Chapter 27
[Taxi]
In the morning, when Stone gives me another ride to the hospital, with only the radio playing low, he holds my hand.
It feels like such an innocent thing compared to what we did last night, but it’s the touch I didn’t know I needed.
The reassurance that last night wasn’t just a whim for either of us.
Thankfully, Trudy is more alert during the morning hours, but the nurses demand she continue to rest. As for me, I’m coming a little out of my skin sitting beside her. I need to do something. Stretch my limbs more than I stretched them last night.
With thoughts of Stone and what we did rolling through my head like a featured film, I squirm in my seat.
“You okay there, girl?” Trudy asks with her eyes closed. I swear she has Spidey-senses, which tracks because she’s a superhero in my eyes.
“Just . . . antsy,” I admit, as there’s no sense lying to her.
“Need to paint?” she asks, eyes still closed, voice sleepy.
“Yeah.” I do, and I had to reschedule my next project. With the decision to stay in Sterling Falls for a while, I need to cancel a few projects, something I’ve never done before. My reputation for being prompt and thorough is a thing of pride.
“You don’t need to hover, Tallulah. I’m just lyin’ here.”
I snort. “I’m not hovering.”
“But you’re pinned in place, and I know how anxious that can make you.”
This woman knows me so well. Like a mother. Better than my own mom.
“I’m not anxious.” I shift in the chair again, causing it to creak. Trudy opens one eye and smiles weakly.
“Got other things on your mind?” That soft smile quirks higher on one side, like she knows something. “Seen Stone brought you in again today.”
The chair beneath me makes another noise as I adjust my position one more time.
“Yeah. He’s been giving me a ride.”
Trudy chuckles. If she was a girlfriend, I might have joked about her having a dirty mind.
But this is my aunt, and I don’t have many friends.
Not permanent ones. When you scatter like leaves in the wind in search of something new, you don’t form long-term commitments, and friendship is a commitment.
My thoughts leap to Judd. And Genie. She doesn’t seem like the type to let a friendship slide.
And Simon, who needs reassurance I’m not a flight risk.
And Stone . . .
“He’s a good man,” Aunt Trudy states.
I hum noncommittally.
When the chair beneath me squeaks once more, Trudy opens both her eyes. “Why don’t you go grab a coffee or take a walk. A woman can’t rest with all the noise that seat is making.”
She isn’t angry or even bothered, but she’s detected my unease. My need to move or create or not think so hard.
Slowly, I unfold from the chair that isn’t exactly made for comfort and lean over her. I swipe my hand over the silk scarf on her head.
“Do you need anything?”
“Peace.” Her eyes are closed, but her smile says she’s teasing me.
I pat her hand and exit the room. Wandering the hospital hallways, I don’t get further than the cafeteria before I sit in an equally uncomfortable chair at a table and stare out the window.
An approaching man has me turning my head. He’s wearing a security uniform, which makes him look like a cop when he’s not. I don’t know how much trouble a small-town hospital would have, but I appreciate the attention to keeping patients and visitors safe.
What I do not appreciate is how close this man comes to the edge of the table, pressing the tops of his thighs right up against the side. A quick pass over his features marks him as nothing special. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Pale skin.
Muddy comes to mind. Something clumpy and slick between my fingers.
“Jolene?” He hesitates, although excitement fills his voice.
When I turn and give him my full face, his crumbles a bit at the disappointment. I am not my younger sister.
I don’t directly answer him, just give him a blank stare.
“You’re one of Trudy Wallace’s girls, right?” He gives me a sly smile that makes my skin crawl, and the fine hair on the back of my neck rises.
I keep my laidback position of feet spread wide and back tipped against the upper edge of the chair, however, I’m anything but at ease with his closeness and his assumption I’m my youngest sister.
“And you are?” Before I confirm I’m one of Trudy Wallace’s girls, I want to know who he is and what his interest is in my sister.
Jolene could be a handful when she was a child. Finding trouble before it found her, and then rolling around in it like a puppy with an itch. This led to poor decisions and risky relationships.
He hooks his thumbs into the vest he’s wearing, which seems like a bit of overkill in this hospital cafeteria. A room filled with soft murmurs and quiet conversations, plus the gentle tink of actual silverware on plastic trays. They up-cycle here. Rewash. Reuse.
“Andy Whitehall,” he eventually answers. “You don’t remember me?” He tightens that smile, forcing it in place, like he’s a bit put out that I don’t recall who he is. Something tells me my sister might not have fond memories of this man either.
“Sorry. I’m not Jolene.”
He narrows his eyes a second, scanning over my face and dropping down to my breasts.
The creepy perusal causes me to sit upright and cross my arms on the table’s surface. Andy scoots back, but not more than a slim inch.
“But you’re one of them, right?”
“One of what?” I snap, a little harsher than I should, considering he’s towering over me and trying to exert some false aura of authority. I don’t want any trouble, so I should probably keep my tone steady. But I don’t appreciate how he sounds almost accusatory, like it’s a negative thing.
“One of Trudy’s girls.”
“One of them,” I state, not offering my name.
“Your sister and I were . . . friends. Is she around?” He glances over his shoulder like he expects to see my younger sister. His voice lifts just a smidge, as if he’s hopeful and eager to see Jolene.
Despite us not being particularly close, I think I’d remember hearing about a man who considers himself a friend of hers. Especially a man giving off strong stalker vibes.
“She’s not here,” I reply noncommittally, as I don’t actually know where exactly my youngest sister is.
“Huh.”
Huh.
He eyes me up and down again, taking in what he can see, considering I’m using the table like a weak shield of protection.
“She was one sweet taste of brown sugar.”
“Excuse me?” I lean to my left while looking over my right shoulder, keeping my arms crossed on the table, when I want to flip it over. What the fuck did he just say about my sister?
I glare up at him, blinking like I didn’t quite hear what he just said when I heard him loud and clear—and just get the fuck out of here!
“Andy.” The short, stern, surprisingly loud sound of Stone’s voice, along with a hard hand clap on Andy’s shoulder, causes the man to jump.
Because of Andy’s position, he was blocking my view of anyone else in the cafeteria, and I hadn’t seen Stone’s silent approach.
“Stone,” Andy chokes out. His gaze flicks from me to the man standing a few inches taller and a lot too close to the lesser man. “Nice to see you.”
Stone doesn’t reply.
Andy glances at me again and offers a stiff nod. “Hope your Aunt Trudy is feeling better soon.”
He saunters away, offering someone else a chin tip as he weaves around the scattering of tables.
Stone and I both watch Andy’s retreat before Stone turns toward me and pulls a chair from the opposite side of the table to the edge, so he can sit at ninety-degrees from me.
He takes a seat and angles toward me, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs.
“What happened to your arm?” I immediately question, reaching for his forearm, which is wrapped in a large gauze bandage.
“Did he say what I think he said?” Stone says at the same time, dismissing my concern for him.
“Stone. Your arm.” What the hell?
“I’ll tell you about my arm in a minute.” He pauses, glancing quickly over his shoulder, then back at me and repeats his question. “Did he just say what I think he said?”
“What do you think he said?” I ask, falling back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest again to steady the rumble inside me. My blood pressure is still on the rise, especially noting that bandage on Stone’s arm.
When Stone doesn’t repeat what he heard, I clarify. “He was talking about my sister.”
His gaze doesn’t leave my face. “Does that happen often? Comments like that.”
I stare back at him, feeling the anger wavering around him like a foggy haze. His stoic, still nature looks ready to implode.
“You ever date a woman of color before?” I ask, keeping my arms crossed, my body tight. My tone is steadier than I feel.
Stone shifts in his chair, meeting my gaze head-on. “I haven’t, actually,” he admits slowly. “But I want to understand.”
Lowering my arms, I clutch the edge of my chair and focus on the bandage on his arm.
“Some people . . . they don’t just make it hard, they make it impossible.
You learn to keep your head down, swallow your anger, never make waves, because it never ends well for women like me.
Being a woman is hard enough. Being a woman of color?
It’s like carrying a storm in your chest every damn day. ”
Stone’s jaw tightens. “That’s bullshit,” he mutters, his eyes sharp, his focus on me unwavering. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that. Ever. Not for a second.”
I blink, caught off guard. His words feel deliberate, full of emotion, like he’s thought about this more than I expected.
“Vale . . .” Stone’s voice dips when he mentions his sister.
“She’s pretty open about the things men say or do.
It’s been a real education. So, I don’t want anyone talking to you like that, or about your sister, or your aunt.
No one. I don’t care what color you are.
You can be a fucking blue alien, and you still don’t deserve a disrespectful tone, rude declaration, or questionable glance. ”
His normally even-toned voice grows louder, more agitated.
“As a woman, you learn to navigate all kinds of bullshit. Toss in this.” I wave over myself. “And you add another layer to navigate.”
Stone shakes his head. “I hate that, Taxi.”
“I hate it, too, but I try to live my life as best I can. As only I can.” I accept me, and that means I defend me when necessary.
Still, the protective alpha vibe Stone is giving off is a turn-on. I don’t need him to stand up for me, but what if I had someone who did?
Stone continues to watch me. Maybe he has more to say on the subject, but he holds back, letting me have my moment.
Eventually, I snort. “Blue aliens?” The bitter chuckle that escapes with the question eases the tension in my body. I sit up again, leaning toward Stone.
“Taxi, I won’t tolerate bullshit like that.” He hitches his thumb over his shoulder, indicating dicks like Andy. “You’re fucking stunning, so I imagine you need more than a stick to fight assholes like him off. I don’t want you to ever think you have to take that kind of shit.”
This might be the most worked up I’ve ever seen Stone Sylver, and it endears him to me even more.
“You gonna arrest everyone that talks to me like that?” I tease.
“I’ll arrest anyone negatively breathing your air, if you want me to.”
Something tells me he’s serious, and I recall him mentioning how he’d arrest the man hitting on me in the bar the night we met. His face sobers, and he drops his gaze to my legs, covered in another pair of overalls.
I really need to get Gloria and my things to Sterling Falls.
“I try to be a fair person, an honest sheriff, but I’m not a perfect man.” There’s a hesitation in his tone that doesn’t scare me as much as raise my curiosity.
What has Stone ever done that’s bad?
I don’t have the chance to ask because he continues.
“Now.” His tone lightens, and he stretches his fingers, so they pluck the loose denim of my overalls over my knees. “I’d like to circle back to that dating comment.”
“And I’d like to circle back to what the hell happened to your arm?”
“Tallulah.” His tone is still serious, not giving in to my concern for his arm or letting go of something still troubling him about this situation that I’d like to put behind me.
I sigh heavily. “What dating comment?”
“The one where you asked me about dating.”
“Someone brown sugar,” I tease, lightening my tone so we can let this moment pass.
His eyes lock on mine. “Someone who takes my breath away when I look at her.”
Dammit. Why does he have to look at me like that? Like he wants to pull me into his lap and wrap me in his arms. Like he believes those arms can keep me safe from jerks like the Andy Whitehalls of the world, which is an impossible task.
And why am I suddenly vibrating with the need to repeat what happened last night? Be close to him. Let him surround me again. Let him take care of me.
Because last night was more than learning Stone Sylver gives good orgasms. He did take care of me, making sure the moment was what I wanted, giving me all the power. And then his subtle touches, sweet kisses, and holding me again while we slept meant more than he’ll ever know.
He wasn’t out the door after what happened. He was clinging to me like he wanted to stay . . . wanted me to stay.
“Are we dating, Taxi?” He asks in such a hesitant, almost shy way, and his cheeks blush just a touch, reminding me of the man standing in a hotel hallway, doing a little left-right hustle. So cute. So sweet.
“Let me give you whatever you need . . . while you’re here.” He’s been plucking at the denim over my legs, and I set my hand over his, pulling the one covered in a bandage onto my thigh.
While you’re here, rolls over in my head. He isn’t asking for a long-term commitment, isn’t pinning me down, and I ignore that teeny-tiny pinch in my chest wishing he would.
Laying my hand flat over his, like he had ours positioned when we had a picnic by the lake, I say, “Do you solemnly swear to arrest anyone breathing my air that I don’t like?”
Stone fights a smile. The corner of his mouth lifting, struggling, like he doesn’t want to let the tension go, but he can’t fight it. He’s useless under my superpower—humor.
“Dammit, Taxi.” He chuckles, unable to win the battle against laughter. “Pure kryptonite.”
“Speaking of kryptonite, how do you feel about alien domination role-playing?”
Stone stares at me, his sky-blue eyes opened as wide as the heavens above, then he lets out a laugh. One loud and sharp and tickling my insides.
I grin. He lifts our hands and presses a kiss to my knuckles.
“I might be open to it, but I thought you were in a silver fox phase now.”
Glancing from that mustache to his silver peppered scruff and then fixing on his bright eyes, I admit, “Definitely in my silver fox era.”
I pause. “Now. Tell me about your arm.”