Chapter 22
[Taxi]
Ididn’t know where to start. Didn’t know what he already knew or didn’t know about me. As neither of us recognized the other as adults, I didn’t know what he’d remember from my childhood. My brief time here in Sterling Falls.
Judd was often at Trudy’s home, which made our friendship easily bloom, but I didn’t have much interaction with the eldest Sylver or his brother Clay, who was second in line. Both boys were teenagers, and just ahead of Judd and me in age when I moved here.
I also didn’t have much interest in boys back then.
My world was my sisters and our younger cousin of sorts, Rowan.
Our time together included running around the yard, making up games, and using our imaginations, which sometimes resulted in innocent trouble, like painting the side of Aunt Trudy’s shed purple and green.
Trudy and Carlton’s home was full of fresh food, clean spaces, and land to roam free.
Grand adventures were had in their backyard.
Heaven in West Virginia? I believed I’d arrived.
But the darker side of landing a dream placement as a foster kid was the reason I was in Trudy and Carlton Wallace’s home in the first place.
“My mama . . .” I begin, licking my lips. “She didn’t make good choices when it came to men.”
Stone lowers his gaze and nods, like he already understands my meaning.
“I never knew my daddy. He was long gone by the time Mama met Trudy Wallace’s older brother. Sedona and Jolene are his daughters.”
Stone’s head lifts, and his thick brows pinch, hinting he already knows where this story might be headed.
“He was a mean man.” I exhale. “He loved my mama something fierce and then acted the opposite with the flip of a coin.” Love was not the right word to describe what my mother and Trent Wallace had.
I wasn’t deaf to the noises coming from my mama’s room or blind to the way he’d sometimes kiss her in front of us.
Like he wanted to swallow her, bring her into his chest, and keep her near his heart.
“They were not good for one another. Toxic.” Stone’s face has my attention, but my mind is years behind me. The insults. The fights. The results.
“She went to the police.”
Stone’s head starts to bobble like he knows how this story played out.
“When they didn’t help her, she took the law into her own hands.”
Stone closes his eyes, scrubs a hand down his face, the rasp of his scruff loud in the otherwise quiet room. He leans against the high back of his chair.
Shame washes through me. The stain of my mother’s decision was like paint I can’t ever seem to remove.
And I don’t know why I’m telling him this story when I never share it with anyone.
Traveling here and there doesn’t lead to long-term relationships or anyone getting close enough to need to know, want to know, these details from my past.
Water under the bridge, Trudy might say. But when the tide rose, a flash flood of memories could drown me.
“She was found guilty and sentenced to life in prison.” I swallow thickly. “And we never saw her again. By her choice.”
I tried to reach out to Mama when I got older. Sent her a handful of letters to tell her about art school, and Sedona and Jolene. How we all fared well with Trudy and Carlton.
The letters were returned in a bundle, marked Return to Sender. I never reached out again.
Maybe that’s another reason I sent Stone all those postcards without a return address. I couldn’t take that kind of rejection again. If he tossed them in the trash, I wouldn’t be the wiser. But if he sent them back to me, I couldn’t handle that kind of dismissal.
Stone leans forward again, slowly, deliberately, like he knows he’s approaching someone fragile. Someone on the edge of cracking, despite the strong exterior I display.
He reaches for my hands and tugs one toward him. Cupping both his hands around mine, he strokes the thick pad of his thumb over my knuckles, focusing his gaze on where he touches me.
“I’m so sorry that happened to her.” He pauses. “That she sought help and didn’t receive it. And I’m sorry she felt desperate enough to make a decision that altered her life, and Trudy’s brother’s life, and yours and your sisters’ forever.”
He pauses again and pulls my hand up to his lips, pressing them to those knuckles, lingering there.
“The sins of the father . . . the sins of any parent . . . should never be held against the child.”
With a suddenly sharp look, Stone’s eyes say everything. He isn’t going to hold my past against me.
“You’re the sheriff,” I swallow thickly, shame rattling inside me, remembering what Trudy said. My mama’s situation was not Stone’s fault. “I hope you can understand—"
“You don’t trust the law.”
I shake my head, acknowledging his assessment.
With his head bobbing only slightly, he lowers my hand, still held snuggly in both of his. He stares at the back, continuing to paint even strokes over my skin. My fingers are long and thin compared to the thickness of his and the pad of his palm. His hold on me feels reassuring, soothing, calming.
“Taxi.” He lifts his head. “I’m not asking you to trust something you can’t. But I am asking you to trust in me. As a man. A man who wants to get to know who you are in the present, not what happened to you in the past.”
“One defines the other.”
The corner of his mouth flicks upward, forcing that mustache to twitch. His voice is sad.
“Yes, it does, but I never want to be held accountable for things out of my control. Things I navigated the best I could and became determined never to be.”
He pauses a beat. “My father . . . he was mean, as I suspect Trent Wallace might have been. And he took his heartache out on his children.”
My eyes widen, remembering bits and pieces of Judd’s experience. His tears. His hatred of their dad.
“Did he . . .” I swallow thickly. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not in ways you might think. But words can do their damage despite the old saying. He was worse toward a few of my brothers.” He swallows thickly.
Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Easier said than believed by some.
“But I’m explaining this so you know where I’m coming from. I believe in the law and the rightness it should follow. The rules. The regulations. Because I didn’t have anyone protecting me . . . me or my siblings . . . I went into law enforcement to be that protection I didn’t receive for others.”
I watch his throat roll, sensing there’s a story here. One with more depth, despite the past I knew about Judd, and this new admission from Stone.
“I just want to assure you I’m on the right side of things. I’m not perfect, but I try my best to be fair. To see all sides of a story.”
He stills his thumb over my knuckles and focuses on my face.
“I’m sorry the law didn’t do its job, do what was right by her, but the whole reason I’m a sheriff is to make certain the law does what it should. Protect those who need it.”
Like Mama.
Like his siblings.
My body practically squirms, the desire to sit up and crawl into his lap and reassure him in some manner. Confess my guilt for unfairly judging him and express my sympathy for all that happened to him as a child.
We’re almost two peas in a pod. Almost.
Instead, he startles me by patting the back of my hand once, gently. “Now, this isn’t exactly bedtime story material. And I really do think you need some sleep.”
He runs his finger around my face again and settles just underneath my chin. “Get some rest. I’m right here.”
I lick my lips, nodding to agree with him, but still overflowing with new thoughts.
His past. Mine.
He’s already rejected my proposition for distraction. Saw right through my proposal and gently shut me down. Rightfully said no. I’m not in the headspace for sex.
I want something more.
“Stone?” I swallow a thick lump in my throat. A stream of panic lances through me. Fear that he’ll say no, but still so desperate for a yes.
“Would you . . . could you . . . maybe just . . . lay here with me?” It’s a big ask, especially after what I told him, how I’ve treated him.
“Sure.” He answers without thought, quietly sighing as if in relief.
Slowly, he stands. Stone Sylver could look imposing if he wanted to, the uniform adding to that power stance. Instead, he looks like a safe space to root, a soft place to land.
At least for tonight
“That uniform looks uncomfortable,” I admit, uncertain how he’d sleep in that thick belt with that badge on his chest.
He chuckles softly, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head. “Still trying to get me out of my clothes, Tallulah?”
“Want to know if there’s a giant S for Superman underneath that stiff shirt.”
His laugh comes a little louder as he slowly unbuttons his uniform, but his tone sobers when he says, “I’m just a man, Taxi. No superpowers. Nothing special.”
I beg to differ, but tonight I don’t have any arguments left in me.
Silently, I watch as he strips off his shirt, peeling back the two halves and rolling it over his shoulders before draping it neatly over the back of the kitchen chair. His belt makes a distinct clatter when he removes it, setting it over the chair, as well, before toeing off his shoes.
He’s wearing a plain white tee beneath the uniform. No S on his chest, other than an invisible one.
One for steadfast, sturdy, solid. Stone.
“You can take off your pants if you’re uncomfortable.” I lick my lips. “If it makes you more comfortable.”
He chuckles again. The sound light, but a little choked. “Still trying to get in my pants, darlin’?”
I laugh, feeling a little lighter myself, before chewing at my lower lip to bite back a response.
When his pants come off, he lays them neatly on the chair seat. In white boxer briefs, he looks like an underwear model, advertising something pure and dignified with all that starkness, but I briefly see the outline of something not so little that gives me impure thoughts.
Looking away, I close my eyes as Stone reaches behind me and tugs the back cushions free from the couch to offer him more space. I don’t know how we’ll both fit on this old sofa and second-guess my suggestion until Stone climbs over me, slipping in between the back of the furniture and my body.
And then, he spoons me. And I do not mean a casual big-spoon, little-spoon nesting together.
Stone Sylver knows how to cuddle.
He slides one arm underneath the pillow and settles his nose against the nape of my neck. Then he drags his hand down my arm and over my hip, where he flattens his palm against my lower belly, pinning me to him.
Back to chest.
Ass in lap.
Knees behind my knees.
He’s lined up with me in every way he can be, including his feet underneath mine, propping the pads of mine on top of his.
He bends the arm beneath the pillow, slips his hand into the robe that’s too big for me, and cups my opposite shoulder. His palm is warm against my heated skin, and he tickles that thick mustache into my nape before mumbling, “Good night, Tallulah.”
In some manner, I should feel trapped by our position, caged in, pinned down, however one wants to define the confinement.
Instead, Stone coiled around me makes me feel cradled, coddled . . . safe even. And while my body first wanted sex as a distraction, to experience his flesh and disappear from my head, the zing zipping down my middle is nothing compared to raging desire.
It’s the slow melt of an ice cap. The trickle of a refreshing stream. The cool mix of deep blue with bland white, resulting in a pretty periwinkle. A color that always feels soft and feminine, and taken care of.
Like Stone does for me.
And I slip into a restful sleep.