Chapter 4 – We Found Her
Weston MacLachlan –
Upstate New York
“Yeah?” I answer a call as I pull onto my parents’ property. I just wrapped my meeting with our main supplier’s contact and need to fill in my dad and his lieutenants on my idea. It’s fucking brilliant if I say so myself. It’ll give us the ability to triple our shipments, maybe quadruple them, if we’re lucky.
“You about here? Your dad wants to sit down, has something he needs to talk about,” the recruit, Trevor, says.
“I’m pulling in now—I’ve got a meeting with him and Byron. I just got done with our contacts from the south.”
“Byron’s not here, but Jeff is. They’re anxious to see you and said to be fast.”
I don’t get a chance to answer, Trevor disconnects before I can ask what in the hell’s going on. Then again, he wouldn’t know. I was right where he was two years ago. Even though I’m my father’s son, he only cut me a few breaks. I had to earn my position the way everyone else has.
I have no idea why they’re in a rush to talk, they knew I was on my way. Even though it’s my dad and it shouldn’t make me anxious, I wonder what the fucking hurry is.
I pull up the circle drive and park at the front door. Letting myself into my childhood home, I’m greeted by Jean, who’s worked for my parents since before I was born.
“Mr. Weston, it’s good to see you. Shall I tell your mother you’re here? She’s in the kitchen.” Jean smiles as I lean in to kiss her cheek.
“I’ll find her before I leave. I need to speak with my dad first.”
“I’ll let her know.” She takes my jacket and heads for the closet as I go to my father’s office near the front of the house.
He’s sitting behind his desk and one of his lieutenants, Jeff, is standing beside him.
I give my father a curious look because I don’t report to Jeff, and the air is tense. “Thought I had a meeting with you and Byron.”
“Byron’s on a job for me.” My father looks up at Jeff and I swear there’s a silent communication there I don’t like. When he looks back to me, he continues carefully. “Tell us about your meeting first.”
I try to relax and not worry about the unknown elephant in the room, but it’s not easy. “I pitched my idea and they like it. John Deer tractors—antique ones. I’ve researched it, they’re not too hard to find and we don’t need them working. We look like we’re refurbishing them, but gut them instead—the entire thing—leaving only a shell. Some are huge and when completely emptied, will leave massive amounts of real estate for storage.”
My father tips his head, rubbing his jaw with his thumb. His brows draw together when he asks, “Transport?”
“We get a flatbed trailer with a cab, not old but not new, just nondescript. All with legit Midwest plates, no one’ll be the wiser. We’ll look like a farmer, a collector, a hobbyist, someone wanting to refurbish them. It’s time to pull out of Miami. With the threat of terrorism, the shipping industry is tight. We need to utilize the border. Easier payoffs, more traffic on a daily basis, and with the tractors, we have a way to cross in plain sight. Importing bananas might’ve worked for the last decade, but our people were picked off twice in the past five months. Our luck’s gonna run out soon, Dad. Someone’s gonna give us up. We need a new way.”
My father’s jaw tenses. He’s never liked change. “The bananas are legitimate income—we need that to funnel the rest of the money through. We can’t give that up.”
“I didn’t say give it up,” I answer. “I’m saying stop moving the heroin through the bananas for now. Find a different way to transport. If the border gets tight, we can move back, that system is set up and ready. We should at least try—mix it up. It’s time to diversify the transportation. With the tractors coming across on trailer, we can deliver to different spots along the way. Who knows, maybe we can diversify later.”
My father looks up at Jeff, who gives him a tip of his head. Even though I don’t report to him, I know Jeff is progressive and open to change. Although it doesn’t take much to be progressive in comparison to Ronald MacLachlan.
My dad nods slowly and finally concedes. “We’ll start small and give it a try. You’ve got the go ahead for three tractors. Get them to the warehouse and make sure they’re prepped and sealed so the dogs don’t tip us off. I fucking hate drug dogs.”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I nod, but don’t get the chance to enjoy it for long when my dad keeps talking. He leans forward and Jeff turns to walk around the desk, coming close. Confused and not liking him standing over me, I rise defensively, looking back across the desk to my dad. “What the fuck?”
“Relax. We need to talk to you, but you need to keep your shit together.” My dad lowers his voice in the way that commands attention. I’ve heard it my entire life, but it’s different now that I’ve been brought into the fold.
I clench my jaw, trying to control myself.
Dad gives Jeff a meaningful stare and a nod of his head before looking back to me. “Son, we found her. She’s okay.”
I know instantly who she is, because it doesn’t matter what I’m doing or who I’m with, she’s in my every thought.
Maya.
They found her.
I exhale, feeling all the air leave my body as relief replaces it, flowing through me. They found her and she’s safe—my Maya. No matter what happened, no matter if she insisted it was over between us, there was no way I was letting her go. I just need time to convince her of that, and I thought I had. I thought I was making headway with her, but then I realized she was faking it when she up and disappeared. No note, no clues, no trail, no communication with her family. Not even her brother.
All the years we spent together—until I got sloppy—were perfect. Twelve years is a long fucking time when I’m only thirty. From the moment I laid eyes on her when she was sixteen, I knew she was mine.
I suddenly feel whole, the limb that was severed from my body when she disappeared has been miraculously healed.
But only for an instant.
When I finally take a breath, the relief dissipates.
And anger takes its place.
They must see it, because my dad quickly stands, his chair rolling back, slamming into the wall. Sensing Jeff close to my side, I turn and with all my might, put my hands to his chest and push. “Where the fuck is she?”
Jeff stumbles back a couple steps before advancing on me. I push again when he tries to restrain me and he growls, “Enough, calm down.”
“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down! Is she here? Did you bring her here?”
“There’s no way we’re telling you where she is while you’re acting like this. Get your shit together,” Jeff commands, standing a good few feet from me, posed defensively. He’s fifteen years my senior, I’ve got at least thirty pounds of muscle on him. He couldn’t do shit to restrain me if he tried.
“Weston!” my dad shouts. “Enough—that’s an order.”
Breathing hard, I force myself to halt, and do my best to calm down. There’s no fucking way they’re gonna keep her from me. She’s mine and always has been.
After allowing a few moments to go by, my chest is still heaving. “Tell me where she is.”
My father narrows his eyes. “You prove to me you won’t run out of here creating a shit-storm, I might tell you. But you’ve gotta prove to me you can handle her. I haven’t told the Augustines yet—we need a plan that’ll convince her to come back on her own. I think the best way to do that is to use Joseph. I still can’t believe she left him as close as they are. For now, know she’s safe and we’ve got eyes on her all the time. Byron’s on it.”
“You put Byron on her?” I yell. “Why the fuck would you do that? I don’t want him anywhere near her.”
“Settle down. He’s been told to watch her, that’s it.”
Fuck. I’m surprised I can process any of this, all I can think about is getting her home. This time in my home—I’ll insist on it. Living all these months not knowing where she is has been hell. I spent the first month looking for her—my dad and the others understanding what I needed to do. I knew I couldn’t keep that up forever, not doing my fair share of earning and letting the others carry my responsibilities. Plus, I had to man up. I knew she left because of me.
“Tell me,” I exhale, trying to hold onto my control as I stare at my dad, “where is she?”
My dad looks from me to Jeff, curtly nodding once.
“Virginia,” I hear from my side and turn to Jeff. “She’s outside of DC, but your dad and I have already talked, expecting you’d lose it. You show us you’ve got your shit together over the next couple days, we’ll tell you where she is, but you can’t fuck this up again. She knows too much and because of that, we want her home where we can keep an eye on her. We need her loyal to you like a woman should be—and to prove she’s not a liability. If she is, we’ve all decided it doesn’t matter what family she belongs to, we’ll take care of her like we would any threat.”
“No!” I yell.
“Look.” Jeff puts out a hand to calm me, as if anything could calm me when they’re talking about Maya being a liability. “First off, that piece of ass you keep on the side is gone—cut her out for good. Second, you propose to Maya as fast as you can and marry her soon after. If you want her, you tie her up tight, and that includes babies.”
It’s all I can do not to put my fist to his face, but I know better, and deep down, I know he’s right.
My voice is tight and strained when I agree. “Done.”
Jeff nods and takes a step back.
“Son, you’ve got twenty-four hours to get rid of that skank and make a plan. Don’t disappoint me.”
I want to scream at both of them to tell me where she is so I can go to her, convince her to come home, or if I need to, force her to. I need to prove to her I want her more than anything and things can be good again, like they were in college, and the couple years we had after. She wore my ring once—I’m determined she’ll wear it again.
I say nothing and turn to leave. There’s no way I can see my mother right now. She’ll know there’s something wrong, and I know there’s no way my dad told her about Maya. She’d be on the phone with Vanessa Augustine faster than I could blink.
I go straight to my car. I need to figure out how to make this happen.
*****
Grady –
I yank up my sweatpants as best as I can with my bum shoulder and arm. It’s not easy showering with one arm wrapped in plastic. After five weeks, my arm feels great—it’s only my shoulder that still bothers me. I know I need to do something about it, but I hate going to the doctor. I’ll have to make shit up on how it happened and I’m not excited to do that.
Before I get a chance to pull a shirt over my head, the doorbell rings. I didn’t hear the alerts from the cameras since I was in the shower. Grabbing my phone, I switch to the front door view of the house.
She’s back.
I ignore my sling and stare at the screen on my phone as she waits. I shouldn’t answer, it’s bad enough I can’t look away from her on the cameras. Last night it took her five minutes to leave.
She knocks.
And rings the bell again.
Fuck me, more knocking.
Minutes upon minutes go by and she waits, knocks, and rings some more.
All the while, I stare at my phone as she chews on her lip, sighs, and even closes her eyes like she can’t believe she’s standing where she is. She looks miserable, and I can’t say I don’t know how she feels. Not going to her is fucking hard. But she doesn’t stop, and I’m not sure why she doesn’t give up and leave.
She keeps on so long, I can’t make myself ignore her another second. Tossing my phone to the bed, I march down the stairs and go straight to the front door. When I swing it open, she’s surprised, and drops her arm from her constant state of knocking.
“What?” I’m frustrated with myself for not being stronger and leaving her be.
“Um…” her voice trails off and her light blue eyes drop to my torso. I stand and wait for her to say something as her eyes drag over me, and she rolls her lips, swallowing hard.
“Maya?” I call for her and try not to let her gaze affect me, even though it does. After watching her for so long, being alone with her for the first time gives me an uneasy feeling I’ve never experienced.
Her eyes dart back to mine, and she looks like I’ve shaken her out of a daze. I like the way she sounds out of breath when she says, “You’re not wearing your sling.”
I tip my head to study her expression. “No. I don’t wear it all the time anymore.”
She shifts her weight, looking uncomfortable. “Did you get the papers I left with the food last night?”
Mention of the food makes me think of the one dessert she left me, and I feel myself relax. For the first time in so long I can’t remember the last time it happened, my mouth scarcely tips on one side. “You mean the single, miniature cream puff that was barely a bite?”
Her brow immediately crinkles and she stands straighter. “It was more than a bite.”
“No,” I contest, but I like her response. “You packed me a quarter of a dessert. That’s just not nice. It’s like you’re teasing me or something.”
“But,” she pauses and puts her hands to her hips, “I did bring you dessert. I can tell you like them.”
I lean my good shoulder into the door jamb and let myself enjoy our back-and-forth. “You also brought me a lot of vegetables.”
“And potato soup, which I know you like, right?”
When I look down at her, I realize this is the closest we’ve ever been. She’s wearing jeans that fit her like a second skin, and I know this because I’ve watched her on the cameras in her skintight leggings. Her jeans are rolled at the ankle over a pair of short boots that boost her to at least five-ten. Topping it off, she’s wearing a Henley made for chicks that’s unbuttoned just enough, she’s teasing me with the swell of her tits.
I like it all, but I’m tired of talking about food. “What do you want, Maya?”
A confused expression takes over her pretty face and she shakes her head, her long, dark blond hair swaying back and forth, making me wonder how soft it is. “You didn’t answer last night. I told Addy and Crew I’d come work on your shoulder. I don’t like not following through on my word, so I left my job at the Ranch early today to try again. Did you at least do the exercises outlined on the papers I left for you?”
“No.”
“Grady,” she breathes my name, frustrated. No matter how frustrated she is, hearing my name pass her lips stirs something in me. I wonder what my name would sound like if she was happy, tired, or fuck me, when I was making her come. She keeps on, pulling me out of my contemplation of her screaming my name while my mouth is between her legs. “You’re going to get frozen shoulder. You cannot simply resume normal activities without working up to it, you’ll risk doing major damage. You probably need another MRI to check on the condition of the joint, but at the very least, you need to start the stretches.”
“You’re here to do that?” I ask, all of a sudden anxious to start therapy.
She exhales harshly. “Yes, I am. As a favor to Addy.”
I straighten and step back to make room for her. If therapy is my way to spend time with her, I’ll take it. “Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint Addy. Come on in.”
As if willing herself to take the first step, she finally walks in, her boots clomping on the old hardwoods. When I swing the door shut behind her, she turns and asks, “Where should we go?”
I shrug with my good shoulder. “You’re the professional. You tell me.”
She looks around and sighs, dropping her bag on the floor. “I guess here is fine. Really, I need to measure your range of motion, check for swelling, and muscle tightness. That’ll give me an idea of where to start.”
“Measure away.”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth again and I find myself jealous, wanting to bite her lip, too. When she closes the distance between us and stands in front of my bum shoulder, she hesitates, taking another deep breath.
When she doesn’t make a move to do anything, I break the silence. “You sure you’re really a physical therapist? You’re not here just to fuck with me since you don’t approve of my sugar consumption?”
“What?” She looks insulted. “Of course I am. I mean, yes, I’m really a physical therapist. This has nothing to do with your love for sugar.”
“Are you here to offer me the specials or are we going to get to it?”
“No, sorry.” She exhales harshly and raises her hands, flexing her fingers before touching me.
I tense, not knowing what to expect, but the instant she lays her small hands on my body, I have to force myself not to react.
Her touch is soft, warm, and fuck me, even soothing. She runs her hands lightly over my bare skin, and I’m grateful she moves behind me, because I have to close my eyes to overcome it. Now she’s touching both my shoulders, nothing but symmetry in her movements, gently probing my muscles.
Hell if I don’t feel her breath on the back of my neck when her soft voice comes at me. “Do you think all the swelling is gone? I don’t see much, if any.”
I try to even my voice when I answer, “Swelling’s been gone for over a week.”
“Good,” I hear and feel her say.
She moves to my bad shoulder, and as if she’s finally more comfortable touching me, her hand slowly moves down to my elbow, bending my forearm up. I open my eyes and study her face as she focuses on what she’s doing.
Her blue eyes are intent and methodical as I’m forced to stand here, doing nothing while she has her hands on me. As much as I will it not to, my heart speeds. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
Just when I didn’t think I could handle anymore, she lightly brings her hands to my chest, running them over my pecs as she says, “It’s not uncommon for pectorals to become tight from poor posture when recovering from shoulder trauma. You’ve been compensating for your injury for weeks. That’s a long time. You could really benefit from electrical neuromuscular stimulation, but I don’t have access to a machine. You should get into a clinic where they have everything you need. It can help loosen muscles to speed up recovery.”
With her so close in front of me, I can’t manage a word, so I nod, even though I’m still not going to a doctor. Now that Maya’s touched me, I’m gonna want more, and it’s gonna be all I can do to fight the urge to return her touch.
Moving back to my shoulder, she gently lifts my arm forward until I can feel the pain and tense. Stopping, she does this again to the side, and then to the back. Each time, sensing when it’s too much and stops.
She continues to torture me, not only with her stretches, but her touch. All the while, I have to stand here and act like it doesn’t affect me. She talks me through some exercises, doing multiple reps of each. Sometimes I answer her questions, sometimes all I can do is grunt, because as much as I love her touch, the stretches hurt like a bitch.
When she finally lays my arm at my side, she brings her hands back to my shoulder. She must be trying to slay me, because fuck me, she starts to press and rub my muscles, massaging the tension she just created. It might be releasing the tension in my shoulder, but it’s creating all kinds of tension in my cock.
She’s killing me.
“You’ll want to ice this. You can alternate ice and heat, but be sure to keep up with the ice since we moved it quite a bit. Do you still have the directions I left last night?” She looks up questioningly, having no idea what she’s stirred inside me.
“Yeah.”
“Good. Repeat everything we just did tomorrow, and keep up with the ice. I’ll come back the day after to check your range. You’ll probably be ready for some new motions, I’ll bring my rubber bands, you’ll need to start small, but it’s time to add some strengthening motions.” With that, she drops her hands as she takes a step backwards, and on an exhale, asks, “Do you hate me?”
I feel myself slightly frown. “Why would I hate you, Maya?”
She gives her head a little shake and flips her hand out between us. “That couldn’t have felt good. Physical therapists aren’t normally popular with their patients.”
I feel myself relax, but what I can’t explain is her touch is one of the best things I’ve felt in my life. Since I can’t tell her that, I offer, “If you bring dessert next time, there’s no way I could hate you.”
As if I’ve broken the ice, she finally relaxes and rolls her beautiful blue eyes. Shaking her head, she bends to pick up her bag, and turns to the door. “You eat enough dessert—I’ll take my chances with you hating me.”
“Your gamble,” I call, checking her out from the back, now even sorrier I can’t return her touch.
When she’s standing in the open doorway, she swings her head around and gives me the first genuine smile I’ve ever gotten from her. “I’ll see you around, Grady.”
“Yeah.” I couldn’t agree more, sooner than later, in fact. “See you, Maya.”
I watch as she leaves. I’m sure she has no idea what just happened—the effect it had or what she stirred in me.
I should do what she said and ice my shoulder, because it’s starting to fucking ache. But I don’t. I quickly move up the stairs and finish getting dressed. When I get back downstairs, I head straight out the back door to Crew’s barn to look for a saw. Because for the first time in weeks, I’m ready to move forward.
Who am I kidding?
It’s the first time in fucking years.
After years of nothing but resentment and revenge streaming through me, it’s time for something different. Who the hell knew it would all start with physical therapy?