Words jostled in Cooper’s head, so many he couldn’t get any of them out. And none of them could make their way around that searing image burned into his brain, of Sally hurt.
The image fired his blood and he realized he’d kill to keep her safe. His blood was up, along with everything else.
Cooper slid his hands into her hair to keep her head still and bent to kiss her. Her mouth was soft, welcoming, just like he knew her cunt would be. She was ready. Everything in her body told him that. The way she met his tongue eagerly, opening her mouth wider for a better taste of him. The way she twisted against him to touch him in as many places as possible. The way her hands clutched his shoulders.
Her little cunt would be warm and wet, just like it had been an hour ago. He knew that as surely as he knew his name.
The thought of that—of her already wet and soft, waiting for him—filled his head with a roar.
Cooper picked her up and headed for the bedroom. Just making it to a bed seemed like an insane act of self-control because what he really wanted to do was drop to the floor where they stood, open just enough clothes for him to shove his cock in her and start moving, hard and fast.
But the floor was cold and hard and he was heavy. They needed a bed. He moved them into the bedroom, stripping her sweater and bra off before following her down on the bed, mouth fused to hers. He was frantic now, hoping his hands weren’t hurting her. Thank God she was wearing a skirt. He lifted it and ripped her panties and stockings off. The sharp ripping sound had hardly finished echoing in the shadowy room when it was followed by the heavy sound of his jeans unzipping. Cooper’s tongue probed her mouth deeply as he ran one hand quickly up her thigh while opening her legs with his other hand.
She was wet and moaned into his mouth when he touched her cunt. Soft, warm and welcoming, just like her mouth.
Cooper groaned as he held her open with two fingers and felt her whole body jolt when he thrust hard into her.
Shit!
He held himself deeply within her and raised himself on his forearms. Their eyes met. Arousal and maybe shock had enlarged her pupils until there was only a bright turquoise rim around them. Her mouth was wet and swollen from his.
“Foreplay,” he gasped. He’d forgotten all about it.
Sally tugged at his stiff neck muscles until his mouth was touching hers.
“Later,” she whispered, and kissed him.
Chapter Nine
“Here, honey,” Loren Jensen, the grocer, said the next day to his wife, “you can start bagging these.” He ticked off the items slowly, but Julia knew better than to fret.
If truth be told, she was even starting to sort of…well…enjoy the slower pace of Simpson. Good thing, too, because the Jensens had to be the most laid-back grocers in America.
Back in Boston, she would have been fidgeting and glancing pointedly at her watch if the grocery store owner had moved with Loren’s slow deliberation.
It felt like a lifetime ago that she had drummed her fingers on the steering wheel during a red light, or tapped her foot in line at the bank. There was no reason for that at all in Simpson. Drumming her fingers and tapping her foot wasn’t going to speed anything up, and anyway—what was the hurry? She wasn’t going anywhere and neither was anyone else.
It reminded her of all the slow-paced places she and her parents had lived in while she was growing up. Later in her father’s career, there’d been Paris and London, but before that there’d been a small township outside Dublin and a village close to Amsterdam. Most of her childhood had been lived at the rhythm and pace of small towns and she’d almost completely forgotten it. Until Simpson.
I’m a true Devaux
, Julia thought wryly. Digging in. Trying to fit in as much as possible. Before moving on.
Shopping at Jensen’s was becoming a pleasant ritual. Loren and Beth were delightful, a sort of mom and pop Laurel and Hardy. Loren was tall and thin and Beth was round and apple-cheeked. She looked a little like the farmer’s wife in
Babe
.
Whenever Julia asked for something they didn’t keep in stock—special wholegrain breads, Greek yogurt, pasta made from durum wheat—they would take note of it, and order it for her from a Rupert wholesaler.
“…yogurt, milk, eggs, bread—say, ever since you started ordering that oatmeal bread, I’ve got more and more people asking for it.” Loren smiled at Julia and turned to his wife. “Isn’t that right, honey?”
“You bet. We’re going to try the supplier’s bran-nut bread next week. And we sold out of that Greek yogurt you ordered, too. You’re not our best customer—you don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive, Sally—but you’re sure our smartest customer.” Beth Jensen smiled at her. “You sure you got everything you need?” She narrowed her eyes and tapped her lip as her eyes swept around the store.
Julia wondered if she was actually seeing his store for what it was, or if she’d been there so long it was invisible to her, like women who couldn’t see their living rooms any longer—the faded drapes, scratched furniture and worn upholstery of a house where a young bride had watched her kids grow up and couldn’t see that the house had aged right along as well.
The store was small, wider than it was deep, mainly storefront, with sun-faded displays Julia hadn’t seen changed in the time she’d been in Simpson. As a matter of fact, the store looked as if nothing much had changed since the Eisenhower Administration.
There was a tinkle from behind and Julia turned. The mayor and owner of Kellogg’s Hardware walked in. Glenn Kellogg was middle-aged and paunchy. He usually had a big smile and loud greeting for everyone. He was especially boisterous when he met Julia. Beth said it was because she was the first person to move to Simpson in five years and Glenn liked to think she was the first trickle of a flood of new arrivals. Julia enjoyed his blustering friendliness. He was essentially harmless, if you didn’t count his bottomless store of truly awful jokes. She braced herself for one, then saw that he was looking pale and drawn.
“Hello, Glenn,” she said.
Glenn nodded, lips compressed. Julia had the feeling that he barely recognized her.
Loren was writing down Julia’s new orders for pita bread and plum tomatoes. He looked up with a smile. “Hey, Glenn.”
“Hey, Loren.” Glenn sketched a smile in return, but his voice was dull, with none of his usual ebullience.
“You okay?” Loren asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Just fine.” Glenn didn’t look fine. Julia could see his hand shake as he pulled a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and slowly unfolded it. Even when he had opened it up, he continued to stare at it blankly, as if forgetting what he was reading.
“How’s business?” Loren was looking at him curiously.
“Fine.” Glenn let the paper drop onto the counter and looked around him, as if surprised to be where he was.
“And the kids? They doing okay in college?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Glenn said hollowly. “They’re doin’ just fine.”
“Idaho State, right?”
“Mmm.” He absently rubbed his stomach.
“And your ulcer?”
“Fine.” Glen pushed his hand through his hair, leaving it standing up. “Just fine.”
Loren looked mystified, then bit his lip. “Well, then…you want to show me that list?”
“List?” Glenn looked down, surprised, at the paper curling on the linoleum counter. “Oh, yeah. Here.” He thrust it at Loren.
“How’s Maisie doing, Glenn?” Beth asked, her voice gentle.
“Oh…fine,” Glenn answered. “She’s—no.” He blinked at Beth helplessly. “No. She’s not fine. She’s not fine at all. She can’t…she won’t—hell!” Glenn blew a breath in frustration and his eyes turned glossy.
“It’s okay, Glenn. Just calm down now.” Beth walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “She can’t what?”
“Anything.” Glenn turned to Beth in misery. “She can’t do anything anymore. Or won’t. I can’t tell which. All I know is half the time she won’t even get out of bed in the morning. And if she does, she won’t get dressed. She’s been like that since our youngest started college this September. All she does is stare at the wall and say that nothing makes any difference any more.”
“I was pretty depressed when our Karen got married.” Beth put her hand on his shoulder. “It was awful. It was as if my life had just…stopped. Then I was put on anti-depression medication and it was a little better, but only because I was so zonked all the time. I didn’t really care if I was sad or not.”
“Depressed?” Glenn looked uneasily at Beth, then at Loren for help. “Is that what this is? Depression? But what does she have to be depressed about?” He included Julia in his gaze, his pale Simpson-blue eyes watery and pained. “What?” He spread his hands—blunt and calloused, the hands of a man who’d worked hard with them all his life—in supplication. “We have a wonderful marriage. I love Maisie; I’ve always loved her. We have two great kids. We’re healthy, the kids are healthy. What else does she want? What else could she want?” He turned to Loren, then Beth, then Julia. “Huh?”
Loren shrugged his shoulders and evaded Glenn’s eyes, clearly ill at ease with the questions and with the emotions coming off Glenn in waves.
Julia met Beth’s gaze and the message that passed between them was as old as womankind.
Men. They haven’t a clue
.
Julia moved back a step, letting Beth know that dealing with Glenn came well before serving her. Glenn looked as if he’d been blindsided by life.
Julia had met Maisie Kellogg several times. Now that she thought of it, it had been at least a week since she’d last seen Maisie around.
“Well, Glenn.” Beth pursed her lips. “I’m not too sure life works that way.”
“What way?” Glenn asked.
“Yeah.” Loren looked at his wife curiously. “What way?”
“Here, honey. Take care of this, will you? I think Glenn needs a little talking to.” Beth pushed Julia’s groceries towards Loren. “You see, Glenn, the fact that you’re fine and the kids are fine doesn’t necessarily mean that Maisie’s got to be fine.”
“But—but there’s nothing wrong.” Glenn spread his hands, baffled.
“Glenn.” Beth drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. “Do you remember back in ‘79 when your store burned down and Maisie was pregnant with Rosie?”
“Sure do,” Glenn said, smiling faintly. “And Maisie was a rock. She set up a field kitchen and fed the firefighters, then the men who worked on rebuilding the store. And she just refused to go into labor until the store was finished.” He shook his head in admiration. “Rosie was born twelve hours after the last nail was hammered.”
“And that time you thought you were having a heart attack and the doctors found out it was only a hiatal hernia?”
“Sure.” Glenn frowned. “And Maisie drove me to Boise through a snowstorm and didn’t leave my side until the doctors told us I’d be fine.” He blew out his breath in frustration. “But that’s my point, Beth. Maisie and I have been through a lot together. Some bad times, some really rough patches. And she’s always come through. What’s wrong now?”
“I think,” Beth said softly, “I think the problem is that no one needs her any more. The kids are grown. Word has it that you’re planning on selling the business…” She looked at him quizzically
“That’s right.” Glenn looked guiltily at Beth, then Loren. The only hardware store in town closing would make life even harder for the citizens of Simpson. “Town seems to be shrinking and each year our revenue drops. And besides, our Lee doesn’t have any intention of continuing the business. Wants to be a history teacher, of all things. It’s a real shame. Kellogg’s Hardware has been around since 1938. My granddad founded it. I’ll keep going another year, maybe two, then if things don’t pick up, I’ll have to close.” He shrugged. “Guess that’s life.”
“But in the meantime, you have your business. And your Rotary. Hunting in the fall.” Beth looked disapprovingly at Glenn and Loren. “Friday night poker.”
Both men shuffled uneasily.
“But what does Maisie have?” she continued. “Up until now, she had to look after you, ‘cause you had the store. And the kids. But now—”
“I need her,” Glenn protested. “I still need her.”
“No, you don’t.” Beth’s voice was soft. “You and the kids needed her before. But not now. Now she needs—needs to do something for herself.”
“But what? You said you went through this. What did you do?”
“Started helping Loren in the shop.” Beth threw a disgusted glance around. “Though to look at it, you wouldn’t think that a woman worked here at all.”
“Go to work in the shop?” Glenn fingered his chin thoughtfully, then shook his head. “Naah. Maisie hates hardware.”
“Well, it doesn’t really have to be hardware,” Beth said. “Could be anything. What does she like to do?”
“I don’t know, really. She never…” Glenn began. Then he brightened. “Cook. She likes to cook. She’s a fantastic cook. Knows all about food and things. How about you and Loren—”
“Sorry, Glenn.” Loren had finished filling a paper bag with the items on the list. “We’re barely making ends meet ourselves. You know what the local economy’s been like for the past couple of years. We might end up closing too. Neither of our kids has any interest in running the business.” He sighed. “Or staying in Simpson. None of the kids want to stay. Simpson’s going be a ghost town in ten years, you mark my words. You’ll just have to find Maisie a job somewhere else.”