Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Her mama would have had a fit to see Gin rest her forearms on the restaurant table and lean forward. But Friday nights at the Mother Lode tended to be noisy, and Becca was telling how their dog Thor had almost given a lodger a heart attack when the man approached the baby.
It was good to be with friends—especially her three besties with their husbands—or maybe she should say their Doms, cuz boy, when the men were together, the testosterone was thicker than the perfume at a churchwomen’s social.
Beside Gin was Atticus. To her right were Virgil and Sunny; across the table were Logan, Becca, and the baby, as well as Jake and Kallie.
“You’re right, babe. This is great.” As Atticus signed the check, he used his free hand to steal the last bite of her strudel.
“Thief,” she said without rancor, far too full to be upset.
He rubbed his shoulder affectionately against hers. “Like being back with your girlfriends, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question. “Yes. I missed them.”
His smile faded. “Magnolia, no matter what fights we get into, I won’t ask your buddies to choose between us. That’d be a fucking cowardly thing to do.” He tugged her hair. “If I’d known you were avoiding them, we’d have talked sooner. I see I need to watch you more closely.”
She made a disparaging noise in the back of her throat even as her inner girl wiggled in happiness. “I don’t see how you possibly could.”
In the dim restaurant, his grin was bright. “I’ll figure out a way. Speaking of which, we need to talk about you starting a journal.”
“I have one—and it’s for me, not you.”
His lips twitched. “’Fraid not, babe. D/s journals are what a submissive shares with her Dom. Because sometimes writing is easier than talking. You know all about not sharing, right, little counselor?”
Trapped. “Listen, you’re not—”
“Next time, I want to know you’re feeling insecure before I find it out in a grocery store,” he said softly.
When he talked like that, she wanted to burrow right into him. As his gaze held hers, every smidgen of her resistance dissolved.
She should learn his technique. The skill would be most useful with her caseload of hardened convicts.
“Atticus,” Jake said from across the table. “You going on the Search and Rescue climbing day? We could use someone familiar with the rigging.”
“Sure.”
Gin stiffened. “You’re climbing?” she whispered.
“SAR needs everyone it can get. And those exercises you gave me are helping.” He touched a finger to her cheek. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Even if—when—I can climb without needing to puke, I’ll use gear.”
Thank you, little baby Jesus.
A flash of pain showed in his eyes. “You know, I’d planned to quit free soloing, but Bryan was still into it.” He shook his head. “I should have stuck to my guns. Maybe he’d…”
“Oh, honey. Over the years, I’ve learned that decent people are walking storehouses of regrets.” She tipped her cheek into his palm. “If you’d died and Bryan was the survivor, would you forgive him?”
“Well, yeah.”
“If Bryan’s ghost could talk, would it blame you?”
The corner of Atticus’s mouth edged up. “He’d get a kick out of being a ghost—and he never held a grudge in his life.”
“Well, then.”
“You have a tender heart, counselor.” He bent down, slanted his mouth over hers, and ran his tongue over her bottom lip, before giving her a leisurely intoxicating kiss. He tasted of dessert, making her think of other treats a woman might have if she tried.
A baby crying and chairs moving broke them apart.
“Easy, buddy,” Logan was saying. Ansel’s face was red, fat tears on his cheeks.
Rebecca plopped a pacifier in Ansel’s mouth. Silence. “Sorry, everyone, but we need to go before the youngest Hunt gets cranky. He takes after his father, you know.” As laughter ran around the table, she bent to pick up the diaper bag from the floor.
Logan shifted Ansel to his other shoulder and took advantage of her position to run a finger along the top edge of her chemise. “Nice breasts, little rebel. Good thing they keep me—and Ansel—from getting too cranky.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “You’re the reason those breasts are so big, thank you very much.”
“And it was my very great pleasure.”
Gin grinned as she shoved back her chair. In her usual country-urban style, Becca wore faded jeans, fancy stiletto boots, and a flannel shirt unbuttoned far enough to show off her lacy chemise. She’d complained her breasts had increased two sizes with pregnancy, but no man around seemed to mind.
As Logan stood with Ansel in his arms, the baby was chuckling and kicking his little feet inside the onesie.
Becca was a lucky, lucky woman.
Atticus picked up Gin’s coat and saw her watching the baby with a longing expression.
She wanted children. The knowledge kindled a kindred desire inside him. But one that might take a while to materialize.
Although she was slowly coming to rely on him, she didn’t yet trust him not to vamoose. Eventually, she’d learn he wasn’t like her previous lovers—or asshole father, for that matter. Time would show her he was honorable and wouldn’t walk away from the woman he loved.
Loved?
He froze in place for a moment—and then shook his head ruefully. Snuck right up on him, hadn’t it? But, there it was—the woman he loved.
Now he had to figure out how to share how he felt without her fleeing the state. Smiling, he helped her into her coat and helped himself to a long hug. His woman gave good hugs.
Outside, the rain was still pouring down, and after a quick good-bye, Logan and Becca and Ansel, Jake and Kallie headed for their vehicles.
Under the overhang, Gin was talking to Sunny about a proposed shopping trip when Atticus caught her attention. He jerked his chin toward the convenience store across the street. “Didn’t you say you needed dog food for Trigger?”
“Oh, spit. Yes, I do.”
Sunny eyed the wet street. “I have to make a run too. The bottomless pits called the Masterson men are out of milk and—horror of horrors—chips. You wouldn’t believe the way they go through junk food.”
“I can’t believe you cook for them.” Gin pulled up her hood.
“Everyone takes a turn, and each of the guys has a specialty—like Morgan does all the Asian foods. But the cleaning? Oh, God, you should see the messes they make.”
“Nurse, meet pigs, right?” Gin giggled. “But you shouldn’t have to put up with that.”
Atticus grinned as he and Virgil followed the women.
And, yep, as the women entered the store, Gin was giving Sunny ideas on how to effect a change in the brothers’ slovenly behavior.
Dumping all their scattered stuff in the stable? Possibly effective, although the horses might get offended by the stench.
Upping any offender’s share of household expenses to hire a maid for their scheduled cleaning days? Now that was plain evil.
Virgil rubbed his chin. “My brothers might be in for a shock.”
“I take it you’re not on the shit list?”
“Nope.” Virgil smirked. “If I do my part, then my submissive has enough energy to last through what I want to do to her. Win:win.”
“Smart man.” After shaking the water from his hat, Atticus followed Virgil into the store.
“Hey, Lieutenant. Detective.” The grizzled owner, Mark Greaves, stepped from behind the counter.
“Any chance you two could help me out? I have dry rot under a fridge in back. Didn’t notice it until today when it started sagging.
I can’t budge it, and I’m afraid it’ll go through the floor before I get Harve’s crew out here tomorrow. ”
“That’d suck,” Atticus muttered.
“Not a problem,” Virgil said. He raised his voice. “We’ll be in the back, Sunshine.”
The women were perusing a potato chip bag label, discussing health and fat grams.
Jesus, seriously? Shaking his head, Atticus followed the men. If Gin brought home “healthy” chips, he’d warm her ass.
Over the next few minutes, he soon regretted the hearty meal he consumed. The fucking industrial refrigerator weighed a ton.
Greased by an ample amount of swearing, they eventually managed to shove the damn thing to a stable section of floor.
Leaving Greaves to plug his machine back in, Atticus led the way out of the backroom, rotating his strained shoulders. Hot tub tonight.
He froze at the smack of flesh on flesh. A woman cried out in pain.
Gin. Atticus broke for the front. Virgil veered off, taking another aisle.
The front was deserted.
“Leave her alone!” Gin’s raised voice came from the right. “Get out of here before our men return.”
Atticus leaned over the counter to check Greaves’s store monitor.
Third aisle. Two men. Gin and Sunny. Someone lay on the floor.
“Hey, looky-looky, the cunt wants to play.” The man’s voice held an ugly note.
“I don’t see no men, do you?” Another spoke. “Bitch is lying.”
Atticus sped toward aisle three, glancing down each row as he passed. No one. No one. There.
At the far end of the row was his woman, back to him. United against two men in leather jackets, she and Sunny stood side-by-side, protecting the black woman sprawled on the floor behind them.
Gin held a bag of dog food in her hands. The men had no weapons out, and his fear receded a notch.
Even as Atticus yelled, “Police,” the men attacked the women.
Gin threw the dog food at the biggest bastard’s legs.
He tripped and fell to his hands and knees.
Screaming bloody murder—good girl—Gin backpedaled.
Sunny shrieked, “Virgil, help!” With a sweep of her arm, she knocked an entire display of cereal boxes at the other man.
He stumbled, doing fancy footwork to keep his feet.
Snatching cans from the shelves, Gin bombarded her target, and Sunny followed suit.
“Fuck. Shit.” Cursing accompanied the thud of metal against flesh.
Charging up behind the men, Virgil dodged a thrown can, skidded to a halt—and roared with laughter.
Despite his fury, Atticus was already laughing. He reached over Gin’s shoulder and grabbed her next missile. “Okay, slugger. We got this.”
She glared at him. “I do believe you were dawdling.”
Hell of an accusation in that slow drawl of hers.