Play It Safe

  “Need you, baby,” I breathed my plea.

  I was stroking him, so desperate for him it was part stroking, part pulling.

  His hand was between my legs, two fingers buried, thumb working me. Our mouths were close and we were both breathing heavily.

  “Not done,” he muttered, pressing deeper and rolling.

  Oh God.

  “Baby, I’m gonna be done and I want to be done with you inside me,” I begged, my hips jerking, my hand still stroking and I did this hard, hard enough for him to groan.

  I liked that and I was hoping that meant he was ready to move us directly to the final phase.

  He didn’t.

  Instead, he whispered, “Take you there again.”

  Oh yes.

  My eyes held his, close up.

  “Really?”

  He stopped rolling and started finger fucking me.

  My head arched back.

  His mouth went to my throat. “Really.”

  Yes.

  His fingers slid out, his hand cupped me and my head righted with a jerk, my eyes locking on his.

  “Baby –” I started to protest.

  “On your back, Ivey, spread your legs wide for me. I wanna watch you come while I fuck you with my fingers,” he ordered.

  Oh yeah, I wanted that too.

  So I did what I was told. Then Gray did what he wanted. And when he did, it was so good, my back arched clean off the bed, my head dug into the pillows and my hips ground down on his hand.

  “Fuck me,” through the daze of my orgasm I heard him growl, “prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Then he was between my spread legs, his hips drove into mine and he started fucking me.

  Hard.

  Then he did as promised and took me there again.

  It was brilliant.

  * * * * *

  Eight thirteen in the morning, Christmas Eve…

  Gray shoved his plate in the dishwasher I had open, sucked back the last of his coffee, upturned his mug and slid that in then his hand snaked out and tagged me behind the neck.

  He pulled me in and up and dropped a light kiss on my lips.

  When he lifted his head, he said, “Got shit to do in town. Then gonna go get Gran. You need anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “Got everything we need from Plack’s?” he went on.

  I nodded my head.

  “I’m ready,” I told him.

  And I was ready, boy was I ready. I’d spent hours in Plack’s, Hayes and on the internet, shopping. More in the guest bedroom wrapping. More creating menus and searching for recipes.

  I was definitely ready for Christmas and I couldn’t wait.

  Gray read this in my eyes. I knew when he grinned, giving me the dimple.

  Then he dropped another light kiss on my lips.

  Then he let me go and I watched his ass as he sauntered out of the kitchen, muttering, “Later, dollface.”

  “Later, honey,” I called to his back then turned to the sink to finish the breakfast dishes.

  I did this smiling to myself mostly because my eyes were on my hands and I could see my ring there.

  Gray would have a time of it, besting his birthday present.

  But he was making the effort. I knew this because he was getting Grandma Miriam from the home and she was going to be with us until the day after Christmas. And we could do this because, early that evening, his Mom was coming. She was a nurse, she was spending the next two nights in our guest room and she, with the help of Gray and me, could give Grandma Miriam what she needed. Then, tomorrow, after we had a small family Christmas in the morning, in the afternoon, all Gray’s uncles, their wives and Audie and his girl were coming over for Christmas dinner.

  I couldn’t wait.

  For any of it.

  More than six months of peace from the machinations of Buddy Sharp and more than six months of going to bed and waking up with Grayson Cody, the last two and half with the Cody family heirloom ring on my finger.

  Life was good and with Gran there, Norrie, who Gray was getting to know slowly and cautiously but he was doing it, then his uncles, aunts and cousin, I’d have a real family Christmas.

  The first one ever.

  Ever.

  Thirty years and there it was.

  Yeah, Gray was close to besting his birthday present.

  Nothing would be better than the symbol that stated plainly I was soon going to take the name Cody.

  But a family Christmas wasn’t far off.

  * * * * *

  Nine thirty-eight in the morning, Christmas Eve…

  I had Christmas music playing, a bay and rosemary candle burning and I was making Christmas cookies. It was my fifth batch of the season. This was because, with Christmas cookies in the house, Gray had foregone his candy bars and nabbed a cookie (or four) whenever he had the munchies. This was also because, now that there was peace amongst the Cody men, anytime his uncles were fighting with their wives, they were over at our house.

  Which meant they were over a lot.

  And they grew up in that house so they had no problem helping themselves.

  I didn’t mind.

  Not at all.

  I was standing at the kitchen counter, kneading the dough, Christmas all around but my mind was on flowers.

  Not flowers for my wedding, planting them around the house.

  During a visit with Grandma Miriam she told me, before she lost her legs, every year she planted a thick border of impatiens around the front and side of the house.

  “Perfect for them, child, with the trees that shade the house, they get their bit of sun but they like their shade,” she’d told me.

  I had the ring she wore on my finger. I was making Christmas dinner in the kitchen where she’d prepared it for five decades.

  So, come spring, the house would have Grandma Miriam’s flowers.

  I heard the approach of a car and my head turned to the window, surprised because I figured it was Gray. I had no idea what he had to do in town but going to get Grandma Miriam and dealing with packing her up and checking her out alone would take an hour and he’d been gone just over that.

  But it wasn’t Gray’s pickup bumping down the lane. It was a silver car, an Audi, new and clean like it had a garage for its home.

  I found this interesting. Audis weren’t popular cars in Mustang.

  I took my hands out of the dough rubbing off the lumps. I rinsed them quickly, dried them, headed out of the kitchen, down the hall and out the front door.

  Then I stopped dead on the porch as I watched Bud Sharp get out of his Audi and out the passenger side was a man who Buddy would definitely not hang with. Not ever.

  He was older, tall, beefy, with long-ish, wild hair that held its blonde but had more silver and to say he was rough around the edges was an understatement.

  I didn’t hesitate to call to them, “Best get in your car, Buddy. I’ll be saying these words to you then calling nine-one-one then calling Gray. If it was me, I wouldn’t be here when Gray gets back.”

  Then I turned to the front door, walked three steps and stopped dead with my hand on the doorknob after Buddy called back, “Now, Ivey, is that any way to act the very first time you lay eyes on your Daddy?”

  It was stupid, I knew it. I should go in, call nine-one-one, call Gray but instead my head turned and my eyes went to the man walking toward the porch with Buddy.

  That hair was my hair.

  That hair was my hair.

  I stared.

  They got close to the side of the porch and stopped.

  Buddy, I noticed when I flicked my eyes to him, was grinning. Pleased with himself.

  The man had his eyes glued to me. He looked curious. He also looked hesitant. And, even though he was tall, sturdy, weathered, worn and rough around the edges, I sensed a hint of fear.

  “Hoot Booker, I’d like you to meet your daughter, the ex-pool hustling, ex-Vegas stripper, current cowboy piece, Ive
y Larue,” Buddy introduced, loving every minute of this but my eyes were on Hoot Booker…

  Hoot Booker…

  My father.

  And at Buddy’s words, Hoot Booker’s eyes narrowed scarily and sliced to Buddy.

  “Merry Christmas.” Buddy smiled happily then leaned forward. “Oh, and, just so you know, Hoot here, coupla years ago, got outta prison. Murder one. Now, I don’t know much about these things but I think that’s the bad kind.”

  “Think you’re done, chief,” Hoot Booker’s deep, rumbling, pissed off voice stated and he looked from Buddy to me. “Don’t know this guy, he found me, said he knew you, paid for me to get here. Swear, girl, until this very second where he turned dick, the man’s been nothin’ but cool with me. I see now you two got history but I do not have a place in that. I just wanted to meet my daughter.”

  His daughter.

  Me.

  I stared at him, immobile, hand still on the doorknob.

  Buddy was glaring at Hoot Booker.

  Hoot Booker was staring at me.

  Then he shook his head, closed his eyes and looked away for a second, taking a moment for what I wouldn’t know before he opened his eyes.

  They came back to me and I saw his face was pained before he whispered, “Jesus, fuck, I look at you, can’t believe my eyes, can’t fuckin’ take it in. I created somethin’ as beautiful as you?”

  Oh my God.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered, only my lips moving.

  “Sheila Bailey your Momma?” he asked.

  “She gave birth to me,” I answered, still talking quietly.

  He nodded his head, a small smile cracking his face, “Yeah, see Sheila never changed.”

  “No,” I whispered.

  The smile fled and he stared at me, reading me like he knew me my whole life either because I was too stunned at what was happening to hide it or because he had more practice than me.

  I figured it was both.

  “She didn’t treat you good,” he whispered.

  “No,” I repeated, that one, one syllable word weighty.

  Hoot Booker read that too and emotions he didn’t try to hide either rolled over his face, more pain, anger, despair.

  “That brother ‘a yours?” he asked when he got control of his emotional roller coaster.

  “Dead to me.”

  He knew what I was saying and I knew he knew when he whispered, “Fuck.”

  “This is all very touching,” Buddy put in snidely and I finally moved, turning away from the door to face him and see his expression was even more spiteful than his tone. “Why am I not surprised that an ex-stripper doesn’t mind havin’ a murderer as a Daddy?”

  “Think I told you, you’re done,” Hoot Booker reminded him and Buddy turned to my father.

  “I am? What are you gonna do, big man? Kill me in front of your long, lost daughter?”

  “No, but, the way she said hi, not sure she’ll mind I fuck you up a little bit,” Hoot returned and I couldn’t help it, a giggle escaped me.

  Buddy’s eyes cut to me and he hissed, “Shut your slut trap.”

  Then Buddy wasn’t there because Buddy was on his back in the snow-covered yard, Hoot’s knee in his gut, his calf in his arm immobilizing it, one hand at his throat, his other hand wrapped around Buddy’s wrist pressing it into the snow.

  Oh God.

  I moved to the edge of the porch but could go no further because I didn’t have any shoes on, just a pair of thick woolen socks so I cried, “Please, don’t! He isn’t worth the trouble. Honestly, he isn’t worth the trouble.”

  But Hoot Booker didn’t even look at me.

  Nose an inch away from Buddy’s, he whispered scarily, “You called my girl a slut right to her face and right in front of me.” He paused a scary pause and finished, “I don’t like that.”

  Buddy kicked out his legs and snapped, “Get off me!”

  Hoot lifted his head and aimed his eyes at me before he ordered, “Go in the house. You call the cops then you call your man.” When I hesitated, he clipped, “Now, girl. Go.”

  “I don’t want you to get in trouble,” I said softly, his head jerked and his face changed. It softened and under all that rough, weathered and worn I saw my father was handsome.

  “Then keep me outta trouble by gettin’ some folks here to deal with this assclown before I lose it and do it myself,” he said gently.

  I held his eyes then I nodded.

  Then I ran into the house, dialed nine-one-one, told them what was happening then I called Gray.

  He answered with, “Hey dollface. Remember something you need?

  “Buddy’s here,” I replied. “He brought my father with him. He said a few things my father didn’t like and now my father has him pinned in the snow in the front yard.”

  Silence then, “Say again?”

  “Buddy’s here,” I started. “He brought my –”

  Gray cut me off to rumble, “You are fuckin’ shittin’ me.”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “You are fuckin’ shittin’ me!” Gray roared.

  Oh God!

  “Honey, are you driving?” I asked carefully, reminding myself again to tread cautiously and not get lulled into stupidity by the usually easygoing Grayson Cody.

  A moment while I suspected he deep-breathed then, “Yeah, on the way to Gran. I’ll be there in ten. You call the police?”

  “Yes.”

  Then I got, “This man, is he really your father?”

  “Well, I can’t be sure but he’s got my hair, he said I was beautiful, he knew my Mom’s name and when Buddy called me a slut, he took him down in, like, a nanosecond.”

  More silence and I didn’t get the same seriously unhappy vibes traveling over the airwaves that I did when I first shared my news so I didn’t know what this one meant.

  Then I knew when Gray’s voice came on a vibrating, “He called you a slut?”

  Okay.

  Again.

  Tread cautiously, Ivey!

  “Gray –”

  He cut me off. “You feel danger from this man, your father?”

  “No.”

  “Right. You get your fuckin’ baseball bat, you lock all the fuckin’ doors, not in that order, and you stay the fuck inside until I get there. Not the cops, me. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, Gray,” I agreed as I moved to the front door.

  “Do it now. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay, baby.”

  “I’m done with this guy,” he whispered.

  Shit!

  “Honey, please stay calm.”

  “I’m done,” he was still whispering and he was also gone.

  Shit!

  I locked the door then I ran to the backdoor and locked that then I ran upstairs and got my baseball bat (well, it was Gray’s, I didn’t have one anymore) then I ran back downstairs to the living room where there was a window where I could see Buddy Sharp and Hoot Booker in the snow.

  Their positions hadn’t changed.

  I twisted the window latch, crouched low, shoved the window up an inch and called out, “Uh…sorry if you heard the lock turn. No offense but my man isn’t real comfortable with me being alone here with a man he doesn’t know and Buddy.”

  Hoot Booker’s head was up, he was looking at me through the window and he was smiling a huge, white, wild-ass smile.

  “See you found yourself a decent man,” he remarked, still casually holding Buddy in the snow.

  “Uh…yeah. He’s great.” I was still calling out the crack of a window.

  “Good news, girl,” he replied.

  “I, uh, also called the police. They know about Buddy so they’ll probably be here really soon,” I told him.

  “More good news,” he said.

  “Fuckin’ let me up!” Buddy shouted, still struggling against Hoot’s hold, snow flying all around but Hoot ignored him and kept his eyes on me.

  “So, you live here long?” he asked conversationally and I aga
in couldn’t control the giggle.

  When I controlled it, I answered.

  “Just over six months but Gray and I’ve known each other for over seven years,” I told him, decided, considering he seemed willing and able to dole out justice for me, I would leave out the history and Buddy’s place in it and finished, “It’s a long story.”

  “Gray?” he asked.

  “Gray, uh…Grayson Cody. That’s my man’s name.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, I get from the dude ranch I’m on he’s a cowboy but, Christ. Grayson Cody? That’s like the most cowboy a name can get.”

  I giggled again.

  Yep, this was totally my Dad.

  “Let…me…up!” Buddy shrieked and Hoot looked back down at him.

  “Your car, your clothes, your house, chief, I get you think you’ll get whatever you want but, clue in, right now is not one of those times,” he stated.

  “Fuck you,” Buddy spat.

  “Lotsa money,” Hoot Booker muttered, still looking down at Buddy, “no class.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Then it warmed.

  That was when I heard sirens.

  “Uh…um…Hoot?” I called and he looked at me.

  “Yeah, darlin’,” he replied softly and I felt my nose sting but I fought back the tears.

  “Well, just so you know, Gray doesn’t want me out there until he’s home so the cops are gonna be here soon but I won’t be out until he gets here. Just wanted you to know. Okay?”

  “You give your man peace ‘a mind and do as he asks, Ivey. I’ll be good until he gets here,” my father assured me.

  My father.

  I smiled at him through the window and called, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, beautiful,” he called back.

  My father.

  It seemed this was going to be a family Christmas.

  And, again, I couldn’t wait.

  * * * * *

  Nine fifty-seven in the morning, Christmas Eve…

  I was ready by the time I saw Gray’s pickup truck speeding down the lane.

  There were two uniformed officers outside in my yard wearing their big, bulky winter uniform jackets.

  Buddy was up, his back still caked in snow and he was shouting, complaining and threatening.

  Hoot Booker was standing removed, beefy legs planted wide and beefy arms crossed on his chest straining his jeans jacket with its sheepskin collar. His eyes were on Buddy and there was an expression on his face like he’d never encountered anything quite like him and, to save anyone else from doing it, he was struggling with the idea of crushing him like a bug.