Jagged (27 page)

But when that shit storm hit and the way Zara handled it, he knew she might be young in years but she was not young in any other way, so he took her back and took her to his bed.

When he did, he found out why she’d grown up fast and he hated learning it. But it brought him to the understanding that this pretty woman with her great body, great hair, fast smile, quick wit, and easy disposition was a whole lot more even if that already was a fuckuva lot.

And he wanted it.

So he got it.

And now he
had
it.

And he had no problem putting a ring on it, even if that meant doing it faster than he’d planned.

But the bottom line was, it was too late, way too late. He’d let her down and done it in the worst way.

He sure as fuck was going to make up for that now.

“Just got off the phone with Nina,” he told her.

“Heard you talkin’ to someone,” she murmured and took another drag, her focus on the mountains, not on their conversation

He bumped her leg with his. “Cookie, you gotta listen.”

He watched her sigh and look at him. “I had one breakdown today, Ham. You know me well, darlin’, but not well enough to know that I’m only allowed one breakdown a week. Sister dead and seein’ Zander, I’m already over my quota. I don’t know what’ll happen if I have another one but I suspect either spontaneous combustion or projectile vomiting. Neither are pretty, so be forewarned about that when you share what you gotta share.”

He grinned before he requested, “Would you stop bein’ funny when I got important shit to tell you? You can go back to bein’ funny after we’re done.”

“Sock it to me,
mein herr,
” she invited and his grin turned into a smile.

Then he socked it to her, everything, except his asking Nina to arrange a meeting and visitation with Zander. He didn’t want to get her hopes up.

When he was done, she immediately replied, “Right. First part, Dad’s a dick. We knew that already. No surprise. Onward from that, I hope he goes bankrupt paying for an investigator to investigate you, which, incidentally, invading your privacy like that elevates him from a dick to a dickish douchebag, which, I’ll grant, is a vague distinction but I think you get me.”

Reece began to laugh softly, not missing the fact that, unlike Nina, Zara didn’t even question the idea that he might have something in his past that could hurt them. He didn’t. He’d been a traveling man but he that didn’t mean he had anything to hide. But Zara didn’t waste even a single breath to question it.

She wasn’t done.

“And the second part, I’m shocked as shit Kami would be so thoughtful. That’s sweet. And I’d like to celebrate Xenia’s life, but right now, I don’t have it in me. A week, two, maybe we can arrange a big blowout. I’ll get out pictures and invite all her old friends. Now”—she shook her head—“no.”

“You got it, cookie.”

“And just so you know, even though my sister was an alcoholic, that doesn’t mean after seeing my beautiful, obviously popular, smiling nephew today, I don’t intend to use beer as a crutch and drink until I pass out. So advice, keep an eye on that so you can get in there and get yourself drunk sex before it turns unpretty and drunk sex ends with me puking and/or passing out during the act.”

“I’ll keep an eye on that. I’ll also order a pizza so we can draw that out, seein’ as you goin’ down on me rocks my world but when you’re smashed, you ratchet that shit up so it’s so fuckin’ good, I don’t know whether to come in your mouth or fuck you then hold you until you pass out, before I slip out while you’re asleep and buy you a trophy.”

He was damned gratified when she threw back her head and laughed with no sadness hidden behind the sound. It was all genuine.

And Reece took a drag off his beer as he watched her laugh.

Her laughter waned and her eyes focused on his. “You know, of course, that now I really need a Blowjob Trophy.”

“Then I’ll get you one, you earn it.”

She grinned. “Challenge accepted, Bruiser.”

Reece moved his gaze to the mountains, muttering, “Good to hear, cookie.”

She butted her leg against his, not to get his attention, just a show of affection, and he heard her soft giggle before she squelched it to drink more beer.

His girl.

Drama.

Then easy.

Jesus, but he’d fucked up. He could have had that for a decade and, more, given it to her.

Oh yeah. Fuck yeah.

He’d fucked up.

They sat in silence awhile before Reece got up and ordered pizza.

Then they drank, ate, and drank some more.

And, later, Zara earned her trophy.

Then she passed out.

But she did it cuddled close in his arms.

Six days later…

“You know, Cotton,” I called to the old man’s back as we trudged through the mountains, “they have digital cameras these days. Most of them are small and none of them require film and all this other stuff I’m lugging through the perilous off-trail Rocky Mountains.”

I wasn’t joking. We weren’t on a trail. I had to admit, the views were stunning but still, the terrain was treacherous. So treacherous, the old guy’s easy pace moving through it flipped me out. Then again, he wasn’t carrying a heavy camera bag on his shoulder like I was.

“Did you come to bellyache or did you come to see a master at work?” Cotton asked, not turning back to me.

“I came to see a master at work but, prior to that, you failed to divulge you were a slave driver.”

He stopped abruptly, murmured reverently, “There she is,” then reached an arm back toward me, again without looking at me but snapping his fingers and demanding, “Give me my bag, girl.”

I gratefully pulled the strap off my shoulder and positioned the handles in his hand.

His fingers curled around the handles and he went right to work, unzipping the bag, yanking out his camera, then dropping to a knee with the camera up to his face.

I got close and looked at the view he was shooting.

Then I lost my breath.

All my life, I’d lived in the Rockies and never, not once, did I get used to their splendor.

They might be hard to climb, difficult to traverse, and the weather in them unpredictable, but none of that meant that God didn’t know exactly what He was doing when He created them.

Once I’d drunk in the view, my eyes moved to Cotton.

I was more than pleased that I’d found time to go out with him on a shoot. Or more to the point, I was more than pleased he’d phoned me way early that morning, waking me after a few hours of sleep since I’d had a shift the night before, and telling me to haul my behind to his place to get him because we were going out.

I left a disgruntled but soon-back-to-fast-asleep Ham in his bed in order to have this opportunity.

But navigating dangerous mountain passes was worth the view. More, watching Cotton, who looked like Rocky Mountain Santa with his shock of white hair, white beard, jolly belly, and red nose, focused on creating what I knew once the photos were done would be sheer beauty made it even more worth it.

I drank this in, too, and did it until Cotton dropped the camera then sat on his ass on the boulder we were perched on and looked up at me.

“Thermos ’a joe in that bag, Zara, coupla mugs. Pour us some lead,” he ordered.

I dropped to my ass on the boulder and did as told. I handed him his travel mug and wrapped my gloved hands around mine.

“How’d you know this was here?” I asked after I took a sip, motioning to the view with my head.

“Lotta years on me, girl,” Cotton answered. “Spent ’em high and low, traipsin’ through these hills. Saw this spot years ago. But this spot, the light’s gotta be right. Woke up and just got the feelin’, the light would be right. Luckily, I was not wrong. So here we are and, finally, I caught that old girl’s glory.”

I looked to the “old girl,” a sweeping range of Rockies that punctuated a cloudless blue sky, the sun stark on its planes, shaded through its angles.

It was phenomenal. Cotton’s feeling was spot on. Then again, that was why he was world famous and became that way exposing the beautiful mysteries of America’s mountains’ majesty.

“You gotta know, whole town’s talkin’ about your boy,” he muttered and my eyes went from the majesty to Cotton.

I didn’t know which “boy” he was talking about. Ham could be a boy to him, considering Cotton’s age. Or he could mean Zander. I did know that whatever this was he was bringing up was why I was there, he’d asked me to come before the Zander news broke, so I suspected it was Ham.

“You wanna explain that, Cotton?” I asked.

He took a sip from his mug and his eyes came to me.

“Xenia’s son,” he answered, surprising me but I nodded.

I’d told Mindy and Becca about Zander the night of Xenia’s funeral. I’d also told Arlene. Mins and Becs could keep their mouths shut. Arlene, no way in hell.

“’Spect you know this already, Zara, but your daddy’s a sumabitch,” Cotton shared.

I drank from my coffee and looked to the mountain. “Yeah, Cotton, learned that when I was around three.”

“He hurt you girls?” Cotton asked, and my gaze shot back to him.

“Cotton—”

“Did Xavier take his hand to you girls?” Cotton asked firmly.

“Yes,” I whispered, telling him something only Ham, Mins, Neens, Becs, Maybelle, Wanda, and my dead friend Kim knew, outside of Xenia, of course, but she was there.

“Dang nab it,” he muttered.

His head dropping, he looked at his lap.

“Cotton, it was a while ago,” I told him gently.

His gaze came back to mine before he said bizarrely, “Takes a village.”

“What?” I asked.

“It takes a village, Zara. You won’t know this, won’t have remembered her that way. If I recall, by the time you and your sister could cipher, she’d lost it so you didn’t get her that way, but Amy Cinders before she became a Cinders was the prettiest girl in town before she gave our town you and your sister. And that’s sayin’ somethin’, seein’ as we got a lot of talent about. Thing about her was, she wasn’t just pretty, she was sweet. Couldn’t tell a joke and wouldn’t, seein’ as she was a might shy, but you’d work hard to make her laugh, hear that sound that was pretty as her, watch her face light up.”

His eyes grew sharp on me before he finished.

“And she laughed a lot back then, girl.”

I didn’t like this, knowing Mom was pretty… once. Happy… once. Laughed… once.

Cotton was right. I never saw her smile, definitely not laugh, and by the time I could “cipher,” although it wasn’t lost on me she was vaguely attractive, that was defined as “vaguely” due to the fact that timidity shrouded her and fear poured off her in waves.

I didn’t like knowing she’d lost that. More, I didn’t like knowing she gave it up, apparently without much of a fight.

“I’m not sure I want to hear this,” I told him carefully, also not wanting to offend him.

“What I’m sayin’ is, he broke her. So we knew. The town did. Xenia and you hightailin’ it outta there the minute you could. Xenia abusin’ her body in an effort to dull the pain. We knew. And we shoulda done somethin’ about it.”

I felt bad for him because he clearly felt bad about all this but it was way past the point anything could be done now.

“You seem to be takin’ this hard, Cotton, and I won’t say it wasn’t tough but it was a long time ago and there were people closer to the situation who should have done something about it.”

“Your mother,” he said.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“You’re right,” he stated.

“I know I am,” I told him.

“Your man now, what’s that about?” he changed the subject suddenly.

And there we were, just as I suspected.

That didn’t mean I wasn’t confused at his question.

“I’m not following,” I replied.

“He’s got years on you, girl,” he shared something I knew.

“And you had years on Alana,” I returned the favor, referring to his wife, a beauty, Native American, statuesque, graceful, soft-spoken, kind, and now, upsettingly, gone.

It was before the time I could “cipher,” but I knew she’d been in her twenties when they married, Cotton in his forties. That didn’t stop them from building a family, which they did, all adopted because Alana got ovarian cancer when she was way too young, had her entire womb removed, enjoyed a good spell with her man then it came back and devoured her.

But unlike my friend Kim, who died within months of diagnosis, for Alana, it took its time the second time around, drew it out, so when Alana finally faded away, it was a relief, even to Cotton, who was ravaged by her illness, his powerlessness against it but not her loss. His relief was so great, you could see it, feel it. It wasn’t a celebration. It was a stillness of expression and manner. And it lasted a long time.

Then he got crotchety and now he was a new Cotton, one who didn’t smile as much as I remembered him doing when I was a kid. And he didn’t laugh as much either.

He found his way to live on without the woman he adored.

But it wasn’t the same.

“We’re not talkin’ ’bout Alana, Zara. We’re talkin’ ’bout you,” Cotton shot back.

“Cotton, you’re grumpy but I love you. You know it. Still, I don’t know where you’re aimin’ so I don’t know where to put my shield.”

He didn’t pull any punches when he finally spit it out.

“Girls come from homes like yours sometimes find their daddies.”

I blinked.

Then I stared.

After I did that for a while, I burst out laughing.

“I’m not bein’ funny, girl,” Cotton groused through my laughter.

Also through my laughter, I forced out, “You so totally are.”

“Zara, straighten up and listen to me. I’m bein’ very serious.”

I choked down my laughter and looked at him.

“Darlin’, he even looks mean,” Cotton stated quietly when he got my attention.

“Yeah, he does,” I agreed. “But he’s the gentlest, most affectionate man I’ve ever met.”

“Zara—”

I cut him off.

“When I broke my wrist, he drove hundreds of miles to cook and clean for me for a week. When Kim died, he couldn’t get here until two days after the funeral because of work but he busted his ass to get here. He had only three days off and he didn’t sleep a wink in those days due to driving and spending time looking after me. And when I found out about Xenia, I couldn’t hold myself up and Ham was right down on the kitchen floor with me, holding me in his arms while I cried.”