“Stand up.” He approached as she stood, and he set the rag on the table for a moment before he reached for her neck. She flinched, and he did to. “Relax, Bailey. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was quiet, and she had a sudden stab of guilt. He sounded offended. His hands scooped her long hair up the back of her head, pinning it to the crown of her head. “Hold your hair up.” Her hand fumbled with his as she replaced his to hold her hair in place. He watched her the entire time, calm and focused.
She was so focused on his eyes she almost missed the sight of his hand grabbing the rag again. He folded it over twice before slinging it around the back of her neck. She sighed before she could stop herself as the coolness of the water relieved the agony of the sweltering heat. She let her eyes close, and she relaxed against the pressure of his hand. Her sigh wasn’t the only unwelcome reaction she gave him. She moaned quietly as his hand gripped and massaged the cool rag across her skin, and her eyes flashed open instantly to see him watching her. His free hand moved to clutch her waist. His fingers squeezed gently, and hot liquid heat settled in her groin.
He ran the rag around her neck to the front of her chest, and everywhere the wet material touched her skin, it was instantly soothed. He moved slowly, gently caressing over her exposed collar bone. She almost let her eyes close again, but then he abruptly stopped, and when she looked to his eyes, she saw his studying her pebble-hard nipples through her sundress. There was no embarrassment when his eyes found hers again. He studied her calmly as though being caught staring at her tits meant nothing to him.
“I have a proposal.” She cocked her head to the side. “Macy needs a house sitter. I need a house sitter. My neighbors spend a lot of time with Macy, but they’re traveling back home to Louisiana for the next couple months to see their new grandchild, and Macy’s not used to being home alone when I’m at the hospital. I could use some help around the house too. Cleaning, cooking, laundry.” He seemed unsure for a moment, but then he reached for her hand, grabbing it and putting the wet rag in her hand. “Ten dollars an hour? It’s better than any entry-level position you’re going to find around here. Thirty to forty hours a week.”
She just stared for a moment. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck, and his eyes flashed to the trail it ran. He reached out, brushing the wetness from her collar bone. Then his eyes shifted lower to her still-hard nipples. “Impressive your nipples can get so hard in this scorching heat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were aroused. Is that it, Bailey? Are you thinking about fucking me?” He waited calmly for a reaction, and her heart raced. He enjoyed her discomfort. “Don’t worry. I’m not hiring you to be a sex slave. Just to be my housekeeper. I can get sex on my own.” Then as he brushed past her, he glanced down at the tabletop again to the newspaper. “From the looks of it, you’re in no position to turn me down. Can you come to my place tomorrow morning? Six fifteen? My shift starts at seven.”
“Yes.” Her voice came out as a whisper.
He turned from her again and headed for her front door. He said nothing as he left, and she didn’t have the nerve to say anything, either. She sank down in her chair at the table again, pushing the newspaper away. She stared at the tabletop and zoned out. She was going to work for the man. She was going to be answerable to him on a daily basis, wrapped up in his life to some extent. It was terrifying to consider . . . it was also intriguing. She hadn’t even figured out why he’d asked her to stay in Savoy yet, and now she had a new riddle. Why the hell would this man want her working for him?
Her stereo suddenly came on, belting out the local radio station she’d been listening to before the power had gone out. Nearly every light in her house came on too, and she shrieked in surprise as her house came alive again. She was already on her feet. She’d shot up out of her chair in shock, and then she started looking around, turning lights off, and finally silencing the stereo. When she looked outside, he was there, leaning up against the side of his car. She pulled the door open, stepping out onto the porch.
“Darren—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He climbed in his car without letting her finish, and then he was gone.
Chapter Eighteen
Two Years Before
Dear Bailey,
I’m sure you’re not expecting to hear from me, and I hope my letter won’t upset you in any way. I don’t intend for it to, I assure you. Brent just told me about your father’s health problems, and I wanted to let you know how very sorry I am to hear about it. It can’t be easy for you to cope under the circumstances, and I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you and your family.
I hesitated writing this letter, but I think I’d have regretted it far more if I didn’t than I will for deciding to reach out to you after four years. You were a daughter to me, and I don’t care if that phrase is overused, it’s true. You and Jess made me so very happy, and seeing the two of you together always left a smile on my face. You were absurd, you were funny, you were ridiculous, and just plain fun, and I miss you both.
My daughter loved you, and you made her a better person. There’s no doubt of that in my mind, and I always saw that in you. Being angry at you isn’t easy, holding you so responsible for our loss isn’t either. Everyone always thinks a person doesn’t forgive another because they don’t want to. As though forgiveness is something I could want to withhold from you for my own benefit. But I need you to understand that is simply not true. I’ve always wanted to forgive you, because my daughter would have wanted that and because being angry hurts.
Jess would never have blamed you for that night. Never. And I know it could have been her behind that wheel just as easily as it ended up being you. I could have a daughter in jail, and your parents could be enduring the loss of their only child. The only thing separating us from that existence rather than the one we find ourselves in is one small decision. I make wrong decisions every day, and I’m an adult who’s had years to figure out just how little slack life can cut you at times. You were little more than a child then, and were the situation reversed, I would want my daughter to be forgiven as well.
So, there you have it. You have and always will have my forgiveness. But with that comes a request—a very important one on behalf of someone who can’t make the request herself, but would absolutely want me to make it for her. You need to forgive yourself, and you need to move on. You need to have a life, and not just any life, a good life, a happy one. Jess wouldn’t want it any other way, and if she could be here fighting this battle for you, I have no doubt she would. She always fought for you. She always stood up for you and protected you fiercely. It was her best and most admirable quality, and you brought that out in her like no other.
I’ll be praying for your family and your father’s health. I’ve found that letting go of the past and all the things that could have been has been a process that I have to work at every day. For you and myself as well, I suppose, I promise to continue that process. I’m sure we’ll see one another someday, likely many years from now, and I hope that when we do, I’ll be able to greet you in the way Jess would have wanted—with open arms and an open heart. Until then, take care of yourself and be kind to yourself.
Always,