Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance) (2 page)

“Investigating you,” he said with an
apologetic grin.

“Yeah, you investigated me all right,” Laurel
sniffed, “bastard.” Both men chuckled at that. Laurel shot them a
hurt look.

“Laurel, hang in there.” Bradley said. “This
is going to get real hairy, real quick, so sit down, shut up, and
hold on, okay?” He was trying to be funny to get her to relax. She
rolled her eyes.

Her mind was firing in ten different
directions. Laurel MacClain had been arrested only one other time
in her life. Drinking and driving was not a smart idea, she had
agreed with the judge. He’d let her off and she’d never done it
again. She was a good wife, a good mother, a good businesswoman,
paid taxes—lots and lots of taxes. Her mind was swimming looking
for a reason for this absurdity. Protection?

The busy highway, filled with rush hour
traffic, was finally opened up by sirens and lights. Pulling up to
the emergency entrance of Mercy General, Johnson cut the noise and
flashing, then addressed his partner.

“Have you talked to Alena? Have you explained
about Laurel?” He asked hesitantly. “No.” Gary replied with that
nervous twitch in his jaw again.

“It’s gonna be harder now. Tell her,” Johnson
looked him in the eye. Hoffson nodded and jumped out. He leaned
back in the open window with a tentative glance at Laurel. She
averted his gaze.

“Well, good luck, man. Tell Alena, congrats
for me. I’ll see her and the baby as soon as I can,” Johnson gave
his partner a big smile. Gary Hoffson slapped the door in a
thank-you-farewell and ran into the hospital.

“He loves you, you know,” Johnson looked in
the rear-view mirror at Laurel. A tear ran down her face. She
nodded. G was special to her. She just couldn’t process being
arrested without an explanation.

Seeing the emergency entrance to Mercy
General had triggered some painful memories and Laurel’s stomach
churned. They rode in silence toward the downtown police
headquarters. She saw the top of the tall, gleaming steel Arch in
the distance. Somehow, she knew the quiet wouldn’t last.

“Mrs. MacClain how do you feel about the
charges you’re facing?” Microphones were shoved in both half-opened
windows in the back of the unmarked vehicle. Reporters threatened
to topple one another as they struggled to match pace with the car.
Laurel MacClain wasn’t exactly famous, but she was well known in
local circles as part owner of the popular City Creek Bar &
Grill.

“Ohhh shhiit!” Johnson drug out the words,
running his long fingers through his hair as he carefully crept
through the crowd, trying to get to the underground entrance of the
new police headquarters. This was going to be a lot harder than he
had imagined.

“Bradley, please, get me out of here!” He
hadn’t heard her call him Bradley in a long time. He moved past the
main entrance to the station, using sirens to slip through the
swarm of media. Johnson found the unmarked entrance to the
underground garage.

Twenty-six stories of modern,
earthquake-proof architecture, the new police headquarters was
daunting. Despised as one of the city’s worst economic decisions in
recent history, costing nearly three-quarters of a billion dollars
to take it to its over-budget completion, it was finished two and a
half years later than was expected. With as many perks as problems,
the building was fitted with state of the art electronics and a
hearty dose of granite.

The off-site additional entrance was unique.
Vehicles just disappeared behind a building and no one could get in
without prior authorization. It kept the media chaos of a big
arrest down to a dull roar.

“How could you, Bradley?! How could you?” She
demanded, bristling. “You told me Gary needed to be in the area for
an investigation.” Bradley Johnson straightened his 6’11”,
pro-basketball style frame, ran long fingers over his tanned,
bronze forehead and through his brown hair before he stretched a
long arm to span the seats. He angled his head over his shoulder a
little toward Laurel.

“Laurel, you know too much about too many
folks. This isn’t your fault. It’s politics and power and
corruption. I can’t tell you anything else right now. Gary didn’t
do anything wrong so don’t hang him just yet.”

Johnson was searching for something to say to
give her some semblance of peace without giving up everything he
knew. Laurel’s mind eased as she listened to his melodic bass
voice. It allowed her to redirect her thoughts. Bradley looked good
in a suit. She was proud that he had done so well as a
detective.

“Derrick and Kate are meeting with you
shortly. Pull the attorney card. Don’t agree to anything. Don’t
tell anything. Don’t trust anyone you don’t know very, very
well.”

“Wait—? How do you—Derrick and Kate?”
Laurel’s head continued to swirl until she thought she might throw
up.

“Yeah. Brian and Seth. Morrison and Pisano.
Yes, we all know each other. It’s like some secret, sacred bond or
code or something—you are. We’ve all vowed to protect you, take
care of you,” Johnson didn’t know what else to say. He gave her a
sideways grin.

“This was
never
supposed to go like
this.” Laurel knew everyone one that Bradley had named off. They
all had worked on the farm at some point over the last six years.
She’d helped each one see their potential so they could move past
something in their life that had them stuck at a young age. She
didn’t think they needed to protect her. Assistant District
Attorney Derrick Jones was the first of many to come to work at
Siddy Creek Farm with her. Their relationship was very unique and
he had garnered a special place in her heart.

In a tough spot without her best friend at
her side, Laurel felt lost. She missed Jahn. If only he hadn’t
pushed so hard or been so stubborn, maybe, just maybe he’d still be
here and she wouldn’t be in this mess.
That not right
, she
knew. She couldn’t blame him, or herself, or God. It just happened.
She outwardly winced with guilt over her thoughts. Dying wasn’t his
idea.

The staff at Mercy General had been very nice
to her, but seeing the hospital emergency entrance had stirred up
painful thoughts; she figured she’d buried them a long time ago. It
didn’t hurt any less all these years later, just not as often. They
couldn’t have done anything for him. He had died in the helicopter
while being airlifted to the city, and was removed from life
support, with her watching, a few hours later. Brain hemorrhage—no
explanation. The image of him slumped over the steering wheel of
their red Chevy crew cab now permeated her thoughts, her eyes stung
as she fought back welling tears. She shoved the pain back down and
swallowed hard.

__________________________

Johnson assisted his cuffed suspect through
the guard check in the garage below the station. He guided her to
the granite-floored elevator. After rising to the top floor of
police headquarters, they entered the twenty-sixth floor to a horde
of people and desks. The tall detective towered over the chaos and
easily picked a path to the interrogation room. He leaned to the
obviously upset woman he was escorting.

“Laurel, I swear we’ll get you out of this.
It’s going to be all right,” he whispered in her ear, his husky
voice soft and pleading. It brought back fond memories of their
time together. He’d been so innocent, so thoughtful, so sweet, and
hurt so badly; she’d helped him heal.

Pain, fear, anguish, and confusion ran
together sucking the energy from her. “It’s my fault. I should have
never let any of this happen,” she grieved for reasons she didn’t
understand, her feelings muddled together.

“Derrick and Kate will be here soon. I gotta
go, don’t worry.” Those were his last words before he walked out
the door leaving her in the solitary confines of a room meant for
criminals.

The heavy door thudded shut after him,
drowning out the cacophony of phones and voices in the main area.
She was alone with her thoughts once again. She sat down, and for
the moment, was unwilling to let the pressure of the situation
consume her. She searched for memories of happier times.

She was always able to muster hope for the
future when she remembered good times. Laurel stared into the
not-so-distant past, the memory of her last day with Jahn suddenly
inundating her thoughts.

It seemed like yesterday. She took a long
breath, her heart slowing a little. Giving a wistful smile to
vacant space, she allowed her mind comfort in recollection. Was
remembering letting go?

__________________________

Jahn. He would take Jan or John when folks didn’t get
how to pronounce the beautiful German name. It was his
mother’s-grandparents’ last name, his given middle name, and the
name that he answered to. She called him Jahn. Like Jan, only drawn
out. He loved the way it breathed from her lips right before she
would demand one more kiss.

He knew the early-morning breeze beckoned her as she
stepped through the French doors from the kitchen to the deck. She
loved the house; he had built it for her, with her. Not far down
the hill from the manicured lawn, the breeze moved through a
peaking stand of orchard grass and timothy in undulating waves of
green and muted deep ocean blue-green, seeded tops just starting to
brown.

She lived for moments like this. The sun was burning
off the dew, the birds fluttering about their nests, the cricket’s
noise winding down. He knew she would stand in the breeze, sweet
orange juice in hand and turn her face to the rising sun. He knew
what she was feeling, standing in the breeze: pure joy.

Jahn MacClain ducked his head with a grin as he
recalled the night before and how just looking at his wife now,
made him harden against his jeans. Watching her, he remembered how
easy it was to get her out of that faded cotton gown. The soft
cloth fluttered around her now much like the waves of grass.

Her head was tilted into the breeze exposing her neck
and shoulders to the cool air. Her hazel green eyes slowly closing,
heightening her other senses, as her golden brown shoulder length
waves whipped upward, to wisp around her lovely face.

He’d often thought that she reminded him of a devious
combination of a Renoir voluptuous maiden and daVinci’s Head of a
Woman—only with tanned skin that he loved to touch, because she
kept it so soft. Her high cheekbones angled down toward sweet, soft
lips that kissed him so right. Her hands, feminine and graceful,
were cupped around the glass much as she would grasp him. Her tummy
was a little round, her hips curved, full thighs and strong tapered
calves that led to arched feet with lovely toes that he’d felt curl
against him countless times. She had a soft rear that he loved to
dig his fingers into.

The one particular feature that would never cease to
amaze him—her breasts. The neckline of her gown revealed the inner
curves. Big enough to fill his strong hands just right, the peaks
of which were now perked to enjoy the movement of the soft cloth
against them in the breeze. Watching her was sheer pleasure. Laurel
MacClain was beautiful.

A rather buxom contradiction of moments of sheer
beauty, potty mouth when she was mad, bold washer-woman hustle when
needed, wild horses-style reckless abandon when it suited her, sage
redneck wisdom, abundant love, and often insatiable lust for him,
she was as unique and incredible as they came. He savored every
moment, even when she was a pain in the ass.

Jahn poured a cup of coffee and moved out of the
shadow of the door. “Hope the neighbors aren’t watching,” he called
out.

“Ummm,” she sighed. “I don’t care if they are,” she
breathed softly into the wind.

“I’m sure enjoying the view though.” She smiled wide
at his side note and turned to him, putting her hand on the swell
of her hip in mock contention.

“You fix the fence yet?” she demanded.

“Yes, dear,” he chuckled knowing full well why she
had asked.

“Good! I’m sick of chasing cows after dark,” she
complained leaning toward the door as if incensed, grinning all the
while.

“You didn’t seem to mind too much—being up late—after
dark with me,” he said matter-of-factly while sipping his coffee.
She giggled and pulled her head to her shoulder feigning a
schoolgirl shy smile, her eyes never leaving him. She hadn’t
really
minded and she tiptoed in the door to prove it. When
her eyes adjusted to the shadows, she could see the wide grin he
sported underneath his dusty cap matched her own. The chores could
wait.

As she moved toward him, Jahn worshiped her body with
his eyes noting again, how perfect Laurel’s breasts were. Rounded,
large enough, sitting just right on her chest with soft, light
brown-pink nipples the perfect size that always perked to meet his
touch. As he had done much of their life together, he reached to
caress her through the thin gown to welcome her advances. The only
other thing she would wear at night was one of his old t-shirts or
her own silky skin. She sighed at his touch as he hefted their
fullness to admire them, first one side, then the other, in his
hand, through the thin fabric. She’d nursed three babies and she
could still turn heads—
amazing
. Only God could have made her
so perfectly for him. Perfect by design.

He set his coffee cup on the table and slid his
strong arms under hers, drawing her close. She reached up to pull
him closer weaving her fingers in the gold-streaked, brown locks at
the base of his neck. She liked his hair a little long. He kneaded
the soft flesh of her buttocks eliciting a moan from her. Pulling
back to continue her game, she headed toward the sink to place her
glass in it. Rinsing it out, she piddled in the sink.