Brenna leaned against Linda. “We needed to know, Mommy.”
Brenna hadn’t called her Mommy in years. Linda felt a tear escape. Somehow, she had a feeling she’d never have the heart to yell at Sam for interfering.
“Can you forgive us?” Charles had never lacked the courage to admit his mistakes. “Forgive me?”
Brenna snorted, snuggling closer. “She already did, dummy.”
“I did.” Linda slid a few inches over on the swing, making room for her boy on her other side. Three was crowded…but wonderful.
Sam did his evening chores early since he’d have company for supper. Be odd to have a full table. When his father had been alive, neighbors, friends, and relatives had often stayed for a meal. His stepfather had changed all that.
After a glance at Linda and the kids on the front porch, he and Conn swung around and used the back door.
Potatoes and chicken went in the oven to bake. Hopefully the kids weren’t vegetarian, but he put together a big green salad just in case.
Through the open front door came only murmuring. No wailing. No shouting. Good sign.
Even as Conn gave a happy bark and charged out the screen door, Sam heard tires on the drive. Nicole must have arrived. After grabbing a beer, he stepped out onto the porch. All three on the swing showed signs of a fair amount of tears, and goddamn, he hated seeing Linda upset. If she cried from a flogging or spanking, that was acceptable—even enjoyable—but this was a stab in the gut.
Yet the three were pressed together as close as they could get. All better, as Nicole would say. Now they needed time to get back to normal. He gave the kids a firm stare. “You’ll stay for supper. My daughter will join us.”
Linda gave him a startled look, then dimpled as her children nodded agreement.
Good enough. He leaned against the side porch railing and watched Nicole jump out of her Volkswagen Beetle. Back when he was young, most Bugs were splashed with paint in varying designs. Guess he should be grateful hers was merely bright yellow. She wore her usual jeans and layered tank tops, and—he sighed—she’d dyed her short hair black. Women. No man could understand them.
She trotted up and gave him a fierce hug. “Good timing, Dad. I didn’t have a thing in the fridge, and I’m starving. What’s for supper?”
He hugged her back, his pride in her as uncontrolled as a wildfire. Tough. Smart. Compassionate. How’d he gotten so lucky? Arm around her, he turned toward the others. “Linda, this is my daughter, Nicole. Those are Linda’s kids, Charles and Brenna.” He waited until they finished with the polite greetings. “Nicole, give Charles and Brenna a tour while Linda and I finish cooking. Figure forty-five minutes.”
“Sounds good.” She went up on her tiptoes and whispered, “Bad Daddy. What did you do to them?”
He choked down a laugh as Nicole waved the other two toward the yard, saying, “What do you want to see first?”
As the three headed down the steps, Charles asked her, “Aren’t you in my sociology class? Mondays at ten?”
“I knew I’d seen you before. What’s your major?”
Sam shook his head. Amazing how well kids could rebound. After setting his beer on the end table, he joined Linda on the swing. When he put his arm around her and pulled her closer, she sighed and snuggled in. A worry drained away; she wasn’t furious with him. “All made up?”
“We are.” She gave him a glare, although her puffy eyes and tear streaks removed the power. “What did you tell them, Sam?”
“Just the truth.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and pulled her closer for a slow kiss. “I can understand why you didn’t share with them, but not knowing caused a rift between you.”
“Yes.” She yanked his hair lightly. “I should wallop you for making them cry, but thank you.” Her breath hitched. “God, Sam, thank you. I have my babies back.”
He understood her relief. He and Nicole had gone through a few ugly battles. Felt like a hole in the heart when she was mad at him.
They rocked for a while as the children stopped at the fountain in the front yard circle to admire the koi, then headed for the pasture behind the stable. The horses, ever greedy, trotted to the fence for handouts. Above the orchards, puffy clouds broke up the blue of the sky. The cooling air held the scent of the ocean mixed with the pastures. Next to him, Linda smelled of his soap, and he liked it, possessive bastard that he was.
“Come and set the table for me,” he said eventually and hauled her to her feet.
“Five of us,” Linda said. As he pulled out the chicken and potatoes, she added a leaf to the table and found place settings.
The thumping of feet and laughter came through the screen door as the kids stopped on the porch to finish their drinks. Nicole’s clear voice drifted in. “Dad, kinky? Oh, somebody said something once, but ew… Thinking of my father having sex makes me want to bleach my brain, right?”
Linda snorted and flashed him a grin.
“Goes both ways. Don’t like thinking of Nicole with some asshole,” Sam muttered. “When she started dating, I hung a bullwhip by the door. Just in case…”
And why the hell should that make Linda bust out laughing?
After a long, cheerful supper, Linda’s children gave her warm hugs and followed Nicole out to the cars. Back to their lives.
As Linda strummed Sam’s guitar, her eyes welled with tears…again. The possibility of losing her babies had shaken her more than she’d ever want to admit. Bless Sam.
At her smothered sob, he glanced up and, seeing her tears, shook his head in reproof. But he didn’t speak, just continued braiding leather in an intricate pattern around a whipstock. His very silence wove a spell of peace in the room.
And as she watched the sureness of his lean fingers, she felt a flush of heat from her toes to her fingers. She remembered all too well those hard hands on her body. Wanted his hands on her again. Honestly, she was turning into a nympho.
At my age. How funny—both of them had adult children. She smiled and switched to fingerpicking an old ballad. Sam had a lovely daughter. Intelligent, friendly, and quirky with outrageous opinions on everything, ranging from Tampa politics to earthworms. Sam had merely listened with laughter in his eyes. He never said anything openly affectionate to his girl, nothing like the “I love you’s” that she and her children had exchanged, but now and then, he’d wrap an arm around the girl’s waist and give her a squeeze or ruffle her spiky black hair. The love was there.
Nicole’s comment about not wanting to know about her father’s sex life had been…interesting. Then again, Sam had said he didn’t bring women home. Not that he ever explained any more about that. Or anything. She frowned down at the strings of the guitar. Was that reticence who Sam was, or was there another reason? Sometimes, it would be so much easier to talk things over if she really knew him.
When he met her eyes, she realized she’d been staring at him. He gave her a half smile. “Let me put this away, and we can watch a show if you want.”
“Okay.”
After nudging Conn over so he could rise, Sam walked out of the room.
Linda returned the guitar to its rack and curled into a corner of the couch, trying to muster up her courage. With no fire in the fireplace, the room seemed to have chilled. She considered pulling out her basketry. Her fingers needed something to do.
Big hands closed around hers. “What’s bothering you, girl?” Seated on the oversize leather ottoman, Sam studied her face.
She cleared her throat. “About today.”
He waited.
Darn him, it would help if he prompted her or something. “I-I appreciate what you did. To get my children back. I guess I won’t kill you for interfering.”
His lips quirked. “Guess I can sleep easy tonight.”
Hitting him now would be unwise. “About the shower. I wanted to…” There was no easy way to talk about this. How did other submissives manage?
His eyes grew intense. “Just spit it out.”
“I’m submissive.”
“Yes.”
“But I can’t be that way except…”
“Do it now, slut.”
“Present yourself to the buyer, slut.”
She bit her lip as nausea roiled inside her.
He made a noise in the back of his throat, then plucked her from the couch and sat with her in his lap.
“Sam!”
His left arm curved around her shoulders, holding her against his chest. With his right hand, he tilted her head up, brushing his thumb over her chin. “See if you can talk easier like this,” he said.
She curled her fingers around his forearm. He’d derailed her thoughts. “I can’t figure it out.”
“Figure what out, baby?”
She stared into his eyes. Sometimes, the pale blue of his eyes had a darker rim. “The…they kept us under control. All the time. And now, now, I can’t let you do that. Because of them. I need to know—to agree to—”
“To give up your power,” he suggested softly.
“Yes. And when you yanked me into the shower, I…” She dredged up all the honesty she could find, opening herself. “I liked it. I did. But it scared me too, because if you tell me to do some slavey thing, something I really don’t want to do, I’m not sure I’d refuse. I sometimes don’t know if I obey you because they…conditioned…me or because I want to.”