around. “Why? Why does Mima trust you after everything that happened? We had a simple life until you guys showed up.” Tears filled her eyes from the harsh memory of Ben cutting her breast. Almost of its own will, her hand lifted to the scar, a small ridge about an inch in length above her right breast. Physical proof of how crazy some men really are. It didn’t seem to matter who set foot into her life, if he was a man, he was bound to eventually hurt her both physically and emotionally.

Gabe glanced around the room, perhaps trying to find the right words. “Terry and I both feel horrible about what happened. I certainly didn’t plan to crash my plane, and we didn’t know what Ben was up to.”

She blew out an impatient breath. Her hand settled back to her side, but the scar would never be forgotten. “I know, but still. Our lives aren’t the same anymore. I’m not the same anymore.”

“None of us are the same anymore. Look, all I can say is Mima’s my world. I truly believe fate brought us together, and I’m about to give her this.” He reached into his pocket and when he opened his enormous hand a gorgeous diamond ring twinkled in his palm. “I’m going to ask her tonight, but I thought I should tell you first.” He shrugged, but Mary saw the color of embarrassment in his cheeks. “Kind of like asking your permission, I guess, since you’re her only family.”

Her throat felt tight. Her heart felt empty. What did Mima see in this man? She eyed him critically. He was built like a brute and had the face of a man weathered by a harsh life. He may be handsome in his own way, but nothing to die for. In her eyes Gabe wasn’t a sex symbol, he was a symbol of take it to the death by any means necessary kind of man. But Mima fell in love with him. She was attracted to him, and Mary would probably never understand why. Maybe they were perfect for each other. Big versus small. Harsh versus soft.

A slow smile touched her lips. “You don’t need my permission. I know she loves you. I have no idea why, but I know she does.”

Gabe nodded, his grin almost childish. “Not all men are assholes, Mary. You’ll find out soon enough.”

She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “My answer is no, Gabe.” Fifty-grand you idiot! But Mary walked him to the door before she changed her mind. “Please tell Terry I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. Good luck with your proposal tonight. I know what her answer will be.”

Gabe nodded and let the screen door smack behind him. “Take care, Mary. We’ll see you soon.” He started his old Ford pickup and backed out of the driveway.

Mary returned to the kitchen with a heavy heart. How lucky Mima was to have such a big and powerful man love her so much. She was envious, even knowing Gabriel wasn’t exactly a model citizen. Not everybody is perfect, and not everybody gets what they want. Mary was well aware of the brutality of people and life in general.

When she heard the truck pull away she returned to the kitchen and polished off the rest of her Irish coffee.

A vision of Terry filled her mind. He was the opposite of Gabe. Terry had a long and lithe body, and his face could grace any popular magazine. He was tough but he had class. He could be deadly, but he could kiss her into liquid, too.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to imagine how pleasurable it could be in his arms. It was just a fantasy. A dream. Nothing good could ever come from a tryst with Terry McCoy, son of a notorious crime boss. But she was allowed to fantasize in her own home, on her own kitchen chair.

She pictured his soft, kissable lips on a face with a hint of stubble to scratch and excite. She imagined his smooth, low voice whispering sensual words against the soft spot below her ear, before he trailed those hot lips down her body.

Naturally, she parted her robe and slid her middle finger between wet lips and softly stroked her sensitive clit, wishing a bad boy was giving the attention.

God she was pathetic.

Her finger moved faster, more forcefully.

She wanted more. Wanted it all. Needed to be touched and loved and spoiled.

What she really needed was to let go.

With a heavy sigh, she let her head fall back as she slid her bum closer to the edge of the seat, while her finger brought her closer to the edge of release.

What have you done to me, Terry McCoy?