Page 48 of Freak
She swung the door closed and turned to her dogs with a cleansing sigh. “Okay, boys. I’m going in to change, then let’s get to work.”
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~oOo~
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With her face washedof ‘going to town’ makeup, wearing her usual outfit of comfy cotton dress, bright work smock, and Crocs, her hair back up in its usual loose bun, Abigail checked on the animals, checked the gardens for anything that might be left to pull, and then ensconced herself in the kitchen. She stood before her well-loved work island, dressing up jam jars with small rounds of gingham and calico fabrics she’d cut with pinking shears, fixing them around the lids with matching strips of satin ribbons.
She had the Highwomen playing on the old CD player atop the pie safe, and she sang along with them to ‘Crowded Table,’ one of her favorite songs. She’d never had a crowded table of her own, and had rarely had a seat at anyone else’s, but she loved the idea of community the song celebrated.
Even she had a community like that. Though her own table was sparse, she knew if she had a need, there were people who cared enough about her to fill it.
That thought sidled through her mind as she tied a lavender ribbon around a piece of pink calico, over a jar of blueberry preserves. Her next thought froze her with her fingers on the tails of the bow.
When she’d had need in the summer, theHordehad jumped in at once to fill it. And Mel had been the vanguard, leading the charge. That was what had brought him into her life.
She hadn’t forgotten, of course; not a day had passed since that she hadn’t thought of their help and been grateful, not a day had passed since that she didn’t feel blessed to have such a dear new friend, and lately even more than a friend. Yet her understanding had not made her feel more comfortable in the Horde’s home. She’d been so uncomfortable, in fact, that she’d missed a bright truth: the Horde had offered her a seat at their own crowded table.
In this moment, with her fingers snug around bits of satin ribbon, Abigail finally realized that the roots of her discomfort were sunk into soil ofjudgment. She was judging the Horde and finding them lacking. These men, and their families, who’d done so much to help her when she had need.
In the same moment, while the epiphany held her in place, she heard the roar of a motorcycle’s engine, and the dogs climbed down from the porch. She knew a lot of bikers, but she could imagine only one who’d come all the way out here on a day like this. Only one who had reason or care to do so.
Her thoughts finally aligning into meaning, Abigail went out to meet Mel.
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He arrived at the footof the porch steps as she stepped through the screen door. They both stopped, and as their eyes locked, the world went still. Neither moved or said a word.
They stood like that, frozen in time. Abigail studied Mel, noting how his bruises had darkened since they’d parted, how his aura blinked and stuttered, how the same turmoil showed on his face, especially in his eyes. He was deeply upset and confused.
In the time they’d been apart, Abigail had sorted through her thoughts and feelings and come to a better understanding of things, but Mel seemed still trapped in a sticky web of doubt. Their need to talk remained acute.
“Hey, hon,” she said, softly. “I’m glad you’re here. Come on in, and we’ll talk.”
“No,” Mel said, the short syllable sharp as a command.
“No?” Abigail was taken aback. Had he come to end things?
For a long span of silent heartbeats, Mel stood at the foot of the steps, one hand on the railing, his mouth closed and his brow furrowed. Wild thoughts rioted across his face, and Abigail tried to read them, to understand him.Washe here to end things? Or was his turmoil rooted in worry that she wanted to end things? Or was it something else, something apart from and maybe bigger than them? Had something happened at the clubhouse?
Abigail was stuffed with questions like feathers in one of Granny Kate’s old blue-tick pillows, and the quill of each poked at her insides. Theyhadto talk. None of this could be resolved unless theyunderstoodeach other.
Abruptly, just as she prepared to ignore his barked command and speak those thoughts aloud, Mel stomped up the steps and straight at her, so quickly his hands had firm hold of her face before she could do more than suck in a shocked breath.
Before she could let it out, his mouth landed on hers, covering her lips completely, fusing their mouths together, as his tongue surged forward.
Though they hadn’t gone much further, Abigail and Mel had kissed often in the past few weeks. Many nights, after dinner, they curled up in her front room and listened to music or watched a movie, and most of the movie got missed. Sometimes she had trouble getting dinner made because he’d stand behind her with his arms around her and nibble at her neck and ear until she had to turn around and get in on the fun. His smiling attentions had her giddy as a schoolgirl nearly every moment they were alone together.
She’d kissed very few men ever, and Mel was, by far, the man she’d kissed most, and who’d kissed her best. Yet he’d never before kissed her like this. No one ever had. This kiss overwhelmed her, dominated her. This kiss was a demand.
A small voice in her mind whispered that it wastoooverwhelming,toodominating,toodemanding. Never in her life had she wanted to cede control of her own body to anyone, and Mel’s fierceness now bordered on force. Always before he’d asked—it was one of the things she’d found sexiest about him, how he always told her what he wanted before he did it, making the request part of his play, his deep voice low and slow, rolling through his warm breath and over her cheek like a caress. He always waited for her to tell him, or to show him, that she wanted what he wanted.
He hadn’t waited now. He hadn’t asked. He almost didn’t seem to care if she wanted his mouth on hers or not. She should find this dangerous, offensive. She should push him off.
