A Weaver Beginning Page 17

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Abby! Can we have oatmeal for breakfast?” The sound of Dillon’s voice was accompanied by the pounding of his footsteps on the stairs, waking Sloan. Abby, too, he noticed regretfully when her warm body shifted away.

  “My brother,” she whispered urgently.

  Sloan’s brain suddenly snapped into gear. Half the morning was already spent, he realized, as he bolted from the bed through the doorway of his bathroom. He shut the door just as Abby was yanking on her robe and shoving her tumbled hair out of her face.

  “Good morning, Mr. Marcum,” he heard her calmly say a moment later. “And, yes, I imagine we can have oatmeal. Why don’t we go downstairs and see whether Sloan has any, or if we need to get it from our house?”

  Sloan stared at himself in the mirror as he listened to their fading voices as they went downstairs.

  Abby was calm, but his heart was thundering as though he’d just escaped being caught committing the worst of crimes.

  He’d never really subscribed to the notion that a man stole a willing woman’s virginity. He also knew that he’d never taken a woman to bed who’d had less experience than he. And his first time, his partner had possessed considerably more.

  But with Abby?

  He rubbed his chest as if her fingers were still pressed against it.

  He didn’t know what the hell he was feeling, but he knew it wasn’t familiar.

  He looked at his reflection. For once, his eyes weren’t bloodshot. Guess that was what happened when he actually slept the entire night through.

  No nightmares. No insomnia.

  Abby had put her arms around him and he’d slept like a damned baby. Last time he could remember sleeping so soundly, he’d been a kid.

  He turned on the shower and tried not to wish too hard that Abby was there with him. Oatmeal was a good way to start the day. But making love with her was a helluva lot better. He’d already discovered that.

  Twice.

  Then he realized he was grinning like a damn fool and he didn’t care.

  Laughing at himself, he stepped into the water. The sooner he showered, the sooner he could go downstairs and join them.

  * * *

  “Is Sloan your boyfriend now?”

  Abby hesitated only briefly before setting the empty cereal bowl she’d found in Sloan’s cupboards on the table for Dillon. “No,” she said calmly. She was excruciatingly aware of the sound of the shower from upstairs. “Why?”

  Dillon wrinkled his face, studying her as if she was dim. “’Cause he rescued you and everything.” Duh.

  “You did some rescuing yourself,” she reminded him. “I told you to stay locked in your room. I think maybe I should get after you for not doing exactly what I said and climbing out your window instead.”

  “It was a ’mergency,” he pointed out. There was no panic in his eyes. He was simply stating a fact.

  She smiled and reached across to tweak his nose. “Yes. It was an emergency. And you were very brave to get out that way and go for help.”

  Rex suddenly left his spot at Dillon’s feet to run across the kitchen, his paws sliding on the smooth travertine. She turned to see Sloan.

  His wet hair was slicked back, nearly black. He’d shaved and was wearing faded jeans that hung enticingly on his hips, with an equally faded blue waffle-weave shirt. His feet were bare, and the lines radiating from his dark eyes were crinkling with a smile.

  Looking at him made her blood hum. But seeing that smile made her tremble with hope. She might as well have been Rex, pretty much shaking with delight.

  She quickly turned to busy herself with the oatmeal on the stove and nearly shrieked when she felt Sloan slide his arm around her from the back and kiss her on the neck.

  “G’morning,” he murmured. His fingers slid wickedly inside the lapel of her robe where Dillon couldn’t see and toyed with her breast. “Looks like it’s getting hot.”

  She swatted at his forearm. He grinned, looking amused, and tucked her robe back in place before moving away. He leaned over to scratch Rex behind the ears, and the dog groaned with delight. “Dill, you want to go out on the motorcycle again?”

  Abby stared into the oatmeal she was stirring. She felt as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole or something. Everything appeared so...normal.

  Yet it wasn’t.

  “Abby says you’re not her boyfriend,” Dillon informed Sloan, instead of answering.

  She looked over her shoulder at her brother, giving him a warning stare. But he was focused singly on Sloan.

  “But I think you are,” he finished.

  Sloan angled the chair opposite her brother and sat. He stretched out his long legs. Leisurely. As if this sort of thing were an everyday occurrence for him. “Does that idea bother you?”

  “Only if you make her sad,” Dillon replied immediately, as if he’d put quite a bit of thought into it.

  “Well,” Sloan answered seriously, “I’d better try really hard not to do that, then.”

  She realized she was gaping and turned back to the oatmeal. It was bubbling and spitting, and she quickly turned off the gas flame beneath it. She poured the hot cereal into two bowls and nearly tossed them onto the table in front of Sloan and her brother. Dillon made a face, holding up the empty bowl she’d already given him, and flushing a little, she returned it to the cupboard. “I don’t know what you have to put on top of the oatmeal,” she said vaguely, already turning to escape. “I’m going home. It’s time I got dressed.” She knew her little brother would be perfectly happy to stay there with Sloan and eat.

  “Geez,” she heard Dillon say as she practically skidded out of the room with about as much grace as Rex. “What’s with her?”

  She didn’t wait around to overhear whatever Sloan might answer. She just pushed her feet into her snow boots and fled.

  She was halfway across the yard between their houses when she realized she had put her boots on the wrong feet, but she plowed on and hurried through her front door.

  It had been left unlocked all night, and it wasn’t until she made it to the relative sanctity of her own bedroom that she realized she hadn’t given Bobby Pierce’s threatening attack a single thought on her way over.

  She let out a disbelieving laugh and scrubbed her hands down her face. She retrieved clean clothes—trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d left her panties buried somewhere among Sloan’s bedsheets—and took the first cold shower she’d ever willingly taken in her life.

  When she came out a while later, scrubbed and wearing goose bumps beneath her turtleneck and jeans, she stopped short at the sight of Sloan leaning against her breakfast counter. “Where’s Dillon?”

  “Outside talking to Gilcrest.” His eyes roved over her. “You okay?”

  Besides having mush for knees? She realized she was chewing the inside of her cheek and made herself stop. “Fine. You?”

  The creases deepened at the corner of his lips. “Fine.” His voice was mild. “When do you want to make your statement?”

  “Does Dillon have to be there?”

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

  “So he can stay here with you while I go and take care of it now?”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You don’t need me to go with you?”

  Yes! She focused on pulling on her boots, correctly this time. “It’s just as well if I do it on my own.”

  “Why?”

  She straightened and tightened the clip that she’d used to pin up her hair. “Because if I get used to depending on you, it’s just going to be harder when you leave.”

  He studied her for a moment. “I’m here now.”

  As much as it stung, she appreciated his not pretending that he was going to be around for the long haul. She yanked open the coat closet and pulled out a short white jacket and a yellow scarf.

  “Maybe I need to go with you,” he added.

  She looked at him. “Officially? Or because you’re feeli
ng weird about what happened?”

  “Making love with you wasn’t weird,” he answered. “Don’t look so serious, Abby. That’s usually my job.” He nudged her chin, tilting it up with his knuckle. “One of the first things I noticed when we met was that you had a face made for smiling.”

  “You’re just saying that.”

  He held up his hand as if he were taking an oath. “Nope.”

  He made it too easy to like him. It ought to have made things easier. But it didn’t. “Someone is going to have to watch Dillon, and as nice as Mr. Gilcrest is, he’s ninety. I’d feel bad even asking him.”

  “What about Dee?”

  She looked past him to see the clock in the kitchen. “She’s probably on her way to pole dancing about now.”

  He grunted. “I’d be shocked, except I know that’s the exercise class Pam Rasmussen’s always going on about. I’ll call my sister. She works at the shop on Saturday mornings, and it’s just down the street from the sheriff’s office.”

  “I don’t want to put her out.” She also didn’t want Tara reading more into things between Sloan and Abby than she already did.

  “She’ll be pissed if she finds out I didn’t ask her. Of course, you don’t have to make your statement right this minute, either.”

  She shook her head. “I want to get it done.” Before she could second-guess her decision, she went to the door and called to Dillon. He came running, and she waved at Mr. Gilcrest before shutting the door. “Go put on some clean clothes,” she told Dillon.

  “Are we going to see Grandma?”

  “Sure,” she decided suddenly. Visiting her would be a good way to remove the bad taste of having to officially recount Bobby’s actions. “But first there’s some business I have to take care of. So be quick.”

  Sloan called his sister while Dillon trotted down the hall toward his bedroom. A few minutes later, they were headed out the door. They dropped Dillon off at Classic Charms, where Tara greeted him with a wide smile and a cowboy hat that she plunked on his head. “Want to help me unpack some boxes?”

  He nodded and didn’t give Abby so much as a second glance.

  “I think my brother is infatuated with your sister,” she told Sloan as they crossed the street toward his office.

  “Nah. He’s got it bad for Chloe.”

  Abby shook her head. “Please. She trounced him at ‘White Hats.’”

  He reached past her to open the front door of his office. “Never underestimate the appeal of a woman who gives just as good as she gets.” Then he lifted his hand, greeting the man sitting at the dispatcher’s desk. “Max around?”

  “I’m here.” The sheriff’s voice came from an office behind the cluster of desks arranged in an open area, and a moment later the tall man appeared in the doorway. He smiled and beckoned to Abby when he saw her. “Come on in.”

  She hadn’t thought she’d be nervous. But she suddenly was.

  Sloan seemed to realize it. He wrapped his hand around hers. “It’s going to be okay.”

  She knew he was talking about the task ahead of her. But just then it felt as if he meant so much more. “Okay.”

  He squeezed her hand. His eyes crinkled with a smile. “Thatta girl.”

  * * *

  While the frightening incident with Bobby Pierce had been mercifully brief thanks to Sloan’s timely arrival, Abby quickly realized that making an official complaint about the entire thing was not, and by the time she finally signed her name at the bottom of the statement, several hours had passed. She felt as if every speck of energy had been wrung out of her.

  “I know this wasn’t pleasant,” the sheriff said, looking kind. “But the better we’re prepared with the charges for the judge, the longer Bobby is going to be out of everyone’s life.”

  “He needs to be out of his son’s life.”

  “I agree. And we’re taking care of that as well, thanks to you.” He took the papers she’d signed and set them on the credenza behind his desk. “In the meantime, if you want to speak with someone, a victim’s advocate—”

  She shook her head. “I’m good.”

  “Okay. But the offer stays open.”

  “So are we done?” She pushed to her feet. “My brother is probably driving Sloan’s sister up the wall by now.”

  “We’re done.” He stood up and accompanied her through the doorway. Sloan was sitting at his desk but rose as soon as he saw them. “She’s all yours, Deputy.”

  The sheriff had no way of knowing how badly Abby wished that she were all Sloan’s. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  “Max’ll do.” He smiled and returned to his office.

  Sloan handed over her coat. “Doing okay?” His eyes roved over her as if he were looking for evidence that she wasn’t.

  She took the clip out of her hair and rubbed her fingers through it. “Pooped, actually.” He’d been with her for the first hour before leaving her alone with the sheriff.

  “You did great.”

  “Maybe. But Dillon’s going to be disappointed when I tell him I just don’t have the energy to drive to Braden this afternoon.” The sun was bright in the sky when they left the office, and she squinted, looking across the street toward Tara’s shop.

  “I’ll drive you if you still want to go,” he offered.

  “You’d do that?”

  He laughed softly. “It’s not exactly the moon, sweetheart. It’s just Braden.”

  But to her, it wasn’t “just” anything.

  He was here now. He’d said it. And she wanted every bit of “now” with him that he was willing to give. So she nodded.

  They collected Dillon. He chattered throughout the entire drive to Braden, pointing out the school that he’d gone to and their old house. Even though it was the middle of winter, there was a new tire swing hanging from the tree in the backyard, and Abby felt good knowing that the home where she’d grown up would still have children in it.

  When they arrived at Braden Bridge, they found Minerva in the sunroom, fussing over the potted plants that she loved. Her hair was silver and her face was lined, but she had a beaming smile. The only thing missing was a spark of recognition in her gray eyes as she greeted them. She didn’t seem shocked when Abby kissed her cheek or take much notice when she introduced Sloan. But Minerva sat right down and pulled Dillon on her lap, listening with appropriate awe as he told her how he’d climbed out the window to call for help when Abby needed it, and that right there made the visit worthwhile.

  But she also knew they couldn’t stay for too long. It was better to end their visit earlier than she wanted than to tire Minerva too greatly and cause her the distress that always followed. So they soon walked her back to her small suite, where Abby helped her grandmother settle into her favorite chair.

  “Your young man reminds me of Thomas,” Minerva whispered. “The way he looks you right in the eye when he speaks.” She nodded. “A good choice.” She picked up the framed photograph of Abby’s grandfather from the little table beside her chair and showed it to Abby as if she’d never seen it before. “It was a whirlwind that lasted fifty years.” Her narrow fingers brushed tenderly over the picture, and her gaze found Sloan. “He fell in love with my chocolate cookies, you see. We married a month to the day after that.”

  If Abby hadn’t already fallen in love with Sloan, she would have now just from the way he smiled so gently at her grandmother. “I can understand why,” he told her. “I believe I’ve had your chocolate cookies, too.”

  Minerva smiled again, but even as she did, Abby knew the moment had passed. She recognized the faraway expression, the suddenly restless movements of her hands, and knew that it was time to leave. She returned the picture frame to the table and brushed a kiss against her grandmother’s soft cheek. “We’ll come back soon to visit.”

  Minerva nodded politely. “Tell your grandfather that he’s watering the begonias too much,” she told Dillon.

  Her brother nodded. “I will, Grandma.”

  As
soon as they left the room, Abby quickly excused herself and hurried down the hall to the ladies’ room.

  “She’s gonna go in there and cry,” Dillon told Sloan. “But you can’t go in there,” he added when Sloan took a step toward the door. “I think it’s against the law.”

  He almost smiled. “Not exactly.” He hated thinking she was in there alone. He wasn’t blind. Even though she’d had a calm smile on her face as they’d visited her grandmother, he’d seen the strain behind it. “She do that every time you visit?”

  “Uh-huh.” Dillon hopped from one floor tile to another. “She’ll be okay, though.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she told me sometimes a person needs t’ cry. And she feels better after she gets it all out. Can I ride on your motorcycle when we get home?”

  It would be dark by the time they got back to Weaver. Sloan figured Abby would be even less thrilled with the notion. “Tomorrow,” he promised. “Maybe you can talk your sister into having a ride, too.”

  “You can ask her.” Dillon crouched then leaped to another tile. “All you gotta do is say please.”

  * * *

  “Please,” Sloan wheedled the next day.

  He was sitting astride his big black motorcycle, holding out the helmet that Dillon had already surrendered after riding around the block a few times with Sloan.

  “No, thank you,” she said for the third time. She’d been sitting on the front porch step waiting for them to return and her butt was cold. Dillon was doing his level best to start another snowman since Frosty was little more than a headless hump at this point, but the snow was too dry to cooperate. “I don’t like motorcycles.”

  Sloan’s lips tilted. He set the helmet on the seat behind him and leaned his folded arms over the handlebars. “How do you know you won’t like it if you’ve never tried it?”

  She flushed all the way through. He’d said the same thing that morning when she’d awoken to his kisses on her thighs and he’d worked his way up with wicked intention. Of course, he’d been right. She’d nearly gone out of her mind from pleasure.

  “Aren’t we supposed to be leaving for your sister’s Sunday dinner soon?”

  “Don’t know that it’s Tara’s dinner so much as the Clays in general,” he drawled. “It’s a thing with that whole family, and we’ve got over an hour, anyway. What are you afraid of, Abby? That you might like the feel of a Harley between your legs? It’s not really walking on the wild side, you know.” His eyes were amused and oh, so appealing. “Not unless thinking that way gets you going.”