Chapter 23 Chisolm and Clementine
TWENTY-THREE
Chisolm and Clementine
Mabel
The next evening, I had the ends of my kickass new hooded cardie pulled tight around my Stony Bluff Sanctuary tee, where I sat rocking in one of the rocking chairs on Hutch’s porch with Tonks lying beside me, and we were both giving him time.
Though Tonks was doing it, she sucked at it. She kept whimpering and letting out soft roos, her eyes glued to Hutch.
Mine were too, where he was standing, staring down his lane after the last client who had just left, taking Major with him.
At least he wasn’t totally alone. Hannibal was sitting next to him, resting against his leg.
But eventually, I had to call time.
Because this shit was killing me.
I got up, and Tonks took my lead, but she was way faster than me.
She scrambled off the porch and gave Hutch warning I was coming because she made it to him and snuffled his free hand (the other one was on Hannibal) until he petted her.
She shuffled out of the way when I took her place, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing to his side.
He curled his arm around my shoulders.
“After they leave, I clean their pens,” he said to the lane.
“Take all the blankets out and wash them. Scrub the toys and take them to the rescue so they can use them. The pups get all new. All theirs.” His brown eyes dropped to me.
“And that’s the worst fuckin’ part of this job.
Giving and washing the last bits of them away. ”
“Oh, honey,” I whispered, tightening my arms to squeeze him.
“You know the history of Misted Pines?” he asked.
“From its origins?”
His lips quirked. “No. But that’s fascinating too. I mean shit like the Whitaker brothers.”
I nodded.
“We’re goin’ to Doc and Nadia’s house on Friday. Did you know, where they live was where the Whitakers lived?”
I felt my eyes get big. “No. I didn’t know that.”
“Yup.”
“That’s where it all went down? The murders? Everything?”
He nodded. “Including catching the actual murderer. She and her accomplice were dicking around on Doc’s land, and straight-up dicking with Nadia to scare her from it. They were there one night, everyone he loved under his roof, Doc went out to catch them, and he took Gia.”
“Okay.”
He looked to the lane. “And now, each time I let them go, I think about that. I think Doc could have encountered anything that night. I think if he did it alone, Ledge might not have a dad, Nadia wouldn’t have a husband, and Cicely wouldn’t be here at all.
It wasn’t that dangerous, how it went down.
But she incapacitated the one who was young enough to possibly do harm. So Doc was never in danger.”
“Because you trained Gia.”
He returned to me.
“Because I trained Gia,” he agreed.
“So it helps to think of that when you have to let go,” I surmised.
“Not a lot,” he admitted. “But it does help.”
“Have you always loved animals this much?”
Something so melancholy, it seemed like every bittersweet song he wrote balled up into one was reflected in his eyes.
“My dad was a K9 cop,” he said.
“Was?” I asked cautiously.
He drew in so much breath, his chest expanded with it.
And then he released.
“He died.”
“God, honey, I’m so sorry. You were obviously close.”
“He was the best man I ever knew.”
“Is your mom still around?”
I felt a strong tremor run through him that I didn’t like at all.
But he just said, “No.”
Okay, I was curious. Wildly curious about that reaction when mentioning his mom.
But obviously, considering his current mood and that tremor, story time about that later.
I gave him a shake. “Okay, so, that big tote I brought in earlier had homemade cream of mushroom soup in it, and you’re my taste tester for these herb rolls I tried.
And don’t panic when you see them. They’re white, but I used white whole wheat flour.
They’re vegan and clean, nothing refined or artificial.
I’m going to admit, I tasted one, and I was shocked it was super good.
That said, I brought butter for me. You can have some if you’re very nice to me later. ”
He frowned.
“Really, I swear, nothing refined,” I promised.
“I thought that tote had your toothbrush and clean panties in it.”
Now I was experiencing a tremor, but for a vastly different reason.
“I sense you’re a man who can tell the different shapes of a Tupperware and a toothbrush.”
His lips curled up.
Shoo.
Good.
A smile.
Then he frowned again.
“But that tote had your toothbrush and clean panties in it,” he stated firmly.
I rolled my eyes. “My cat is in your house too. Since I had so much to carry, and you were busy, my overnighter is still in the truck.”
He lifted his free hand, palm up to the sky, toward me. “Keys.”
I hoped this meant we’d get out of the cold, go in and eat, and maybe I could make him smile again.
“The keys are in the house.”
He turned and started us in that direction.
“You don’t have to cook healthy for me all the time, babe,” he muttered as we walked up the steps.
“Why not? I rock at it.”
He looked down at me, gave me a quick kiss while still walking, and then pushed into the warmth of his house, taking me with him.
I was down at the front, up at the back, in Hutch’s bed, taking his cock, both of us on our knees.
I’d wanted to lavish him with attention.
He stole my job.
It turned a little nasty, a whole lot raunchy, and now I needed to come.
Bad.
As usual, I didn’t need to say it.
Somehow, he felt it.
This was why he curved an arm around my middle, pulled me up in front of him, kept powering in behind me, and one of his hands went to my nipple, the other to my clit.
He rolled both with his fingers.
I came apart in his hold.
I wasn’t close to down before he pulled out, put me on my belly, whipped me to my back, wrapped my legs around his ass, lifted my hips, spread his knees to get more leverage and powered back in, holding my thighs, watching his cock drive into me, then my body moving with his thrusts, finally my face.
His was flushed. Severe. Hard set.
Soul destroying.
He liked what he saw.
He liked what he was doing.
He liked who he was doing it to.
A whole lot.
And I liked what I saw, that hairy, defined chest, the veins coming up from his flat groin, the muscles in his biceps bulging, his strong jaw flexed, the intensity in his dark eyes.
I knew it was close when he fell on me, hiked up one of my legs behind the knee, and rode me hard until his head lashed back, the tendons in his neck distending, and he pumped his release into me.
God, he was beautiful.
He blew out a harsh breath as the orgasm finished with him. Only then did he pull out of me and roll off, but he grabbed my hand and held it to his rapidly rising and falling chest.
Oh yeah.
Hutch put in the work.
The light from the fire in his fireplace danced in the room.
“Condom,” he muttered, twisting to kiss my shoulder before he got out of bed.
I gave myself a few more seconds before I rolled, found his flannel shirt on the floor, dragged it to me and shrugged it on.
To say the inside of Hutch’s house was more bare bones than the outside was an understatement.
He had furniture.
And that was about it.
It was attractive, though. Sturdy. Comfortable.
As for décor…
He didn’t keep his guitar in a case, but on a stand next to an easy chair that was also easy to see was used regularly. The state of the chair and the guitar were part of the reason why, but the stack of books around the chair was the other part.
There was also a confluence of pictures in frames on the mantle in his living room. Mostly dogs he’d trained.
But there were other photos.
Photos I could ask about, but they were intermingled with those I couldn’t.
Like there was a picture of him sitting on the ground on a big wool blanket, back against a log, long legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed, what had to be the light from a bonfire on him.
Nadia’s husband was beside him, Hannibal on Hutch’s other side, with a slightly smaller gray version of Hannibal on Doc Riggs’s side (my guess: Gia).
However, there was also a picture of a little kid in a little kid’s basketball uniform.
A kid who could be none other than a very adorable young Hutch.
He was standing next to a tall, dark-haired, good-looking man in full police uniform. The man had his arm proudly wrapped around Hutch’s narrow (then) shoulders. Hutch had a medal hanging from his neck.
That I couldn’t ask about.
So I didn’t ask at all.
His house consisted of a good-sized living room.
A kitchen big enough to fit a six-seater kitchen table.
And five other rooms: office (scarily cluttered); romper room (very organized, blankets and towels folded neatly in a corner, huge crate already filled with new toys, line of sturdy puppy bowls, another line of fluffy dog beds); a guest bath (no nonsense); and the master (king bed with blue sheets and green comforter, no design (but soft), two nightstands, two lamps, a dresser and the fireplace) with a full bath attached.
He was a man who trained dogs, played guitar, had friends, homed pets, saved wildlife…
I could see he wasn’t a man who spent a ton of time worrying about home décor.
I liked my space nice and homey.
Weirdly, I found Hutch’s space nice and homey.
But the kitchen.
God.
It was a dream.
Whoever built this cabin poured their money into that, and it hadn’t been changed, maybe in over a hundred years, if my keen, experienced eye wasn’t deceiving me.
Ornately carved wood lower cabinets. Farmhouse sink. Glass-front upper cabinets. Butcher block counters.
And an old black iron, wood-fired stove that had extraordinary fretwork adorning its front and three different brass latch-handled sections for cooking different things at different temperatures.
It was elaborate, I knew it was worth a boatload of money, and if you wanted to try to replicate it with electric or gas, you’d be paying in the five figures.