Page 41 of Signed, SEALed, Delivered

Pulling me closer, his hands on my shoulders. “You scared the shit out of me. Not many people can lay claim to scaring me, but when aunt Ella called me, all I could think about was getting to you, making sure you were safe.” His lips descended on mine before I can assure him I really am fine. We both need this. Personally, I crave this, the closeness, the intimacy of his touch. “Don't do that again, scared isn't something I want to feel for you ever again.”

Tires on gravel remind me of the real world around us, “That's the sheriff.” I sigh against his chest, the feel of his lips against my forehead provide more comfort than the arrival of the police. “I’ll be right here beside you as you tell him what happened.”

Nodding my head against his chest, knowing the character of Sheriff Barnes and the way he handles most things around this county. He wears the uniform because it is what his family has done for generations. Each one exceeding the worthlessness of the one prior. “Not like it will help much.”

Zach holds my hand in his as Ella shows the deputy to where we are. Wesley Proctor and his five foot nothing stature, walk into the stall. Poised with his hands on the edge of his gun belt, his cowboy hat on his head and his mustache moving to the rhythm of his gum chewing. “Evening, y’all.” Flows from his lips, hidden behind the mammoth cluster of facial hair he calls a mustache. “Heard you had some trouble.”

Ella suggests we go to her office where we can all have a seat, so I tuck myself under Zach’s arm as we walk as a unit down the hall. Twenty minutes, three pages of Deputy Proctor’s notebook and several repeats of the same story later, Zach is on his feet as Wesley tells me not much can be done. “Explain to me, how you can stand there and tell us there is little your department can do about this?” I’ve seen Zach lose his cool on a customer, heard a few stories of how he handled things in the Marines. But to see him tower over Wesley, rage and disbelief in his voice, makes me jump with intimidation.

“Sir, as I explained to you and Ms. Kennedy, the man who you accuse of coming into the barn didn't harm anyone, didn't hit her or threaten her. The premises is considered public, so he wasn't trespassing.”

Zach stand with his hands on his hips looks to Ella and then back at me. “So what your sayin’ is he can come in here, walk into a stall where he doesn't belong, nearly injuring a horse and there is nothing you and your office can do about it?”

“No, Sir. I can't even open a case number on this.”

The deputy begins to shove his notebook into his back pocket, reaching for the handset attached to his collar board. “So if I tell you her father is John Forrester and she is dating the son of Dr. Jonathan Michaels, your answer will remain the same.” I hated name-dropping, something my mother and sister had mastered. I knew Zach felt the same way, so for him to stand before me, utter those words and not choke spoke volumes.

But not as loud as the way Deputy Proctor handed him his card, complete with a case number and his personal cell number. “Make sure you have your daddy file the paperwork, let him know I'd be honored to serve the order myself.”

***

Three days ago I called my mother, confirming she didn't have any plans for this afternoon. Her response would be considered brash, but given the source, she was pleased. Dad and I had agreed not to tell her about the incident at the stables. Ethan had been served with the paperwork the next morning at a hotel near my work. Sheriff Barnes called my father personally; apologized for any misunderstanding his deputy may have caused, came by his office and took the papers to serve Ethan himself.

"I have someone I would like you to meet." It was the only detail I would give her. She badgered me for nearly half an hour as to the identity of the person, but I stood firm. I wanted to set the stage for what I had in mind. Zach offered to drive in one of his family's more expensive modes of transportation, but I declined, opting for something a lot more risqué, more suited to the image I wanted my mother to witness.

"Kennedy, are you sure you don't want me to dress up? It's your family after all. I have a closet full of clothes, with names that would impress your mother and her friends."

Again, he was so wonderful. He cared enough to put himself into a situation, which would have made any gladiator turn and run. He was doing this for me, and my happiness. "Zach, I have never once seen you wear anything other than t-shirts and jeans, well, except for the occasional workout shorts. As much as I appreciate your willingness to dress to impress, I want her to meet my Zach."

I remember the day we moved into the estate where my mother lives. Once my father's practice took off, the success brought with it a few benefits. I never understood why he kept the downtown apartment we moved from after he built this for her. He would spend several nights back at the apartment, giving the excuse his meeting ran late and he didn't want to disturb us. Thinking back, it was his solitude. He placed my mother in a home where she could be queen to impress her transparent friends so they would like her, tolerate her would be more accurate.

Like a fortress, the heavily decorative iron gates came into view long before the house did. Mother insisted on the illusion, she wanted her visitors to anticipate their first glimpse of her castle. For me, it was more like a prison than a fairytale story.

Zach shut off the engine, allowing me to press the security call button without needing to shout. You could hear the humming of the camera as it focused in on the image of us waiting to pass through the gates. There was no mystery as to who was adjusting it for a better look. In a measure that would cause a huff to escape her lips, I removed the helmet Zach had secured before we left his house, smiling like a twelve-year-old fan girl at a meet and greet. With a thud, the gates slowly began to open, but the moaning of the metal was soon drowned out by the roar of Zach's engine.

How many hundreds of times have I traveled this very road, journeying to a place I once considered home? Now it was simply a visit, wrapped around the man who is now my solitude, just as the apartment is for my father.

As Zach rounded the final curve, a break in the trees revealed the stone facade of the house and with a pair of shadows stood under the awning. Mother never greeted any guests from the front entry, always wanting to make a grand entrance, complete with music if it wouldn't have been considered in poor taste. There she stood, in her white linen suit shipped from London or Paris, my sister Caroline beside her in nearly matching attire. Zach pulled to a stop shutting off the engine once again, but stayed seated atop the monster he called a bike.

Standing with pride and assurance, I tapped his shoulder letting him know I would be dismounting this beast. His arm extended in assistance to help me climb off. Once my boot-clad feet touched the cobblestone drive, a quick snap of the chinstrap and my brown hair was released in a title wave of curls. I placed the helmet on the seat pad, unzipping the leather jacket Zach had given me after dinner last night. He had me try it on, commenting on how sexy he found me, and increasing the need for the self-love session I participated in.

Her face reminded me of the time I forgot to put sugar in the lemonade I’d made for my dad. His poor face had contorted so badly when he took a large sip from the glass I gave him. "Kennedy, what is the meaning of this?" She pointed first at the motorcycle, and then at the handsome man who commanded it, while she spoke.

I turned in the direction of said man smiling as he had already taken off his own helmet, his hands smoothing over his hair that had grown in nicely since his discharge from the military. "I told you over the phone I wanted you to meet someone." My voice too jubilant, she was making this too easy, allowing me to enjoy this far too much.

"Honey, come meet my Mommy." Claudia Dwyer Forrester had many titles, but mommy was not one she allowed. It was mother or ma'am, but never mommy. Her disdain for the word made me want to say it over and over.

"That's far enough, Kennedy." Her arms now crossed under her surgically enhanced chest. She offered to have mine done when I turned sixteen, but thankfully the surgeon deferred until I became of legal age.

I ignored her instruction, adding fuel to the fire, as I took Zach's hand in mine climbing the stone steps toward the dais she had created. "Young man." I inwardly snickered at the words she chose. "You need to take that...that...death machine and leave the premises.” Snapping her fingers in my direction, “Kennedy, you will wait for me in your room." Once upon a time I would have lowered my head, shot her a quick, "yes ma'am", and followed her orders. Those days were over. Standing on the same steps where I took those orders, swallowing everything down to avoid her wrath, was a new woman. One who was in charge of her own destiny and in love with a man who treated her like she was the most valuable thing he owned.

"Are you asking him to leave?" I expected this, prayed she wouldn't disappoint me with her reaction.

"Yes, security will be called if he isn't back on that bike in ten seconds. Kennedy, really what has happened to you? You're a mess! You're...you're wearing jeans and leather!"

Her face is contorted in disgust despite the gallons of Botox she has injected; her nose was practically sticking straight in the air while motioning toward my clothing.

"You're certain he needs to leave? You don't want to offer him a cup of tea? Or a place at the dinner table?" She ignores my question, turns to Caroline and tells her to call security. With all of the crime that occurred in the area, security was more of a selling point than actual protection. The sight of the custom golf cart, complete with flashing blue lights, which whirled along with the electric motor and rain guard, made my smile brighten just a little.

---