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Small Town Secrets Ch. 01

By: Tara_Neale



Abby sat in the crowded bar quite literally crying into her beer. Well her white wine to be more specific. Her third glass for a woman that only drank one socially. After five years, five long years in a relationship with Stuart it was over. Just like that. Over because he wanted to be polyamorous, he said. In plain Texan, he wanted to screw her and the woman that he had been telling her was 'just a friend' for months. He might call her old-fashioned, hung-up and judgmental but in her opinion he was just a spoilt little boy that needed to grow up. 

"But dat ain't my problem no more," she slurred slightly as she raised her glass to empty air. A bit of wine sloshed over the side and onto the table. She giggled, looking around to make sure no one had noticed.

Then her hand was covered in a larger one. A rougher and more masculine one. He moved her hand so that she slowly lowered the glass to the table. She looked up into the deepest, most soulful brown eyes. His skin too was a soft brown. She was not quite certain Native American or Latino. Until he opened his mouth, "I think you have had enough, pretty lady."

"Who says?" she hated that the words sounded like a petulant four year old even as they came out of her mouth. 

He pried the glass from her finger tips and passed it off to a waitress at the next table. "I do and the Great State of Texas would hold me as the owner of this dump responsible if you drunk and drove tonight."

"Injun Joe?" she slurred as her eyes widened a bit. "I thought you was just a legend."

He laughed then and the lilting sound caressed her skin like a soft silk glove. "He was and no, I am his grandson Jack. Andrew Jackson Greywolf at your service, ma'am. And you are?" He said as he took her hand and brought it slowly to his lips, caressing the back of her knuckles with his soft lips.

She frowned. Maybe the alcohol had gotten to her but her memory of American history did not jive with his name, "Wait a minute, but I thought..."

He nodded his dark head and smiled, "The old man had a sense of humor so when his only child, my mother, had me he thought it would be ironic to name me after the President responsible for the Indian Removal Act of 1830. But I guess I am lucky. It could be worse. I could be George Armstrong Custer," he chuckled.

Abby giggled, that drunken sort of nervous giggle. She covered her mouth in embarrassment. 

"Can I buy you a cup of black coffee? Call you a cab?" He frowned as he looked at the other end of the bar. "I see Chet is in here tonight so I guess that idea is out."

Abby cursed small town Texas life with only one part-time taxi and where everyone knew your business. She supposed half the town of Sebida knew by now that her engagement was off. Damn them, damn them all. If only she had not quit her job and came back here to take care of Nana in her final days. 

She sighed; she would not have had it any other way. She owed the old woman that much for taking her in when her parents split up. And the truth was that she would not have traded those final six months with her grandmother for a dozen Stuarts. 

But her absence had left the door open for that other woman. No denying that. She fought back tears as they blurred her vision. She had forgotten that alcohol did that to her. It always made her cry in the end. "Damnation," she used the old-fashioned curse that her grandmother always favored...when it was absolutely necessary for a proper lady to do such things. 

The man burst out in laughter as he turned to the waitress and whispered something for a moment. Abby considered her options. Nana's old Chevy was parked outside. It was late on a Tuesday night so chances were good that she could drive home, real slow, and not pass another single car on the road. But guilt ate at her. What he said was true: he and this place would be liable if she got into an accident. More importantly, she knew better. Even if the risks were small, she had no right to selfishly take them. Not with her life and especially not with other people's.

She picked up her purse and dug in it for a couple of moments. She found a five dollar bill and placed it under the flower for the waitress's tip. She stood up, but the room spun about her. Strong hands reached out to steady her. "Thank you," she stuttered embarrassed once more. That strong hand guided her towards the heavy dark wooden double doors. 

This had been a bad idea she thought as everything swam around her. A very bad idea, she shivered as if someone had walked on her grave as Nana would have said. She fought off the feeling, dismissed it as pure superstition, as they emerged into the well-lit parking lot outside the town's one house of ill-repute as Nana and her church lady friends called it.

"Which car is yours?" asked that deep voice from somewhere far away. Abby fought through the fog that threatened to overtake her as she looked around the parking lot. It was a good thing that there were only a handful of cars on a Tuesday night, the die-hards and the drunks. She pointed towards the classic blue-green nineteen-fifty-seven Chevy parked directly under the bright lights. 

Everyone in town knew that car as well as they knew its owner. Miss Myrtle had been an institution in this town for three-quarters of a century. A throw back to another, gentler time. All that was left of that legacy now was the car, a rundown old ranch on the outskirts of town and her. Not much to show for a lifetime, she supposed, but more of a mark than most people left in this world. 

She turned proudly back towards the man next to her. But his face was frozen like an ancient ceremonial mask. He appeared angry. Enraged. But that was not possible. Why would anyone react like that? Everyone here loved Miss Myrtle. 

She shook her head in confusion. It was a bad choice as the world spun faster and faster about her. She clutched at the man's arm even as she wanted to push away from the anger she had seen there. Then darkness engulfed her.

***

"Damn it," Jack cursed as he scoped the unconscious woman into his arms. He first turned towards his truck parked behind the bar. But then he thought better of it. Leaving THAT car in the parking lot of his bar was disastrous. There was a good chance that no one else in the dark bar recognized the young woman, knew who she was. 

But that car...everyone in this whole damned town knew Miss Myrtle's car. Which meant the tiny little forlorn and drunk thing in his arms could only be Miss Myrtle's beloved grand-daughter, the one that ran off to the city to go to college and only came home when her Nana was dying. 

Which was more than the prejudiced and sanctimonious old bat deserved in his opinion. A part of him wanted to give the girl kudos for having the sense to leave this hell hole. But like him, she had come running back the moment that her Nana called. 

That angered him too. She had had time to make her peace with the woman, with whatever sins sent her scurrying like a frightened mouse from this place. He had never gotten that with his grandfather. The man was too stubborn to ask for help even to the end. A fucking chaplain had informed him of his grandfather's death...when he had gotten back from a mission. The man had been dead and buried for two months before his only living relative found out. It was a risk that every SEAL took, just part of the job. But somehow it had never seemed real to him...the only person he cared about was the Old Man and like the Native American deity for which he nicknamed his grandfather...he seemed immortal. 

But he wasn't. And always it came down to her. That woman. All his life Jack had stood by and watched helplessly as that woman jerked his grandfather's string. This dynamic and powerful force that built one of the first Indian casinos in the country, that took in and raised an angry young man to become a star athlete and scholar, that spoke eloquently for the rights of his people had just one weakness. A woman. A woman that he had loved for half a century. A woman that was too proud to acknowledge the passion that they had shared. A small, self-righteous, pious and prejudiced woman that had ruled this town for most of her life. And like the fool he was, his grandfather had followed her...straight to the grave. 

Rage had been building inside of Jack since he came back and learned the truth of his grandfather's death. He wanted to expose the whole damned tawdry thing to the town. Except that he couldn't, he had no proof of the illicit affair that had ruled the man he loved for almost his whole life. Thirty years of passionate assignations and there was not a single love note, photograph or any other proof. His grandfather had been her dirty little secret and what angered Jack the most was that the man took it, accepted the crumbs of affection she tossed to the lowly Indian. It went against everything the man he knew stood for. 

Why? Jack had asked himself that same question a million times since he found out the truth when he was thirteen. He even asked the Old Man a couple of times. But his shrugged shoulders and explanation that she would come around one day never satisfied Jack. She never had come around either. She had died and taken her dirty little secret to the grave...then the Old Fool followed her within two months. A previously healthy man had mourned himself to death...over a woman that would never acknowledge him to this town.

Jack turned towards that car. He wanted to drive the damned car over a cliff somewhere and watch it explode like in the movies. He wanted to destroy all that that woman held dear. And he had begun that plan already. He had bought the loan note that the local bank held on her ranch, although it could hardly be called that anymore. Just a dried up few acres of scrub and a homestead that was showing its age was all that was left of her father, the Judge's legacy. 

And the tiny scrap of humanity that he held in his arms. He must not forget her. Abigail Monroe Whatever-her-mama's-married-name-was, not that it mattered in this town. All that mattered was that she had been born a Monroe, the last of a proud heritage that traced its history back to the founding of this great state. A great-grand-daughter of the Alamo...and the Confederacy. 

And drunker than Kooter Brown as they would say around these parts. What did the princess have to be so fucking worried about? He had not called the note yet. He was giving her time to get settled again before he yanked that rug out from under her. He had done enough research to know that there was no way that she could afford to pay it off. And if she was counting on that fiancée of hers to help out, to save the old family homestead then she was in for another surprise. Not only was the man cheating with another woman but he was broke. In debt up to his eyeballs. No, he had her right where he wanted her. 

He frowned as he leaned her insignificant weight against the side of the car. He fumbled around in her purse looking for the keys. She really was tiny, just like her grandmother had been. Passed out as she was, she had the appearance more of a young teen with her strawberry blonde hair falling across her freckled face. She had that same delicate pink rosebud mouth too. He wondered if it could have the same stubborn set when riled up. 

This was not part of his plan. Seeing her as human...a woman. It would not change anything of course. He was still going to do what he came to this town to do. Break that family and expose them for the hypocrites they were. He had the power to take the only thing they had left of their fortune...that dirt ranch. 

If only he had found some shred of evidence of Miss Myrtle's duplicity. The pious mayor, church deaconess, and school principal carrying on an illicit affair with Injun Joe...the black sheep bar keep...for over thirty years. Longer than this one had been alive even. But he was not giving up. He knew that those letters and poems had to be somewhere. He had watched the Old Man write enough of them. 

He placed this one delicately upon the big back seat of the car. He had to admit one thing...they did not make cars like they used to. He ran his hand across the crisp leather seat as he arranged her on her side, her delicate hand under her cheek. She stirred a bit, rubbing seductively against him. He cursed his body's natural reaction. 

It was another reminder of what this little episode in futility was going to cost him. He had only one more month to get married, a year to provide an heir or his grandfather's legacy went to Native American causes. A part of him could not give a damn if that old bar and the rundown trailer out back were sold and the proceeds donated to charity. But it was home. The only home that he could remember. 

And after twenty years roaming most of this fucked up world fighting battles that were not even his own, wars in places that the people of Sebida had never even heard about, he was tired. He needed to come home. Hell, if it wasn't for that damned tomahawk of the deadline in his grandfather's will hanging over his head, he even wanted to settle down. Get married, have a couple of kids, raise some horses in this dusty hill country town that had meant so much to the Old Man; that was his own roots. 

Problem was that the types of women he knew were not the marrying kind. Oh, they would be happy enough to marry if they saw the zeros on his bank account, but they were more interested in partying and shopping than being mothers, having and raising babies. For motherless young man, he craved that the stability that home was supposed to mean. He wanted what that woman had denied his grandfather for a lifetime...a loving wife at his side. 

He slammed the door. She turned a bit in her sleep but settled back down as he got behind the wheel of the car. He knew the way to that place by heart. How many times had he sat slumped over a book as the Old Man drove there? How many hours had he waited in the cab of his grandfather's truck? Even when he had discovered the truth...that it was not horse trading the Old Man was doing with Miss Myrtle. 

He had been fifteen when this little slip of humanity came to stay with her grandmother. He doubted that she would remember it but he and his grandfather had spent the morning put up an old wooden swing from the big oak tree in the front yard for her. Then the Old Man had looked at Jack meaningfully and told him to push the little girl while he 'talked' with Miss Myrtle. They were doing lots more than talking of course.

Jack had been resentfully pushing the four year old as she gleefully yelled 'higher, higher' but her tiny screams were soon drowned out by adult ones from the house. His grandfather had come storming out of the house and told Jack to get in the truck. They had driven back to the bar in silence. It was the only time in his life that Jack remembered seeing his grandfather touch the white man's 'fire water' that had destroyed his mother's life. He had thought that perhaps the Old Man had come to his sense, was done being that woman's dirty little secret. And for a few months he had stayed away. Then he began to sneak away occasionally alone this time. As if he too had something to hide even from his grandson. Jack never confronted him, never told him that he knew the truth. A couple of years later when he finished high school, he signed up for the Navy and left Sebida. 

He thought for good. But he was back. Back in this place. He looked up as he turned off the deserted county road onto the dirt one that would take him to the ranch. The holes in the road were getting deeper with each season's rain. That could not be good for an old car like this. He drove as carefully as he could, missing the worst of them. He swallowed hard as they came out of the tree lined stretch of road that led to the house. 

There it stood. The old oak tree. As dry as these parts could get, it existence was practically a miracle in itself. Mesquite was much more common than oak around these parts. But somehow, despite the rocky soil and dry weather, this old tree had found a way to take root and grow. To survive it all for over a hundred years, pushing two now. 

Even more shocking, hanging from that tree was the weathered piece of wood dangling from two rioting pieces of rope. The swing that he and his grandfather had put up that day for her. Jack swallowed hard past the lump in his throat and asked the question that had plagued him a lifetime..."Why, Old Man?"

Small Town Secrets Ch. 02



Jack shook his head as he carefully balanced his load while pushing open the front door and flicking on the hall light. Its loud squeak announced that he was stepping back into time as much as the faded and yellowed rose damask wallpaper that was so old it had actually come back into style. The dark wooden furniture in the front parlor as it was properly called was covered in hand-crocheted lace doilies that remained pristine white. He half expected the couches to be covered in plastic but was a bit relieved that they were not.

He looked at the couch and took a step in that direction. But it appeared so uncomfortable and despite who she was...no one deserved the double punishment of waking up to a hangover and a stiff neck. He had endured that hell a few times himself. And he did not wish it upon his worst enemy, which he supposed in some odd way, was exactly what this helpless slip of womanhood in his arms was. 

He cursed the chivalry that the Old Man had drummed into his head as he turned to the right and made his way up the winding staircase to the second floor and its bedrooms. He was relieved to see that the one at the end of the corridor was closed. He did not want to even consider the memories that one brought up of the time that he had fallen, broken his wrist and come looking for the Old Man. 

Some things young impressionable teens just should not see: your grandfather naked and humping away at his 'lady friend' as the Old Man always called Miss Myrtle was most definitely one of those. He shivered and pushed the thought back...way back in his mind, closed the door on that memory and locked the damn thing away. He wanted to toss away the key too but it was all too wrapped up in the need for revenge that drove him.

He shouldered the half open door to the right and drowned in pink. Pale pink walls, a small four poster pink bed that looked like it belonged to that four year old little girl. It was covered in a patchwork quilt in every imaginable shade of pink. Even the dressing table by the window and chifferobe against the wall were painted a disgusting shade of bright pink. It should be against the law to paint antiques like those such a color. It looked as if someone had gotten drunk and vomited pink all over the place.

He pulled back the quilt and laid 'sleeping beauty' in her pink disaster zone. He stood up and looked down her for the first time, studying her in the dim light that drifted in from the hallway. Beauty was definitely an appropriate word. As was delicate, innocent, demure and few dozen others that he had not had cause to use concerning a female of the species in quite a long time. 

She seemed to fit perfectly with this place. Even her dress, and what young woman her age wore a dress to a place like Injun Joe's, was a throwback to another time. He knew of course that there was a whole segment of the fetish scene that favored such things. Hell, the fifties made the top of his fetish list. And the white dress covered in roses with its flounce that draped about her shapely legs definitely had his libidos attention. The black Mary Janes on her feet just sealed the deal.

"Damn," he cursed again. An outfit like that was neither comfortable nor wrinkle resistant. He made the decision to undress her. At least part way. He began by unbuckling the shiny patent leather footwear. She moaned as he slipped the first one from her foot. His cock hardened just a bit at the soft gasp and the perfect 'O' that those pink lips made. 

He forced his attention to the rest of this mission. He unbuttoned the dress to the waist to reveal a silky lace slip. What woman wore those these days? Only in his wildest fantasies. She turned over onto her side facing him and he used her motion to slip one arm out of the dress. He looked at the way her hand tucked softly under her cheek. He rolled her over the other direction, facing away from him. Partly to remove the other arm and partly to save his sanity.

He went to the foot of the bed and gently tugged the flouncy skirt down legs that were surprisingly long for such a diminutive creature. He cursed again when he noticed the white garter belt and neutral stockings that she wore beneath the slip, which had ridden up in the tussle of carrying her up the stairs. Only the wisp of white lace that he supposed served as a thong was out of character with the outfit. Hell, why bother, he thought. Why not just be the perfect fifties woman on the outside and no underwear underneath? Add a pair of white gloves and a string of pearls and she would have everything to make his darkest fantasies come true. 

Except that this was the one woman that was off limits. He would not get caught in the black widow's web the way his Old Man had. He would not fight helplessly to free himself of her silky strings of bondage as she sucked the very life out of you. But for the first time he could see how easily his grandfather might have fallen under that witch's spell. 

He shook his head as he pulled the quilt up. Some insanity drove him over the edge; he just had to taste those pink lips once. Would they taste of the first ripe strawberries of spring? He bent and foolishly placed a soft kiss on those lips. No, sweeter even. He cursed under his breathe. 

She stirred in her sleep and he held his breath, afraid to move. When he thought she had settled back down, he started to stand up. But found himself entangled in her arms wrapped about his neck as she pressed her upper body against his, tugging him down towards that small single bed. His fingers tried to unlace her behind his neck as those lips brushed across his jaw. As they sought his lips once more.

"Please," was her whispered plea.

***

Abby did not want her secret fantasy to end. She had been dreaming it since she was twelve and found her grandmother's stash of romance novels. Pirates. Vikings. Aliens. Medieval knights. Victorian scamps. But her favorite had always been the long, dark haired Native Americans, Indians as they were called back then. Something about the idea of dark brown skin burnished in the glorious rays of the sun running over her pale pink skin had always enthralled her. 

And this dream was so much more vivid. More real. As she pleaded with her strong 'brave.' Her lips found his once more. He tasted as wild as the night. He smelled not of the some expensive cologne but of man. Fresh, crisp and clean...nothing else. His dark skin felt smooth against her cheeks, no five o'clock shadow to abrade her skin. His shoulders were broad, wide enough, and strong enough to carry the weight of world as Atlas had in legends. 

She pulled at him even harder as she arched her chest up. Her breasts brushed against the solid wall of his chest and her nipples pebbled, just like the heroines in all those books. For the first time in her whole life her body was alive, on fire for a man. 

Fridged. She giggled at the thought. Her mirth swallowed by his mouth on hers. What would Stuart think if he saw her now? Maybe the problem wasn't her? Maybe the problem was that he was just never man enough? Not like the heroes in her stories. Not like this dream lover. 

The man tried to pull away, but she held tighter. She was not ready for the fantasy to end. She might never be ready for this one to end. Her sudden movement caught him off balance and he toppled onto the bed on top of her. He covered her then. His whole body aligned with hers. Her breathe caught in her chest at the feel of his erection against her. 

It was not the first time that she had felt one of course. She was twenty-six after all. Had been in a relationship with Stuart for five long years, engaged for two. They had done things. It was just that those things had never seemed as exciting, as magical, and as right as this fantasy. She had never felt like this. Never felt alive. Never felt like a woman should. Like they did in her books. Not with Stuart. Never with him. But with this man, this dark fantasy, this dream lover, it was all too real and she wanted to hold onto it for as long as she could. Wanted to hold onto him. Wanted to taste it all. 

He said something against her lips. He stilled in her arms. It sounded like the mournful cry of a wounded animal. Like a curse from the pits of hell. Tears came to her eyes. She froze, waiting for those words...cold, fridged. But they did not come.

Instead with a heavy sigh, he pressed her deeper into the mattress. His mouth took hers with a passion that she had only read about in books. His tongue wrapped about hers, plunged deep into her mouth. One hand was on her throat, not squeezing exactly. More like branding, holding her perfectly still. The other hand found her breast. It squeezed and kneaded. It lifted and weighed. Again she felt the insecurities eating at her womanhood. Her breasts were not large, barely B-cups. Would he find her lacking as Stuart had? 

Then his thumb brushed against her hard nipple and she moaned into his mouth. Her body pressed even tighter against his as if she sought to meld them together, to become one. It was as silly as the words of those novels. But in her drunken dream it all seemed impossibly real. Her secret fantasies come to life. Her body came to life. Her legs fell open, just fell open. Everything seemed so surreal, as if in slow motion, as if she floated above the bed, looking down as another erotic story unfolded before her eyes. 

The hand on her breast moved lower. It caressed her inner thigh covered in the soft silkiness of her stocking. It brushed back the lace of her thong. Fingers that were not her own found the warm wetness of her body. She arched up as they danced across the most sensitive bundle of nerve endings there. Her hips undulated against the firm pressure as if seeking to control the intimate dance. 

Then they slipped lower. Inside of her. And she winced. Pain sliced through her dream as the probing fingers moved deeper inside of her. She shoved at those same broad shoulders as she tried to turn her head away. Tried to escape a fantasy that was turning rapidly into a nightmarish reality. She fought to make sense of it all. 

It all came crashing back then. The show down with Stuart. Throwing the ring at him. His hurtful words. The shame. Crying for hours until no more tears would come. Her brash decision to drown her sorrow in alcohol. The bottle of wine at Injun Joe's. Him. Oh god...him. This was no dream. She had invited a man, a real live man, into her bed. And he was intent upon doing what men did when you invited them into your bed. 

She felt his weight shift. His tongue in her mouth caressed against hers. She was torn. It felt so damned good...his kiss. More heady than the wine. His kisses did things to her that she had only ever read about. Some dark part of her wanted to see if the rest of those books might be true too. If there was more to this sex thing than just going along, doing your duty for someone else's pleasure. If there might actually be mutual pleasure?

Her momentary indecision was all it took. He made the decision for both of them. His body lunged forward. She screamed into his mouth as the pain lanced through her. She had thought that was just shit romantic garbage like all the rest. But in that moment the pain was very real. Her nails sunk deep into the muscles of his shoulders but not in pleasure as the heroine did in all her books, but trying to find something solid as her world spun out of control. Even more than it had these past few months. 

"What the fuck?" he cursed as he pulled back as if scalded by hot water or acid. He held perfectly still above her. His dark face hidden in the shadow. She could only guess his thoughts as she turned her head away towards the wall and fought back tears. Maybe Stuart was right? Maybe she was unnatural? Less than a woman. Fridged. 

***

Jackson stared down at the woman. Even in the dim light her tears glistened accusingly at him. Tears of pain? Shame? Women like Abby Monroe did not just casually throw themselves at men like him. He had a quarter of a century of his grandfather's pain to know that this could go nowhere. And yet again he was left with a single word summation, "Why?"

The word had been rhetorical. He had not really expected an answer. So when the silence ended with a soft sob and whimpered, "I thought it was a dream. My fantasy come to life." 

Her sobs ate at his gut. Guilt was not an emotion that he often indulged in. It was one of the things that had made him such a good SEAL. Just get the job done and go on to the next one. He was always running and never looked back. 

She shifted beneath him. Another whimper accompanied the movement that had only forced him deeper inside her tightness. He could not stop his own moan...of pleasure. 

His brain that had been trained to take in information, make rapid calculations and change plans on the fly took over. This woman was the enemy, right? He did not have time at the moment to even answer that one. So he conceded that she represented everything he had fought a lifetime to overcome. But Jack had seen enough to know that nothing was ever that simple. And this woman certainly was not. "Why?" he demanded again as he placed his fingers under her chin and forced her to turn her head. 

She stubbornly stared down for a moment in silence. But the site that greeted her then was more shocking, her half naked body, legs open and his still hard cock buried almost completely inside of her. Perhaps it was the blood stains on her thighs that drew forth the audible gasp. "Why?" he pleaded as her eyes lifted, anything to avoid that reality.

"I was drunk. I lost my Nana. Then my fiancée dumps me...well, maybe I dumped him. I'm not sure. But all I know is that for the first time in my life I felt something." Her words, her honesty shocked him and he released her chin. She turned her head back towards the wall immediately. "I wasn't just doing what he wanted. I felt alive. Like the heroines in the romance novels. And like I said I thought it was just another of my dreams."

"Lady, you have some hellacious dreams," he chuckled. "But why," he paused, stammered for the words, "Why save yourself for so long and then just..." He trailed off, not knowing how to ask without offending her further.

"It was for some sanctimonious religious reason if that's what you're thinking. It just never felt right...I never felt," she was silent for a moment. Then she shifted again, drawing audible moans from them both that melded together in the dark silence. She pushed at him then. "Can you move please? You weigh a ton."

He shook his head. Not at just what her words said but the sad story that lay underneath. She was twenty-six. She had been with the same man for five years and never had full on sex with him. And not because of some old fashioned religious reason...but because she never felt alive. Until tonight. Until this. 

Jack knew that if he did what she wanted, this is how she would remember it. Pain and awkwardness. To wait that long to feel 'alive' only to have it disintegrate so quickly was not right. "Fuck," he cursed again as he realized where his logic was taking him...straight to the pits of hell. Who knew maybe the Greywolf men were cursed? Destined to live under the spell of sweet, innocent witches like the Monroe women? But in that moment it did not matter. All that mattered was that he had a mission to complete. A job to finish. And as with all the others he had faced, even if it killed him. This one just might.

One hand trailed softly from its resting place on the bed along the softness of her silk clad thigh. Oh yes, this was hell. He knew it was because he was burning alive. He toyed with the white lacey garter belt around her hips, she gasped and turner her head back towards him. Her eyes were wide and innocent. 

"For a virgin, you have the most fucking erotic taste in lingerie I have ever seen," he whispered as he lowered his head slowly towards her. He would not force her...he had never been the type that rape appealed to. He liked his women willing. And Little Miss Innocent had been just that before... Jack trusted his skills as a lover enough to know that she could be again. 

"Really? I mean you actually like it? It isn't too old-fashioned? Outdated?" 

Jack could have laughed at the odd conversation they were having. Except for the feel of her tightness squeezing all sanity from him and the insecurity that he heard beneath her words. "No, it is subtle. Sensual. What a lady wears to please, not a whore. You do want to please me, don't you?" 

His tongue trailed along the vein in the side of her neck. He felt her pulse there stutter for a moment then began to pound fast and strong. That was not the only place he felt her pulse. And the warm, wetness there was driving him insane. "You want to find out for yourself, don't you, Abby Jean? You want to know if it really can be as good as in all those books, don't you." He nibbled at her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, not yet, not here, but he would before this night was finished. "And you want me to show you, don't you, sweetheart?" 

He was enjoying this game. He could not remember the last time he had actually had to work for sex. Maybe never. Modern women took what they wanted. Threw themselves at whatever man took their fancy for the moment, for a night. And his exotic good looks and career choice had made his top dog for a long time. He could not go to a bar without having at least a dozen beautiful women throw themselves at him. He had his pick. It was easy. Too easy. A man wanted what he could not have...maybe that was their secret. In that moment he did not care. He just wanted what he knew he should not. 

His hand trailed up her side, brushed against the side of her breast. He ate up the soft moan that the touch elicited. He drew it deep inside, hid it away somewhere like the perfect stones he had collected at a little boy. Hidden in the box under his bed to be brought out when his mother fought with one of her lovers or drank too much and came looking for him. They were his salvation, his safety. His treasure. They paled to just plain old dusty rocks in comparison to that sweet sound though. 

There was no resistance when his fingers found her chin and tugged gently. He stared into her face for a long moment. He saw traces of the woman he had spent a lifetime hating. But he saw other things too. He saw indecision. He saw insecurity. He saw a woman...her own person. Not just Miss Myrtle's grand-daughter. It was more than his addled brain could process at the moment, especially when it was overwhelmed with sensations from his body screaming for more. 

He kissed her nose. It was crazy and he knew it. He ought to get up, pull up his jeans and run as fast as he could from this place. But he wouldn't. Not unless she absolutely made him. He was prepared for a 'No.' He would just persuade the little lady a bit. Seduce her. Kiss her senseless. That was what they both really wanted. Not to have to think about any of this. Just to give into feelings. It was not something that Andrew Jackson Greywolf had ever done in his whole life. 

But even he was not prepared for what happened next. She lifted her hips, drew him completely inside of her tight innocence. Her soft hands framed his face as she undulated beneath him. "Yes, Jack, show me. Show me it all."

It was an invitation that no fool would pass up. Jack met her half way. His lips and tongue devoured, conquered and took everything she offered and then some. His body began a slow dance that soon became a frantic Texas two-step...and she matched him move for move. His hands were everywhere, stroking and caressing until she was moaning and whimpering louder than the most experienced whore to ever share his favors. But her hands were busy too. And the next time that those fingernails sank into the muscles of his shoulders he knew that it was pleasure she was feeling. 




Small Town Secrets Ch. 02



He gave in then to his own needs. He buried his face in that sweet spot where her shoulder met her neck. His teeth sank into the soft flesh as surly as her fingers had his back. He dove deeper into her waters than he ever had...and he was an experienced diver. His lungs burned with the need for oxygen even as he erupted like a volcano deep on the ocean floor. Spewing forth hot molten life itself. 

He collapsed on top of her. He did not even have the energy to roll to the side. Not this time. Not this woman. And he did not want to either. He wanted to stay just like this, wrapped in her arms for the whole night...for eternity. He felt the warm wetness where her cheek touched his. But then it was gone, replaced by her soft lips. It was a feather soft caress as she whispered two words. Two simple words that rocked the foundations of his world..."Thank you." 

Jack felt like he was drowning. It was not a sensation that a SEAL feared but rather one they learned to embrace. Fear. The unknown. Death. They were all just part of the job. Ones you learned to live with. But until that moment, those words, Jack was not sure he had ever lived at all. 

His mind was fragments like the jigsaw puzzles that his grandfather loved. He used them to teach Jack life lessons. Logic. Patience. Persistence. But this one felt like the time that Old Man had hidden the final piece. He wanted to teach Jack that something does not have to be perfect to be right, to be appreciated. It was his final lesson. The last day before he left for basic training. Jack thought he knew it all of course. But now he was not so sure. 

Her arms wrapped tighter as she shifted beneath him. He was still hard inside of her. He wanted more. Wanted to taste perfection again. But he knew that she would be sore tomorrow as it was. He fought back his demons as he whispered, "Sleep." He kissed her cheek even as he knew that sleep was not something he would be getting much of this night.



Small Town Secrets Ch. 03



Jack found the instant coffee right where he remembered. Had she changed anything since her grandmother's death? To be fair, he slept most nights on the old couch in his office, because that small trailer was still filled to overflowing with his grandfather's stuff. He should probably call someone just to move the whole damned thing away. It seemed both of them were stuck in the past, caught in small town webs of secrets that went back before their births. 

He shook his head as he stirred the coffee crystals into two fine china cups. He put milk and sugar into matching containers and placed them on a tray. He needed his black and strong. She had slept like an angel but as he suspected he had not managed to sleep at all. Not that that was a problem for him. He had been trained to go without sleep for long periods of time, forty-eight even seventy-two hours. So that could not account for the poor decision making skills he was exhibiting at the moment. 

"Fuck," he cursed as he lifted the tray and prepared for battle. As with all the others he had fought, he was determined to win. He would begin with being the nice guy: coffee in bed. Damn, he sat the tray back down on the table and walked through the living room, opened the door and winced at the bright light as the sun climbed higher over the craggy hills for which this part of the country was named. He quickly found what he sought and used the pocket knife his grandfather had given him to cut off a white rose. But not before its thorns buried deep beneath his skin. That seemed prophetically justice somehow given his plan. 

He sucked blood from his thumb as he placed the flower alongside the cup of steaming liquid. He was as prepared for battle as he was going to get. Time to face the music as the Old Man would have said. He carried the tray up through that living room and up the stairs. 

She was still sleeping when he came in. That tiny little hand tucked under her rosy cheek. He tried to remember a single time when he woke up with a woman only to discover she was more beautiful in the light of day than she had been the night before in the dingy bar. He could not. 

But this one was. Even the faint black smudges beneath her eyes looked cute almost. There was no cracking of the heavy cake of foundation; no stains upon the pristine white pillows. He blushed as he remembered deep reddish brown stains upon the matching sheets. He cursed quietly under his breath as he sat the tray on the pale pink table next to the bed. He almost wondered where all the fucking Barbies were. This place certainly looked like they would fit. 

He brushed a strand of the strawberry blonde locks back from her face. She stirred a bit and moaned in her sleep. She was definitely going to be sore. He stood up and walked out the room, down the hall and into the bathroom. He turned the taps on the ancient bear claw tub. He adjusted the water to make certain it would be nice and warm. He looked around a bit until he found a box of bath salts and poured some of those into the water, watching it froth up. All right, hot coffee, warm bubble bath; that should just about cover the Mister Nice Guy crap. And if he needed to be an asshole, well that came more natural. 

He walked quietly back into her room, leaving the tub to fill slowly with water. She had turned onto her other side, facing the wall and kicked off the quilt. Damn, he cursed. The girl had amazingly long legs for such a tiny thing. He thought about how they would look wrapped about his waist. Would they fit? He'd lay odds they would and considering that was his job and in his blood anybody would be a fool to bet against him. Last night might have been fast and furious but tonight would not be. He would make sure he found out then. 

The idea of tabula rasa was intriguing. Virgins had never appealed to him. Before last night anyway. But it made perfect sense. He had been dragging his feet all these months because the type of women that he had in his life up until now were not the type you married. Not if you had any good sense anyway. He had watched too many of his friends get burned down that pathway. 

Thing was that any good, god-fearing woman would run the other direction from the likes of him. The bastard grandson of the state's first casino owner, who had run away from the past and hidden for a lifetime in faraway war zones that most people around here had never even heard of, let alone find on a map. 

He sighed as he girded himself for this battle. Because somewhere in the long dark night, Jackson Greywolf had abandoned his plans for destroying this woman-child. He had decided that perhaps the best revenge he could have for the Old Man was to have the one thing he had wanted for a lifetime and never gotten...a Monroe woman by his side for life as his wife. 

Now it was time for that battle to begin. He brushed her hair back and kissed the side of her face. She swatted at him like he was some pesky fly. If she only knew. It was time the roles were reversed...time a Monroe woman got caught in a Greywolf web. "Wake up, sunshine. I brought coffee," he whispered against her ear.

***

Abby was back in her dream. She would have sworn 'he' kissed her cheek. It surreal; like Sleeping Beauty. Until she turned over and every muscle in her pelvic region screamed out in excruciating pain. Well, not the sharp one that had awoken her from her dream into harsh reality last night. More of a dull but persistent ache. Like the one time she had been foolish enough to hire a personal trainer after another barrage of complaints from Stuart about her too-full curves. With some things, once was definitely enough. She blushed as she remembered what had come after that pain. Okay, so sometimes once was not enough. 

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. We have to get on the road soon before all of Sebida starts talking," if his words were not confusing enough, the bright light that flooded her bedroom was. 

She raised her arm to shield her eyes as she sat up quickly. Bad move that she paid for with a sharp shooting pain right between her legs. "Fuck," she cursed. She could not remember using that word since she was twelve and Nana had her mouth washed out with soap. But Nana was gone...along with her virginity and her fiancée. Her life was a royal mess lying in pieces all around her. And a stranger was telling her to 'rise and shine?'

Well, not a stranger. More like a little girl's darkest fantasy. If seven year old girls could have crushes, and she knew they could, then Jackson Greywolf had been hers. She remembered well all the times that Nana had taken her to the Friday night high school football game. Small town Texas lived for its football and Jackson Greywolf had quarterback had brought the small town of Sebida back to life. She remembered watching him play, but even more she remembered after the game when he would take off his helmet and that long mane of jet black hair would fall about his face. 

Later when she had found Nana's stash of 'female porn' it was always Jackson's face she saw in her mind, whether the hero was Native American, Viking or even aliens. Now it was Jackson Greywolf pushing back the curtains and letting that damned sun pound into her brain that hurt almost as much as between her legs. "Closed the damned curtains."

"Tut, tut. What would your Nana say if she heard you talking like that? Is that any way for a lady to greet her lover in the morning?" he chuckled. His hair was shorter. Much shorter. It barely hit the collar of his shirt. That the man had not even bothered to button. Damn him. As she stared at the muscled expanse of soft brown skin and six-pack abs that honestly should have been on the cover of one her even spicier erotic romances on her e-reader. He could make a fortune as a male model. Even the touch of grey that streaked his temples was sexy.

She blushed as his words registered through the fog of hang-over that addled her brain. Her lover. Jackson Greywolf was her lover. Her first. She wanted to curse again as she shook her head and pain sliced through it once more, "She would not say anything. She would wash my mouth out with soap."

He laughed, a deep rich as dark as Nana's molasses. "I'd prefer to spank your bottom." He looked at her as walked across the room. A predator. Prowling its cornered prey. A wolf about to pounce. Just like his name sake. He stood next to her bed. Lifted a cup of steaming liquid and held it out to her with a smile that reminded her of a wolf baring its fangs, "But it might take us some time to work up to the more advanced theatrics of sex. Drink some coffee. It will help your head. And I have run a warm bubble bath of what else ails you."

His smugness did not sit well with her. He might appear the considerate lover but she could feel something else, just below the surface. She took the cup from him and brought it to her lips. Its hot liquid scalded her mouth but she needed the caffeine. She sat it back on the tray next to her and added two big spoons of sugar. He watched her every move. It was disconcerting. She raised the cup to her lips once more and drained it. She held tight to the cup as if it were a safety net. 

"Want another? Although a glass of orange juice and a couple Tylenol would do better. I could not find either but we can stop for them on the way out of town," he said as he lifted the tray and turned towards the door.

Her brain was barely functional but the coffee had woken her enough to register his words this time. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she said as she pulled the quilt up to cover her. She still had on her slip but even that seemed scant little given the situation. 

He paused in the doorway, holding the tray that she had used to bring Nana her food for months. This man had invaded her home, her only sanctuary. He acted as if he belonged, as if he had some right to be here, to command her moves. It infuriated her. But his next words sent her spiraling into rage.

***

Jack met her glare with calm aplomb. So his sweet little kitten had claws. Rather than turning him off, it actually affirmed his decision. He would enjoy the game so much more if she fought him a bit. He liked the challenge as he chose his next words carefully. They were his smart bomb. He had known they were the secret weapon he would use all along. It was merely a case of selecting the proper time, the right target. The sooner she understood the stakes of this game, her opponent, the sooner the real fun could begin.

"Are you on the pill, Abby Jean?" he kept his voice completely neutral, knowing that his flat tone added power to the words themselves. He used the nickname that he knew only Miss Myrtle had ever used and then only when her 'good girl' dared to misbehave. He knew far more about her than she realized and he would use it all to his advantage in this game. Because he was playing to win, playing for keeps. 

He kept his face a mask of dispassionate indifference as he watched the rosy color drain from hers. But the way that her delicate hand instantly covered her lower abdomen reaffirmed that he had made the right choice. This one had the maternal instinct that he had always craved in the mother of his children. If his own had lacked it that only made him more determined that it was the primary requirement for his own mate. It was what had kept him from fulfilling those ridiculous stipulations in his grandfather's will. Until now. 

"I take it from that look that the answer is no then?" If he felt a hint of guilt for the way that he pushed his advantage, stormed the fortress when the enemy was at its weakest, well that was just the ways of war. "Do you think that even the Monroe name can shield our half-breed bastard from the gossips in this hell hole?"

He watched her blanch further at his harsh words. But he admired the way that she breathed deeply and turned upon him after regrouping. "This is the twenty-first century, Greywolf. A quarter of children in this country are born to single mothers. So if you think I'm going to slink away to the county home for unwed mothers to have my baby then give it to strangers, you can forget it." 

He wanted to gloat at his luck as she squared those tiny shoulders and faced him down. "Oh, and don't play those cards with me. First of all, half-breed? Oh please! As for Monroe name? You know as well as I do that the Greywolf name carries just as much clout in this town as Monroe. Probably more since Old Joe earned every dime and every bit of this town respect by hard work his whole life. So if you don't mind, let yourself out while I get myself more coffee and soak in the bubble bath you so kindly ran for me." 

He laughed then. It felt good. Perhaps better than anything had since he went fishing with the Old Man a couple of years ago while he was on leave. He could not even remember what his grandfather had said that sunny summer day, just how incredibly right it had felt to be with the man doing what they both loved. Like home. It was the same feeling he had as he stared down this diminutive red-headed fire ball. The rest of his life was looking decidedly more exciting than it had yesterday. 

"If this was Austin or Houston, even Dallas, then you'd be right about all that, darling. But it ain't. This is Sebida. And the minds round here are smaller than the town. You know that. How many times did you hear someone whisper 'poor little girl' behind your back? And your Mama married the asshole." He watched a bit of the fire die and that guilt grew, but not enough to keep him from doing what he had to to win this battle. "I learned the word 'bastard' early and it ain't fun, princess."

She looked away, turning towards the wall, but that tiny hand never left her abdomen. Silence screamed through the small space. Even a man trained to withstand torture and interrogation found it hard to withstand it. 

Finally she broke it with a quiet whisper, "We don't even know. I mean what are the chances? We are just borrowing trouble," she stammered nervously before continuing. "Not that a baby is trouble but you know what I mean." She turned back towards him then. Those wide baby blues almost pleaded with him as she spoke, "We should be reasonable here. Just wait and see if..." Those eyes dropped to the quilt as her tiny hands began to wring nervously. 

He wanted to keep the hard line, but no training could harden the human heart that much. He walked back to where she sat on the verge of tears in that single bed. It had been a long night of alternating heaven and hell holding her close in the confined space. He had a feeling that was just the beginning of his purgatory. 

"You know this place as well as I do, Abby. You know they are going to talk no matter what we do. Do you want them doing the math? Do you want a child, your child, our child, spending a lifetime of silence when he walks into the room?" Her eyes remained locked on her hands in her lap as she shook her head. 

He went in for the kill. "You told me last night that you broke up with your fiancée. You know the town is probably already gossiping about that. What if you are pregnant? Can you imagine what they would say when they found out you were pregnant? When they discovered that the baby could not possibly be his? What then?"

Her voice was soft, broken. "I could go back to Austin. No one would care there."

He chuckled softly, "You could, but I'm betting that you discovered the truth behind those words. No one would care there. That's the damnedest thing about this place. It might be a quagmire of gossip but it is also home. A place where people still care about one another, help out a neighbor. A place where you know it is safe to let your child play in the front yard because the whole damned town is watching out for one another."

He placed his fingers under her chin that was trembling just a bit. He forced her to turn her head and look at him. "A place to raise kids. The place you want to raise your family." He could see the tears that she was using every bit of her stubbornness to hold back as he dove in for the kill. "The place I want to raise mine. That's why we both came back to this place."

She studied him for a long moment before she nodded. "So what's your plan, Greywolf?"

He sighed, "We head to Vegas. Elope to be specific. Then we plant a few tidbits for the gossips. How we found comfort in one another's arms after the deaths of our grandparents. I don't know as romantic as you make it. I figure a couple of visit to the hairdressers for you and one to the seed and feed for me and the whole damned town will be giddy with the tale of true love conquering all."

She shook her head, "So what if I'm not pregnant? We just have a big fight and feed their gossip mill the other way?"

He chuckled, "Sweetheart, if you aren't pregnant, you will be in a couple of months."

She gasped, "But I thought this was a plan to stop the gossips, save our reputations. Not," she stammered and blushed even deeper.

"Not a proposal? Not a real marriage?" He motioned towards the bed, "After last night, sweetheart, you think either of us ain't going back for seconds? Thirds? More? No, baby girl, I know you ain't got the experience to know this, but we have that elusive thing called chemistry." 

Her cheeks were scarlet now and perhaps he should have stopped but something inside of him made him press the advantage. "Maybe it ain't the most romantic of beginnings, Abby Jean, but trust me that chemistry combined with our common desire for a family is a damned site more solid basis for a marriage than the stupid romantic garbage we serving up as fodder for this town's gossip mill. So do we have a deal?" 

He held out his hand and waited for the answer that was way more important to him than it ought to be considering everything.



Small Town Secrets Ch. 04



***

Abby wanted to laugh at his outrageous proposal and his even funnier justifications. She equally wanted to burst into tears at the mess that had become of her life. Most of all she wanted to run into Nana's arms, confide everything (well maybe not everything) and beg for forgiveness and advice that she knew she could count upon to hold the wisdom of the ages. But she could do none of those. Instead she sat and watched her hands fidget against her white slip. She bit her lower lip until the pain reminded her that this was neither a dream nor a nightmare, but very much her reality.

She tried to logically rifle through Jack's arguments. But her logical brain did not seem to be working worth a damn when that man was towering over her looking like the cover of one of Nana's dog-eared Western romances. She half expected the man to let out a war cry and throw her over his broad shoulders and spirit her away. And why did that idea make her body tingle with renewed need? Why this man? Always this man. And especially why now? When there was so much for her to deal with already. 

She needed time to think. Away from him. She needed another cup of coffee. She wanted that bath he promised. But most of all she wanted to wake up to discover that this was just another one of her hot fantasies about the man. If the soreness and stickiness between her thighs was not enough of a reality check then the brownish red stains next to her definitely were. 

She had slept with the man. Correction...she had had sex with him. Given him virginity that she had saved for twenty-six years in some alcohol fueled stupor. She hung her head in shame as tears filled her eyes. Perhaps the whispers of this town were not that far off the mark. Perhaps apples did not fall far from the tree. She supposed she should be thankful to him that he had not allowed her to drive home in that state. To destroy not only her life but others as well as her mother had. After a lifetime of being the 'good girl,' doing all that she could to live down her mother's reputation as a wild drunk, one night, one moment had destroyed it all. 

She feared then that those tears would escape like flood waters during a spring downpour. The bed shifted under his weight. He gathered both of her hands in his. "Would it really be that bad, Abby? Being my wife?"

His fingers under her chin lifted her head. Their eyes met. And the smoldering inferno lit like fresh kindling thrown onto dying embers. Her nipples hardened painfully inside her silken bra. Every inch of her skin flushed and tingled, especially her face and hands where he touched her. She sucked in a deep breath as he slowly lowered his face towards hers.

His lips were soft, teasing as they moved against hers. But she remembered too well the fiery passion they offered. She whimpered like a lost puppy seeking the comfort of its mother's teat, begging for attention. Still he toyed with her, his tongue tracing her lower lip slowly from corner to corner as his hand moved up her arms and around to the back of her neck. He had her virtually imprisoned and yet still he only played at the kiss he must have known she wanted most. She whimpered again, louder this time. "Please," she begged into his mouth. 

He drew back so quickly then that it left her dizzy. The smile on his face was cocky, arrogant, self-assured. She wanted to slap him, wipe that look from his handsome face. But it only got worse.

"That was completely sober. In broad daylight, Abby Jean. And if I had not stopped, you would be spread eagle on the bed with my cock buried deep inside of you within two minutes. Not only would you not have stopped me, you would have loved every single moment of it. You would have come apart at my command just like you did last night," he gloated.

Abby wanted to deny his claims but she could not, given the way her whole body screamed out for his touch. She tried to look away but his hand at the back of her neck would not allow it. He forced her to meet his bold gaze as it raked over her half naked body. 

"You are a fucking Stradivarius. Your body makes the most beautiful music," as if to emphasize his point his hand cupped her breast. His thumb brushed across her nipple. It ached. Her body answered immediately as her chest arched into his touch, another moan wrenched from her dry throat. "But only a master violinist can release that song. In the hands of anyone else it is just another fiddle." 

Abby tried to form a logical argument, respond in any way to his assertions. But that thumb kept stroking back and forth against the soft material of her slip. Her breathing was so shallow that she felt the room spin around her. Was it that simple? Had the problem been Stuart all along? Was it possible that she was not frigid as he had accused? 

She needed to know for certain. Sober. In broad daylight as he said. She needed to know for sure if she could feel that way again...alive. "Show me, Jack."

He shook his head, "No, sweetheart. When I make love to you again, it's going to be in king size bed with loads of pillows." He pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She jumped. "You're going to be wearing that white dress you deserve. And my gold band is going to be on this finger," he lifted her hand to his mouth. First he kissed her knuckles like some chivalrous knight of old, then he drew her ring finger into his mouth. His tongue toyed with it. His sharp teeth scraped it. He sucked upon it for a long moment. It reminded her of how his mouth had felt on her nipple. 

It popped loudly from his mouth like a balloon at a party. His gaze never left her face, "I could tie you to this bed. Make love to you for days. I could train that responsive body to the point that a look from me will set it on fire. I can and will break you if I have to, Abby Jean. Make you really beg. I trained as a SEAL, baby girl. I can hold out for as long as I must to accomplish my mission."

He chuckled, "I know you have heard the old saying 'why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free.' Well, that goes for bulls too and this one ain't going to cheap. If you want more, it will be as my lawfully wedded wife. So what do you say about a road trip to Vegas, Miss Monroe?"

Abby swallowed hard, fought back the tears. Shame. Need. Indecision. Insecurity. All swirl like a Texas tornado inside of her, picking up speed as went. She shook her head, "How can you be so sure?" Her voice cracked as she looked away, one tear managed to escape and cascade down her cheek, "What if it was just a fluke?" She choked on the next words, like vile bile rising in her throat they ate away at her soul, "What it if was all just the alcohol? What if I really am frigid?" 

***

Jack would have laughed if it were not for the pain he heard behind those words. He swore under his breath and promised himself that one day he would have a very long talk with this Stuart fellow. Making her believe that his failings as a lover were her fault. Men like that should be shot. Then again that would be too good for him. But he had an idea for an even better punishment...in time.

Right now, he had a dilemma. He meant what he said; she deserved more, better than another quick fuck in a cramped single bed. Even if he did know he could make it good for her. Sometimes good was not good enough. He wanted perfection...rose petals, silk sheets, every girl's fantasy. As stupid as it sounded.

He had spent a lifetime protecting this country. Other people's rights. Their families. He had always assumed that all that was beyond his grasp. That the poor little Indian bastard did not deserve such 'normal' things as a wife and family. Even when he came back here after the old man died, it was just temporary. He would use the time to settle old scores, bury old demons. Then he would give the bar over to that charity and head back there as a paid mercenary this time. 

But all that changed last night. Was it really just last night? Maybe he should have never given into the temptation to taste her lips. But then look at all he would have missed. The sweet way that her tiny arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her soft moans when he touched her just the right way. But most of all the way that she came apart beneath him, the way his touch could ignite her like lightening on the dry desert shrubs. 

Thing was she really did not understand just how special that was. How unique the chemistry they shared could be. She lacked the experience to realize that this was a once in a lifetime kind of magic. Hell, a magic he had never thought he would have in his whole lifetime. But he was not about to let it go. Not about to let the head job that another man did keep him from having what he wanted.

"If it isn't, Abby? What then? If I can show that the magic was real, are you willing to give this a go?" He forced her to look at him again. He knew it made her uncomfortable, but that was what he wanted right now. "Will you surrender to my terms, baby girl?"

He watched her throat work convulsively. He heard her quick intake of breath on the word 'surrender.' He smiled as he thought where those games might lead. She blushed and bit that bottom lip. He wanted to bite it harder until it was swollen and red. He wanted to taste her blood even. Something primal was raging inside his blood. Something that demanded to be unleashed even as he drew back tighter on the reins of his self-control as he practiced patience. 

"What do you mean? What are you saying?" she stammered. "Do you mean if we do it again, will I marry you?"

He shook his head, "No, I meant it, Abby Jean. I am not making love to you again in this pink nightmare, in a bed that is barely big enough for one, that I am afraid will break under our combined weight." 

He smiled at the look of disappointment that shone on her face at his words. This woman wore her emotions on her sleeve as his grandfather would say. After a lifetime of conniving she-wolves, her innocence was refreshing. 

"But there are other ways. Things I can show you. Prove to you that last night was no fluke. It was just the beginning." He met her gaze full-on, "Put plainly, Abby Jean, I want your word that you will marry me today...when I make you come again."

***

Abby did laugh then at his ridiculous proposition. Or was it a bet? Ironic that the casino owner would play such high stakes games. Although she supposed they were not that high stake for him. What did he have to lose? Why did he really want to marry her anyway?

The word was out before she could stop it, "Why, Jack?"

"Why what?" he looked puzzled.

"Why do you want to marry me? Why not just enjoy the free milk as you say?" she asked boldly squaring her shoulders.

He shrugged casually, "My grandfather wanted to know that the Greywolf line would continue. That the casino would remain a family business if I took it on. Honestly the old codger probably just wanted me back home I suppose. His will stipulates that to keep control of the bar and casino I need to marry within a year of his death."

His eyes captured hers in a heated gaze. "I had decided until last night that I would hand it all over to that charity of his before I was forced to marry." He drew in a deep breath before he continued but he met her stare with firm resolve, "If you want the truth, I am kind of particular about what I want in a wife. I honestly never thought I would find it." His eyes held hers, dared her to look away it seemed, "Until last night."

Abby's throat was too tight. So were her nipples. She could see the honest passion in his face as much as hear the practicality. But marriage was way more to her than a chore to be done to appease an old man's dying wish. It was forever, which she realized now was probably why she kept putting Stuart off for so many years. She had been such a fool. 

Hell, she still was for even considering his proposal. If she had half a lick of sense as Nana would say, she would throw this man out the front door on his gorgeous butt. But this was Jack. Her every fantasy rolled into one. And damned if last night the man had not lived up to every last one of those fantasies. Was she seriously contemplating this? Sure, she had gotten into real trouble in fourth grade for writing Mrs. Jackson Greywolf all over her desk during boring math class. But was she really considering this man's cold and calculating business deal of marriage?

"What do you mean particular? And what makes you think I'd fit the bill?" It seemed she was.

"Your choice of clothes for one. The flowery fifties dress was feminine and classy." Abby blushed and dropped her eyes. It was a bad move considering that her eyes now took in the bulge in the front of his jeans. "But the slip, stockings and garter belt was a fantasy come true, baby girl. They don't belong with a thong though. So from now on unless there is a damned good practical reason not to, you don't wear panties at all."

Abby swore she would suffocate then. She truly could not breathe as her whole body flamed to life at the sound of authority in his voice. There was no mistaking his words for what they were...a command. One that expected to be obeyed. If that was not bad enough, her eyes were playing tricks on her as she swore that the bulge in his jeans thickened and moved with his every word. 

She was helpless to stop herself as her hand covered the short distance between them. Her fingers traced the hardness. Had that actually fit inside of her? She wanted it to again. Almost needed. She felt him shiver beneath her fingers, heard his sharp intake of air. It was the only warning she got before his large hand covered hers, stilling it, but trapping hers at the same time against the throbbing reality of what they had shared.

"And that is the other reason, princess. I want that classy lady to the world. But I want her to be a total whore. For me. Just for me. The way your body responded to mine last night said all I needed to know," he lifted her hand then and placed it back in her lap. 

She shook her head, "So we are back to that. What if it was just the alcohol? Some fluke?" she whispered almost in tears. 

His hand slowly and lightly caressed the full length of her arm to her shoulder. He pushed gently there, forcing her back onto the bed. His body rose over hers with a smile as his hands continued their torturous exploration. His fingers brushed the straps of her slip and bra back before tracing along the edge of her pale pink lace bra. He followed it all the way to the deep V in the middle and back up the other side. Then he pushed it aside and her breast popped free. 

Abby bit her lower lip and closed her eyes. She knew that her barely B-cup tits were nothing special so his next words shocked her, "Perfection." But before she could question his sanity, his hot mouth on her turgid nipple stole hers. He sucked and licked and even nibbled at the peak for several long moments until she was undulating on the bed, arching against him, her body pleading without words for release. 

But he would not give it. Instead he lifted his dark head. His hair shone blue black in the sunlight drifting through the curtains. "Do you still think it was a fluke, Abby Jean?" He pinched her exposed nipple between his thumb and forefinger and tugged her breast upwards. She moaned at the pleasure/pain. It was a heady combination. 

Abby was beyond thinking. Her body was once more a single massive nerve cell that seemed incapable of anything other than responding to this man. "Please, Jack," she whimpered.

He shook his head and smiled like Satan in the Garden of Eden. "Please what, baby girl?" His fingers brushed the straps on the other shoulder aside, bared that breast for his inspection. His smile said that it too met his standards. He pinched the already hard nipple. "Can't have her feeling left out can we?" he growled as he once more lowered his dark head and resumed the torture. 

Her body was no longer her own. It was as if her soul had been plucked up and transplanted into some foreign one, one that seemed alive as she had never imagined possible. It was almost surreal. An out of body experience. She could feel and respond to everything this man was doing to her. Yet some part of her mind was watching from above, detached and in awe of what she witnessed. This creature was everything she was not...sexy, desirable, responsive, wanton even. 

"Jack, please," she half whimpered, half growled.

He lifted his head again. That cocky smile annoyed and reassured her. "Please what, Abby? Tell me what you want. What you need."

She felt herself redden, knew she was blushing a deep scarlet. Until that moment Abby would have never thought herself capable of such boldness. Capable of the passion and desire of one of the heroines in her books. But she was...and more. Need could do strange things to a girl. "Make me come, Jack. I need to come," she pleaded with her words and her body as it danced against his. She wished away the rough denim, wanted so desperately to feel him buried inside of her again. "Please, Jack!"

***

Jack swore he was insane. He had the hottest, sexiest woman he had ever been with underneath him, begging for him to fuck her. He knew she would not resist. He could feel that she wanted him almost as badly as he wanted her. And he was actually going to deny them both what they wanted.

He hated himself then. In that moment he realized that he was that fly caught in a web of his own making. But unlike the Old Man he was not settling. He would play her, use her need, her innocence to get what he wanted. Even if it damned his soul to hell. 

"And when I give you what you need, Abby Jean?" He caressed her cheek softly as he spoke. But her body was aroused that even that simple touch had her moaning and writhing beneath him. "Look at me!" He waited for her eyes to meet his fully, waited until he knew that he had her full attention. "When I make you come, you are MINE. Do you understand me?"

Her sharp intake of breath at that word told him more than the simple nod of her head. "No more arguing. We leave today for Vegas. You will marry me. Be my wife in every way that matters. Cook my meals. Do my laundry. Have my babies. Fall asleep in my arms every night and wake up in them the next morning." 

He knew that his words were harshly real. Perhaps on some level they were as much for his own benefit as hers. But the truth was that he wanted this bit settled. Here and now. He wanted her surrender. Total and complete. He smiled, well, that part he might have to work on a bit more. His games were a bit advanced for virgin school marms, even super-hot ones that were meant for his loving.

"For better or worse. In sick and in health. Forsaking all others. Until death do us part, Abby Jean. This is no game. It is very much real...and I always play to win. You agree to my terms?" 

Jack wondered for a moment as the silence stretched on if he had not overplayed his hand. What if she called his bluff? Could he really just walk away? After watching his grandfather's pain, how could he not? He swallowed convulsively as seconds seemed like days. Damn, why was this so important to him? And why especially did it have to be her? Why did the perfect woman he had waited a lifetime to find have to be that woman's granddaughter?

He closed his eyes against the pain as he faced the possibility of walking away or becoming like his grandfather, settling for scraps from her emotional table. There was no real choice. He pulled back, started to lift his weight off her. 

Those tiny hands clutched him. Just like they had last night. Like what started it all. "No. Don't go, Jack," she pleaded. 

"I have to, baby girl. I won't settle. I can't," he wanted to explain but he couldn't. "I want it all and I want it now. Maybe if I was a better man, a less damaged one, I'd give you time. Dinners. Movies. Flowers. Court you proper, Abby Jean. But I can't take that risk." He laughed, "You've kept one man on the string for five years. I ain't the type to dance to your tune like that."




Small Town Secrets Ch. 04



"That was different," she protested as her hands bit deeper into the knotted muscles of his shoulders. 

"Oh, trust me I get that. The blood on these sheets tells that story. But I won't stick around just to teach you all the tricks that your magnificent body is yearning to learn just to have another man reap the benefits one day. If I train you, it is for my pleasure and mine alone," he punctuated his words by pinching her nipple once more. Her expressive eyes told him more than he needed to know. "And yours of course too."

"Yes, damn it, Jack. Yes," she half pleaded and half cursed him.

"Yes, what, Abby Jean? Tell me." His thumb strummed back and forth across the turgid peak reminding them both of the flames that even his harsh words could not bank. 

She closed those expressive eyes. He had no idea then what she was thinking. He willed them to open again so he could see into her soul...know his fate. She sighed heavily as she nodded her head slowly. "Yes, Jack. Yes, I'll marry you." Her answer was barely a whisper. 

But it was enough. His mouth took hers. His tongue invaded the deep recesses as if he could physically meld them into one being, absorb her into his soul. He feared even then it would not be enough. And in that moment he felt true pity for the Old Man. He finally understood how the greatest man he had ever known could become a pawn to love. 

Was this love? It was not a question Jack was going to take the time to examine at the moment. Lust was more powerful at that moment as his hand slowly slid down her flat stomach. His cock hardened at the thought it might not be for much longer. New life growing inside her. Life he gave her was the headiest aphrodisiac he could manage. He wanted to roar. He wanted strip them both naked and give them what they both wanted.

But not yet. He had to maintain his self-control. He needed to show her that she would not control him so easily. Or maybe he needed to show himself. It did not matter as his hand pushed the soft slip up her thigh to bunch once more around her hips. His hand moved between her open legs. His fingers sought out her wet heat once more. 

He was not in the mood for any more games. They had played long enough. His thumb circled the hard throbbing button that was a miniature of the one bursting his jeans uncomfortably as two fingers sunk deep inside her. He found what he was looking for, that bundle of nerves just inside her tight channel. He pressed up, rubbed and released. 

She arched in his arms, clung to him as she screamed out. He drank in each note of her scream, each spasm of her release. He pushed her body higher, prolonged her orgasm as much for his own pleasure as hers. It was not until her screams became hoarse that he gave a final light caress that left her whole body trembling as he withdrew his fingers.



Small Town Secrets Ch. 05



Abby's world went black. As dark as the depths of the universe. But at the same time the light of a million stars burst through her. Her body was alive. She wanted more. She wanted him. She wanted Jackson Greywolf. Always Jackson. How could she have been so drunk in the bar last night not to recognize him instantly? What if she had? Would that have changed anything? When she reached for this man in the fog of her drunken fantasies hadn't it been him she really wanted? 

She sighed as her body began its slow descent into the real world. Would it be so bad? This lunacy he proposed. Married to the man that she had fantasized about her whole life? What was her problem? Why couldn't she just reach out and grab for what she always wanted? 

Because she was afraid. Afraid that he would find her lacking, reject her as her parents, her mother in particular had. Walk away and abandon her as that little girl had been. Only Nana's steadfast love had drawn her back then, taught her to trust again. But even that was only partial. Even with her beloved grandmother, she had always been afraid to show her what raged inside of her. The whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. Instead she had adopted the 'good girl' façade, doing exactly as everyone expected her to...and doing it better than anyone else.

Her books had been the only escape. The only place where those darkest parts of herself could be freed. Could run barefoot through erotic fields of floggers, collars and Saint Andrew's cross. What would this man think if he knew, really knew, the dark fantasies that lurked in the virgin school teacher's mind? 

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Arrogance and power clung to him like a second skin. She bit her lower lip as she pondered it. The truth was that this man was as dominant as she was submissive. He had shown that several times already. But dominant and Dominant were two different things. Would he be willing to try any of the very naughty things that her dark soul cried out to experience?

Before she had time to answer that one, she was flying through the air. Her arms wrapped about his broad shoulders to steady herself as he cried her across the hall and kicked open the bathroom door. The bear claw tub was full to the brim with steaming hot water and bubbles. She was reminded of her earlier thoughts about needing another cup of coffee and this bubble bath. 

As he lowered her to stand inn front off him next to the tub, she was reminded of just how much her aching body needed it. And why. She reached for the hem of her slip but his hands were there already. He pulled it over her head and in a single motion turned to toss it in the laundry basket. She shook her head. It was almost as if this man knew her home as well as she did. But she did not have time ponder that thought as he made quick work of her bra, tossing it too across the room. 

Her throat tightened and she sucked in air, or tried to, as he knelt on the floor in front of her. He was on one knee...and she was reminded of his proposal. The stark practicality of it left her yearning for more, for him to take to bended knee for something besides just removing her stockings. But that was what he was doing with surprisingly deft fingers. Stuart had always complained that this 'ancient contraptions' as he called them were too complicated, meant to keep men out. Yet Jack liked them or at least said he did. He lifted her leg and placed her foot on his knee as his big hands rolled the stockings slowly down her legs. When he was finished he did the same with the other leg. The only thing left on her then was the tiny scrap of silk that was her garter belt. But his fingers made quick work of that too.

Naked. She was naked. Completely naked. With a man. Not just any man, but the man. Jackson Greywolf himself. She started to lift her arms to cover herself but it was too late. She was once more lifted into his strong arms as he lowered her into the water. The warmth of the it surrounded her, welcoming her. "Hmmm," she sighed as she gave her troubled thoughts over to the comfort of the bath. 

***

Jack looked down at the woman/child who would soon be his. He shook his head at how completely open she was. Then he frowned. How had someone like her managed to survived in this fucked up world this long? How had she managed to remain so unspoiled and innocent in the modern world? The games that people played, mind games, seeking to control and use one another. Everything had become like the balance sheets he went over once a week at the casino. And everyone sought to make sure that they came out ahead, that the tally was inn their favor. 

But not this one. There was no artifice about her at all. She was practically as innocent and carefree as that little girl he had pushed in the swing that afternoon. Did she remember that? He shook his head. What the fuck was he thinking? He should be running as fast as he could from this woman. Instead he was doing everything in his power to bind her to him. He was trying to do the impossible...capture a rainbow and hold it forever in his hands.

That was the simple truth of it. She was the pot of gold he had been secretly looking for his whole life. The one that he would not even admit to himself that he wanted. Her innocence called out to him, ignited the protector inside of him, demanded that lay it all aside to serve her. 

And serve her he would. He knelt at the side of the tub and reached for the wash cloth. He smiled as he found the bar of soap on a tray at the foot of the tub. It was pink of course. And who still used bar soap in this world of body wash? He smiled as he felt himself slip a little deeper into her web. 

He began by lifting an arm. He ran the wash cloth gently up its length to where it met her shoulders, then he ran it back down the underside. She sucked in a deep breath as it brushed against the side of her breast. Oh yes, his baby girl was naturally responsive...and he was looking forward to show her all the joys that could bring them both.

He repeated the process with her other arm and yet again he heard that quick intake of breath. He smiled as he lowered her arm into the water. He lathered the cloth with soap once more. "Sit up," he commanded, although it sounded more like a throaty plea. Either way, she obeyed as he ran the cloth across her back a few times before she leaned back and sank beneath the bubbles once more.

He reached for the soap again. But this time he was not content to let her remain hidden behind her closed eyes, "Look at me, Abby Jean." He wanted to beat his chest like a fucking caveman, let out a war cry like one of his ancient ancestors at the speed with which she obeyed his command. Their eyes met and he held her gaze as he began to rub the cloth from one shoulder to the other. Then his hand moved lower. 

Her eyes went wide as he brushed across her breasts. He felt them pebble instantly. They were so fucking sensitive in a way that the silicone monstrosities that so many of his lovers had favored never would. He cupped and they perfectly filled his hand. He watched as her face pinked once more and he knew it had nothing to do with the warm water. 

"I know they aren't..." she began.

His finger against her lips silenced her as he realized once more that his woman had not survived the harsh realities of modern relationships any better than he had. But that was all over now. She was his to protect and cherish...and heal. Or she would be damned soon.

"They are perfect. I never want to hear you say another negative thing about yourself, Abby. You are perfect just as you are...and anyone that cannot see that is either blind or a damned fool...or both. Do you understand me?" he demanded.

She nodded her head slightly but kept her eyes lowered. There would be times he craved that type of submission but not now. Now he demanded to see it in her eyes. He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "Whatever that man said to you, forget it. He lied. He lied because he knew that he was not worthy of you. He lied because he was a selfish bastard. He probably lied because he wanted to possess you but knew he never really would. So he would rather destroy you than allow another to have you. But whatever reason believe me...he lied."

He saw the sheen of tears gather in those eyes that could hide nothing from him. "I'll try," she whispered.

He reached out and grabbed one of the hard peaks that poked out of the water. He pinched it, "And if those voices start in your head, you will come to me, Abby Jean. You tell me what they say and together we will conquer them. Is that understood?"

She breathing was raspy as she nodded once more. "Yes, Sir," she whispered and a thousand suns burst inside of him. Why the fuck she had chosen those words, he did not know. Yes, he did. Because she was a natural. Naturally submissive. This was no more a role play game to her than it was to him. 

So he rewarded her as he always would with the perfect mate to those words, "Good girl."

***

Those words had haunted her whole life. They were the one thing she strived with every ounce of her being to fulfill. And the one thing she feared she never could truly be. But when he said them...like that, they became so much more. A reward. A promise. A benediction almost. 

Of course, she had read them thousands of times and each time it was the same...butterflies and tingles as the Dom rewarded his sub. But she had never thought to actually hear them. Not like that. Oh, she knew that Stuart had liked to play those games. He had tried with her. She had ended up in a mass of giggles. 

But with Jackson it was different. It was not a game. It was who he was. And she had to admit she was responding to it. He had taken charge of everything since the moment he walked over to her in the bar last night. And as odd as it seemed she had handed over more to him than just the keys to Nana's old Chevy. She had given him control. Her unspoken consent and submission. And this is where it had gotten her...deflowered and naked in tub with her darkest fantasy.

The question was...was this really what she wanted? She could almost see the sands of time flowing through that tiny opening in the hourglass. Honestly, it was probably too late already. She had given over too much control to his manipulation. It would be impossible to wrest back any of it now. The truth was that she did not want to. 

But she knew too that she could not go through the rest of her life...their lives...seeing it as him taking these choices from her, him forcing her to do his will. If they were truly to make this work, and she was coming to accept that was what she really wanted, had always wanted, then she had to surrender fully to him, she had to give her true consent. Because the truth was that no one could truly take what was not freely given. 

She studied the man before her. The one who was reaching for the soap once more. Not the one that she had built up in her fantasies. Not the one that was an amalgamation of all the best parts of her favorite heroes in her books. Not some fantasy. But the reality. And she judged him on his actions of the past twelve hours. 

Twelve hours. Fuck, she felt the panic rising inside of her. Her whole life had changed in what amounted to a single grain of time in that hour glass. She had gone from a virgin school teacher crying in her beer after being tossed aside by one fiancée to the verge of marrying a man she barely knew. She choked on the thought. 

"Breathe," he said as he brushed the rough wash cloth across her breasts. Fire sprang to life threatening to overpower the fear. She held his gaze as he hand and the wash cloth traced gentle back and forth patterns across her stomach. His eyes were dark, almost black and she was losing herself in their depths like an astronaut floating through space tethered by only a thin oxygen cord. She was at the end of that cord now. She had a decision to make. Was she going to try and fight her way back to the safety of the space ship, almost swim her way through the darkness, or was she going to cut that cord that had tied her to the past? Could she truly reach out and embrace a life that she had only dreamt about? How could she not?

Her legs fell open when his hands reached their juncture. Butt he simply smiled and shook his head as he reached for the soap again. He went to the end of the tub and lifted one leg out of the water. He began the slow torturous path back up. "Damn it," she moaned.

He laughed, "I would be careful about what foul language came from that pretty little mouth of yours, Abby Jean. Remember I have a bar of soap right here, sweetheart."

She sighed. How could she keep fighting? It made no sense to fight that which you wanted anyway. He let that leg drop back into the tub and reached for the other. He repeated the process until he once more reached the apex of her thighs. Those eyes flamed to life then.

"When we get to Vegas, before we get married even, you are to go to a spa. I want this waxed, do you understand me?" His fingers firmly caressed her mound as she nodded. "And you will keep it that way from now on. Is that understood? I like a pussy nice and bear when I eat it."

Abby froze, unbreathing, at the naughtiness of his words. She might have read worse, much worse, but never had she heard them. And heard them with such authority. She nodded her head. And he reached between her legs and pinched her clit between his fingers. Pain shot through her. 

"That is not the right answer, Abby Jean," he demanded. 

She could feel the burning in her lungs but she had forgotten how to breathe it seemed. She tried to nod again but his fingers only pinched her tender flesh harder. She tried to think of the 'right answer' but her oxygen deprived brain was spinning. In desperation, she gave the only one that seemed natural, "Yes, Sir."

And once more she was rewarded with those words..."Good girl."

In that moment, she cut that tether. She gave what he could never really take...her consent. She handed over more than the keys of her grandmother's car. She handed over her trust to this man that she had known forever but knew not at all. She embraced the unknown and grabbed for her dreams with both hands.

***

Jack saw it in her eyes. Her surrender. She watched as all the reluctance he had fought since she awoke that morning quite literally flew out the window. He smiled as he recognized her giving herself into his care. 

He let the wash cloth drop into the tub as he wrapped her in his arms and lifted her once more out of the cooling waters. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it about her tiny shoulders. He rubbed her softly, drying the water from her skin before lifting her and carrying her back into that room. 

He sat her on the end of the bed as he threw open the closet. He smiled at what greeted him...more of the same. Soft pinks, pastel blues, sunny yellows, even a fiery red. But all the same feminine full cut of the dress she had worn last night. He studied them and choose a dusky rose with blue flowers. He turned and laid it on the bed next to her. "Wear this one. And pack a couple more for the trip. The red one for sure. And remember no panties, is that understood?"

She stared to nod her head again but then thought better of it. "Yes, Sir," she whispered as her eyes dropped to the floor. 

He smiled as a lifetime he had never thought to have stretched out before him. This was going to be fun. As much fun as training a wild mustang or executing a battle plan as the adrenaline rushed through his body. "That's my girl," he said possessively. "I will be back in half an hour. Be dressed, packed and waiting on the front porch. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir," flowed more easily this time. The battle of wills was over. While he might like to claim victory, he knew the truth...it was she who had chosen to surrender that which could never truly be taken, not even by force. That most precious gift of all...herself. 

He wanted to stay and how her exactly how much she pleased him. But more than that he wanted to seal this deal. He wanted his finger on her finger. Well, not his ring exactly. But he knew the right one, the only one that made any sense. And more importantly he knew just where to find it.



Small Town Secrets Ch. 06



Abby stared at the dress on the bed. She knew that time was ticking away, grains of sand slipping through the hour glass, but her mind was still trying to process the past few hours. Was this what they meant by cold feet? Some crazy part of her shouted...'Run.' As far and as fast as she could. But she knew she would not. Another part of her demanded that she find another dress. Who did he think he was, controlling her? Right down to which dress she wore? 

But those words haunted her brain again. When he said them, the way he said them, did something to her that made her feel alive. Really and truly alive. For the first time. The honest truth was that she had not really lived until she stumbled into him in that dark bar last night. 

Her hands caressed the soft cotton material as she smiled. How had he known? Another truth was that this was her favorite dress, the one she would have chosen herself. And that fact did not escape her. He had chosen what she would have. And somehow that made everything seem more right somehow. 

She sighed as she looked out the window on a bright, sunshiny Texas spring morning. She could see the fields of blue bonnets that lay like a comforting blanket as far as the eye could see, until it met the lighter blue of the skyline. 

She did not know why she dawdled as Nana called it. Yes, she did. She was still afraid. She supposed that she should be. This was to be her wedding day. Her wedding day? To a man that was more legend and fantasy to her than reality. Her logic brain called her a fool, a dreamer, warned her that nothing good could come of such rash and ill conceived plans. 

But Abby had spent a lifetime listening to that logical side of herself. Being everyone else's ideal of the good girl. She had been the perfect student. All 'A's' of course. She had gone to the best college and yet again out-performed most of her peers. She had even dated the 'right' man, from the best family. And when Nana needed her, she had given up her job and apartment to come rushing home. She had lived her twenty-six years...all of her life so far...to please others. 

Jackson Greywolf was what she wanted. Feeling alive like this, like she never had...that was what she wanted. She picked up the dress and held it against her as she danced over to the old-fashioned dresser. She opened the pink drawers, remembering his comment about wanting to make love to her somewhere besides in this pink palace. She chuckled at the room that had not changed since she was fourteen. She had been back for close to a year now. Why had she not changed anything? 

Because she needed to comfort of having everything remain the same. That little girl still hated change. She feared all that it would bring. In complete honesty, that was probably why she had stayed with Stuart for so long. He was familiar and comfortable. 

Nothing about Jackson was either of those things. He was as mysterious as the gas clouds of Jupiter. But oddly enough that was comforting. Not comfortable, but comforting. Abby frowned, something deep inside her told her that she could trust Jackson, something she never really had with Stuart. It seemed odd that after such a long time, a third of her life if she lived to be as old as Nana had, she should just throw it all away...stop listening to that logical side and cast caution to wind...like her mother had? 

Had all that logic and caution really gotten her anywhere though? She had denied herself everything her heart craved, been what other people wanted/expected her to be, done the right thing...been the 'good girl.' And for it, she ended up right back where she started...alone on the family ranch that was falling apart, without the money to restore it, hell, her job was only temporary substitute teaching even. And her engagement? That was a laugh. No, logic had brought her life to as tragic an end as rebellion had her mother's. 

Abby pulled on another pair of stockings and fixed a pale pink garter belt in place. She found a matching pale pink bra and panties set. When she reached for them, his words came back to haunt her and she left the panties at the bottom of that drawer. She dressed quickly and selected a couple of dresses from the closet. The red one as he had commanded, a bright sunny yellow as well. 

Then she went digging at the back of her closet. The black plastic garment bag with the store name embossed across it in silver. It had been an impulse purchase in one off her more romantic moods. She had fallen in love with it the moment she laid eyes upon the ivory satin material with its fitted bodice and scooping neckline trimmed in tiny pearls. Its full skirt had flowed about her legs when she tried it on. 

She had known that this dress would never do for the monstrously large and ornate church wedding that Stuart's family demanded, but still something inside of her had just known this was the dress for her. She had thought that perhaps she could convince his mother that it would be an acceptable going-away outfit with its matching scalloped half-waist jacket and pill box hat with a veil. 

If this dress would never do for such a high society event, it would be perfect for this one. She smiled as she hugged the garment bag close to her body and found the tiny suitcase to pack the rest of her things. She threw them all quickly into the case and zipped it. She remembered his words...waiting on the front porch in half an hour. She wanted to start this new life, this adventure, off on the right foot. 

***

Jackson Greywolf shook his head as he tried to step inside the cluttered confines of the old trailer that sat behind the casino. Hoarder! His mind revolted at the fact that the same man who kept the casino, his office and its books immaculately had chosen to live among a collection of old newspapers, junk and goodness only knew what else. It was another of the things about his grandfather that never made any sense. 

But coming to terms with his Grandfather's faults was not what he was here to do this morning. No, he had avoided this place, sleeping on the couch in the office or a spare room at the casino when one was available for long enough. This place held something he wanted. Something that seemed right somehow. 

He just hoped that it was still where the Old Man had always kept it. It had been years since he had last seen it. The image flashed through his mind like it was just yesterday. His grandfather raging like a prize bull, throwing the thin door of the trailer back. Jack had thought it might actually come off its hinges. Then the man had stormed into the tiny kitchen and living area that had doubled as Jack's own bedroom. The place had not been as cluttered then, though it had never been what most people would consider clean. But it had been serviceable. 

The old cabinets had squeaked loudly as his grandfather had thrown them violently open too. He had reached for a dusty old canning jar at the back of the cabinet. It was the old fashioned kind with the metal fixture across the top that held a glass plug securely in place until released. The Old Man had cursed 'that stubborn, heartless woman' as he released the latch and removed the glass lid. He had taken the little black velvet box from his shirt pocket.

Jack had heard the audible snap as the lid of the box gave way. But he had not expected what lay inside. A silver, turquoise and diamond ring. Its simple beauty had taken the boy's breath away. But more so the dawning knowledge of what had happened in that house as he swung the little girl in the tree. The pain that he saw in his Grandfather's eyes that day would stay with him for a lifetime. He would swear that tears actually glistened in their depths. 

Then he cursed 'that woman' once more, before snapping that box closed with a finality that broke something inside of Jack. His Grandfather had stuffed the box into the wide-mouth Mason Jar then replaced the glass lid and the wire latch that seemed to announce the finality of it all. He had shoved it to the back of the cupboard, but when he pulled his hand out of the cupboard it was wrapped around the neck of a bottle of 'fire water.' 

That alone had said more than Jack needed to know about the tragedy that must have transpired in that old house. His Grandfather had never been a drinking man. How many times had he preached the ills of the 'white man's fire water' to Jack? How many warnings had the young man been forced to endure? Although the fate of his own mother should have been warning enough. Pregnant unwed teen mother who slunk home to daddy when her drinking and a crying baby became more than she could handle. 

Jack picked his way carefully through the tiny pathway between the doorway and the kitchen. He faced the fact that he really did need to do something about this place. And while he had always thought to simply hire someone to haul the whole damned trailer to a junk yard somewhere, let it become someone else's problem, something told him that he owed the Old Man and himself more than that. Something told him that this place held the key to understanding his Grandfather...and perhaps himself.

But that would have to wait for another day, because he came here with a specific purpose in mind. He stood before the old stained wooden cabinet that held so many memories. He hesitated. What if his Grandfather had gotten rid of it? What then? 

Jack supposed he could pick one up once they got to Vegas. Next to the casinos, the wedding chapels and businesses that catered to them where the second largest source of revenue in the desert town...well legal one anyway. There would be hundreds of jewelers more than happy to help him part with a large chuck of his savings. 

Not that that was why he was looking first of this ring. Money was just money, he had always known that. And as a simple man with simple needs, he had acquired more of it than he needed in this life. No, this was about redemption, about closing circles of life, about closure itself. He had learned that his Grandfather had made that ring himself as a young man, one not much older than Jack had been that summer. A young man in love with a girl that he could never have. A man that loved that same woman throughout a lifetime. Through marriages and children and grandchildren. A man that fucking followed 'that woman' as he called her that day into the next life.

And some warped, sick, nostalgic part of Jack thought that perhaps, just perhaps, if that ring could close the circle of destiny between Greywolf men and the Monroe women that stole their hearts, then maybe, just maybe the Old Man and 'that woman' might find something happier in the next life. "When did you become such a sentimental old sap, Jack?" 

He could almost hear the deep gruff laughter of the Old Man as the image of dainty hands curled beneath rosy cheeks of a sleeping angel sprang to his mind. "Gees, thanks for the reminder, Old Man. So dare I ask? Is the thing still here?"

Jackson was not even aware that he was holding his breath until the metal spring latch gave way and the glass lid slid from place to reveal a black velvet box that he had not seen in twenty years. He shook his head, whether at his new found sentimentality or his Grandfather's, he was not certain. Either way he pulled the box from its resting place, wondering if in all those years the Old Man had ever taken it out of this jar. Even just to look at it? 

The sound of the lid on that box was so rusty that he doubted it. But his breath still caught at the sheer beauty of the intricate craftsmanship that he could see in this ring. He imagined his Grandfather as a young man, younger than Abby even. The love and hours of pains-taking details that he had put into the tiny silver symbol remained unchanged by time.

But hopefully the destinies of the Greywolf men would be as he thought about slipping the thing on Abby's finger in a few hours. "A sign would be a good thing, Old Man. I could sure use one. Of all the fucking women in this world, why her? Why 'that woman's' granddaughter? Fate sure is a bitch sometimes, ain't she?"

Jack sighed as he looked around the place that his Grandfather called home long after he could have afforded so much better. The casino manager had found him right over there. In his favorite chair with the television still blaring. He had gone to check on him when he missed a staff meeting. The corner said it was a heart attack, but Jack knew the truth...a broken heart was more accurate. 

"We need our head's fucking examined, Old Man," he chuckled self-deprecatingly. He slipped the tiny box into his shirt pocket and promised himself that he really would do 'something' about this place soon. It took him only a couple of minutes to run into the casino and speak with the manager. After months of running itself, Jack was confident that his unexpected trip would have no ill effects on this place, his legacy...and his child's. 

Which brought him right back to where it all began...with her...with Abby Jean. Damn, he racked his brain trying to remember her last name. He knew he must have heard it at some point. But for the life of him, he could only think of Monroe. He supposed it was on the bank paperwork somewhere but he did not want to waste time on something that did not matter a hill of beans anyway. The important thing was what her name would be in a few hours. Greywolf, he thought as he stuffed a few items of clothes in an old bag. 

He supposed he ought to think about what he would wear to his wedding. But that did not matter either. He frowned, but what she wore did. This whole wedding thing was suddenly looking way more complicated than he had thought at first. Damn, "I could sure use that sign, Old Man," he cursed as he stood in the parking lot considering his truck or Miss Myrtle's old Chevy. Sebida gossip mill be damned, he was making the only logical choice and going with his truck.

***

Abby was beginning to wonder if Jackson Greywolf had not simply headed for the hills while the getting was good as Nana would have said. Although she had no accurate recollection of what time he had left, she knew that she had wasted at least ten or fifteen minutes just sitting on her bed pondering the imponderables. Add another good fifteen to twenty minutes to dress and pack and there went the half hour he promised. And she knew for a fact that she had been sitting here for another twenty...correction twenty-five minutes. So how long did a girl sit swinging and waiting for a groom that might never show up? Five more minutes. That was it. 

Then she was packing in this whole crazy show and going to try her best to just forget that last night ever happened. Even before she finished the thought her hand slid to protectively cup her lower abdomen and muscles that had never been used before screamed in denial. "Who are you kidding? If you could never completely forget Jackson Greywolf when he was just a fantasy, how the hell you think you can after..." Abby's gloved hand left her lap and brushed lightly at her eyes. Damned bright mid-day sun.

She sighed and was just standing up when the shiny red pick-up truck stopped in front of the house. She frowned for a moment, wondering what more could fate throw at her, when the door opened and the man himself stepped out. Her frowned deepened until her brows knit together as he stopped at the foot of the porch steps and looked at her luggage.

"I thought you said last night that we shouldn't leave Nana's car sitting at the bar?" she cringed at how whiny she sounded.

"That was last night when we did not want this town gossiping and ruining your reputation. We want them talking now, remember?" 

She nodded as she stepped forward and bent to pick up her case. His hand stopped her, "I'll get that. But, woman, how many clothes you need? A suitcase, a garment bag and a hat box?"

She blushed and stammered, trying to think of what to say without revealing the whole truth. "It's a new dress. One I have never worn. I just thought, you now, the saying...something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue."

He nodded, "Yeah, I am just realizing how complicated this whole wedding thing can be." 

Abby was silent as they walked the fifteen or twenty feet from the front porch to where his truck was parked on the road. She felt that same panic that she had earlier as she squinted into the sun and fought back tears. But she found her voice, "If you've..."

As they came to rest next to the side of his truck, his fingers gripped her chin firmly and forced her eyes to look into his, "Second thoughts, baby girl. Maybe I need to remind you just how special our chemistry is?" 

He opened the door to the cab and stowed her stuff behind the seat. She noticed one other battered bag and assumed it was his stuff. When he was finished he turned back towards her and stepped closer, his body towering over her. But rather than feeling insecure, Abby felt...protected? 

She did not have time to analyze it when his other hand traced lightly up and down her arm, igniting old flames that had merely been smoldering. "Fuck, who am I kidding? I want to taste you." His growl deepened as his mouth covered hers, then his tongue demanded entrance and she was lost in the feel and as he said taste of this man. For a woman, who had once thought herself frigid, it was a new sensation. And each time seemed more miraculous than the last. 

Would she ever get enough of this man? Most people said that fantasy was usually better than reality, but not with Jackson Greywolf. None of her trashy erotica or late night fantasies had matched what happened to her body when he touched her. 

The cold metal of the truck barely registered in her addled brain especially with the burning heat of his body pressing into the front of hers. She moaned into the depths of his mouth at the feel of his chest through the soft cotton of his t-shirt. The pounding of his heart beneath her fingers tips was doing funny things to her tummy. 

If that was not bad enough, his hand gripped her thigh and brought it up to wrap about his hips and she could feel every hard inch of his cock pressed right where she wanted it. She moaned in frustration at the layers of clothes that kept her from what she wanted most...him buried inside of her once more.

He broke the kiss but made no effort to step back, instead he simply leaned his forehead against hers and smiled. "I think we can both endure a few complications of a wedding...for that," he drawled.

She was about to nod when she saw a car slowing down as it passed. She automatically stiffened a bit when she recognized Sybil May, the owner of Serbia's one beauty shop as they still called it since salons were for city slickers. "Oh my..."her mouth formed a perfect 'O' in shock and dismay.

***

Jack just chuckled, "Damn, I couldn't have planned that better myself if I tried." His smile widened even more, "Seems you have to marry me now, Abby Jean, cause after who just saw that little kiss this whole fucking town is going to be talking before we even hit the county line. So if that bag contains the new, I have the old. By my reckoning that just leaves borrowed and blue."

He drew back reluctantly until he realized that the sooner they got this whole damned thing on the road, the sooner he could once again enjoy the full, ripe pleasures...of his wife's responsive body. That word should have scared a man, who had waited so damned long to take 'the plunge' as it was sometimes called, but it did not...not when it was applied to her. 

His hands steadied her as he watched her face. She really was a completely open book, right down to the pouty bereft look on it when he stepped back and ushered into the confines of his truck. He could not resist a brief and almost chaste kiss before closing the door to the cab. 




Small Town Secrets Ch. 06



He whistled as he walked around the back of his truck to the driver's side. If it was a bit of trouble getting his hand into his pocket to retrieve the keys, well, he was not going to complain. He tossed the keys in the air as he thought about this latest turn of events. 

He had asked his Grandfather for a sign. Then Sebida's queen of gossip just happened past at the exact moment that they were lost in an erotic kiss to end all kisses? Jack was not sure exactly what would constitute a sign to his ancient people, but damn, he was willing to go with it. "Thanks, Old Man," he muttered as he opened his door and slid into the seat next to her.

He shook his head and unbuckled her seat belt. He tugged her across to the middle seat and fastened the other seat belt across her. "That's better," he smiled. 

She looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. Damn, white gloves? His cock hardened even more. How the hell had he missed those? As fantasies multiplied in his head. 

"I wasn't sure. It's a long drive. So I thought maybe you needed more room. You know to get comfortable," the pink dusting across her cheeks and the low, stuttering lilt of her voice only excited him further. 

Almost twenty hours in this three by four space of his truck's cab with the soft feminine smell of her rose shampoo and soap filling his senses and her pressed against him. Was this heaven? Or hell? Did he honestly care? "Get comfortable, sweetheart, cause you're right were you belong."

And Jackson Greywolf had not been more certain of any words he spoke since he vowed to protect and defend the constitution of the country he loved. Fuck, he cursed, this was love, wasn't it? But he had twenty hours of mostly long roads through desert to think about that. And he was certain that she would sleep through at least some of it. 

He plugged his phone into the dashboard and selected a playlist. The smooth, sultry voice that came from the speakers was almost as sweet as hers. "Sorry, it might not be your thing, but on a long drive like this a bit of music is nice."

She smiled and shook her head as she joined in with the singers, "Who in Texas could not like the Dixie Chicks?"

Jack chuckled as her less than stellar singing mingled with the country trio, "Cowboy take me away..." Well, at least the woman was not perfect, he thought as he pulled truck onto the road. But the gloves and now the Chicks. Damn, those signs kept piling up, didn't they?