Later that night, I looked up from my laptop and frowned, glancing over at Tammy. “Did you hear that?”

“It’s the doorbell, Aunt Jeannie.” Tammy rolled her eyes, shooting Kitty a look which probably had something to do with my utter lack of coolness or awareness. She passed the ball of yarn to Kitty and stood, brushing her skirt down. “I’ll get it.”

“Yeah, you do that.” I turned my attention back to my screen, scanning the email and making notes on the legal pad next to me. So far all the new hires were working out beautifully, far better than I would have imagined, which wasn’t shocking considering I’d been certain they’d all crash and burn right away. Not because they weren’t skilled—I wouldn’t have hired them if they weren’t—but because I was demanding and exacting and not a little neurotic where it concerned my baby. So when Tammy pointedly cleared her throat, I threw my pen down and huffed out a breath. “What?”

“Evening, Jeannie.”

Now I looked up, meeting Sheriff Underwood’s gaze without flinching. “Sheriff. I’d ask to what do I owe the pleasure but I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”

“Well, I don’t know rightly what it can be called.” He nodded at Tammy and then Kitty, who’d lost all the color in her face. “Miss Jackson. Miss Haverty. You’re looking well. Not much longer, hmm?”

“About eight weeks.” She flicked her tongue over her lips and reached one shaking hand for her water. “Give or take. The doctor said first babies have a tendency to be late.”

“I remember our first was about two weeks late.” His hangdog features softened even further, his lips curving in a smile. “Mrs. Underwood was ready to pull the boy out herself if he didn’t come that day.”

“What’s the problem, Sheriff?” I stood, shoving my hands in my back pockets and rocking on my heels. “Because in case you missed the obvious, you’re scaring the shit out of the girls and it’s not making me all that happy.”

“Now, see, I just came from over at the Havertys’ and I’d say they’re none too happy, either.” He hooked his thumbs in the front loops of his pants, sucking air through his teeth. “Mrs. Haverty is saying you kidnapped her daughter and Mr. Haverty is saying you threatened his wife.”

“Sheriff, you know me. Do you think I would do either of those things?”

“Well, not without great provocation and having shared a meal or two with the Havertys I would believe it wouldn’t take too much to get you worked up where you might shoot your mouth out without thinking about the consequences.” He fingered the brim of his hat, his lips twitching in a smirk. “They’re not the easiest people to get along with, the Havertys, but they’re still citizens of the county and I have to listen to their complaints and investigate them.”

“That’s just stupid.” Tammy bit the words out and I couldn’t say who was more shocked by her outburst, me or the Sheriff. She crossed her arms, her brows drawing together as she frowned at the Sheriff. “Mr. and Mrs. Haverty are horrible parents and everybody knows it but nobody said anything and now they’re mad because somebody did.” She flung an arm toward Kitty, sitting and watching the show with the sort of fascination usually reserved for firework displays. “They haven’t bought anything for the baby, not one thing, and they wouldn’t let anybody give Kitty anything, either. I had to sneak her Mama’s old clothes from when she was pregnant with Conway. And they said she couldn’t go back to school, even when Mama and Mrs. Neal and Mrs. Underwood all said they would babysit for free. They’re horrible people who just want to make Kitty’s life miserable and that’s wrong.”

“Well, now.” Sheriff Underwood blinked a few times before taking off his hat and scratching his head, clearly struggling for words. If the red tips of his ears were any indication, he was also more than a little embarrassed at being yelled at by a teenager. “I can’t disagree with you about those things being morally wrong and decidedly un-Christian but Tammy, honey, legally they’re not doing anything wrong.”

“It’s abuse.” Tammy crossed her arms again, nodding her head firmly, and I had a sudden flashback of Loretta doing the same thing any time she was certain she was right. I fought back the quick stab of grief, rubbing away the ache in my chest as she said, “It’s mental and emotional abuse and that is wrong, legally.”

“Well, now, those are serious accusations, Tammy.” The Sheriff settled his hat back on his head, turning what should have been a two second task in to a two minute ordeal. When he was satisfied the angle of the brim was just so, he said, “Matter of fact, nobody has made any sort of similar statement against the Havertys.”

“Ask Kitty.” Tammy stomped across the room, grabbing my arm and starting to haul me toward the kitchen. “We’ll go away so you can’t say we were influencing her or anything. You talk to her and she’ll tell you what it’s like living in that house.”

“Can they stay?” Kitty’s whispered question stopped Tammy’s forward movement and we both turned to find her twisting her hands in the yarn which was supposed to be the beginnings of a baby blanket. “Please? I’d feel better if they stayed.”

“Okay.” Sheriff Underwood shot us a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder, sitting down on the coffee table in front of her. “But they have to be quiet. One word out of either of them and they’re out of the room.”

“Understood.” I mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key, widening my eyes in an attempt at innocence. Next to me, Tammy snorted but otherwise remained silent.

“Humph.” The Sheriff rolled his eyes before turning back to Kitty. “All right now. Why don’t you tell me what living with your parents is like?”

At first, she stumbled over her words, clearly not comfortable with the idea of tattling or spilling family business. When nobody made any move to silence her or discount what she was saying, the words started pouring out and this time she was stumbling not because she couldn’t figure out what to say but because there was too much to stay and she was scared she would be able to say it all. When she started talking about being forced to take cold showers and scrub with lye soap, I said, “That’s enough.”

The Sheriff sighed. “Jeannie—.”

“That’s fucking enough.” I didn’t shout the words, not quite, but that was only because I couldn’t quite manage to get them past the knot in my throat. “You want to sit there and tell me there’s not enough evidence to remove her from that house, I’m going to call you a goddamned liar and throw as much money behind your opponent as possible in the next election.”

“You know we haven’t had an election here in years, Jeannie.” He sighed, pulling his hat off and perching it on his knee before rubbing one handover the shiny bald dome of his head. “And I’m not saying there isn’t evidence. I’m saying this is a complicated situation and what you did didn’t help things.”

“You want to tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing?” When he didn’t answer, I nodded. “Yeah, I thought so. Now that you have an official complaint of abuse, what’s the next step?”

“Legally, I’m required to contact Social Services, who will put Kitty in a temporary home while they’re investigating the situation.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Tammy, I know I’m the bad guy here but do you think I could get a glass of water and some Tylenol? I’ve got a headache blowing off the roof of my head right now and I doubt it’s going to get any better before the day is through.”

“I don’t know.” Tammy crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “Maybe.”

I sighed. “Tammy. Get the man some drugs.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and flounced off in to the kitchen, stomping back a few minutes later with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. She shoved them in to his hands before flopping on the sofa next to Kitty. “Why does she have to go to a home? Why can’t she stay here? Aunt Jeannie already said she could.”

“Which was right generous of your aunt but that’s not the law and despite what your aunt thinks it takes more than money to get people to look the other way when it comes to whether or not a thing is legal.” The Sheriff shifted on the table, shooting me a look which had me straightening my spine even as my cheeks flooded with red. “Now, I can recommend she stay here since it keeps her out of the system and the system already has more kids in it than the old woman who lived in the shoe but let’s face it—there’s already a lot of you crammed in one small space.”

“I’ll talk to the contractor and see if we can push up the move in date.” Considering the amount of money I was spending and the bonus I was already playing him, I didn’t see how it would be a problem. “There’s six bedrooms in there. She can have her own and so can the baby, if she decides she’s going to keep it.”

“Which would go a long way toward making you a more appropriate guardian but there’s still going to be home studies and background checks and all sorts of other things.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “Let me get Judge Hawkins on the phone, talk this over with him and see what needs to be done right now. You mind if I use the kitchen or do you want me to step outside?”

“Kitchen is probably better.” I managed a half-hearted smile. “Wouldn’t want to give the neighbors a show.”

As he stepped in to the kitchen, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it out, I stared at the screen for a moment before hitting the ACCEPT key. “Hey.”

“Not the enthusiastic greeting I was hoping for but it’s been a long day for me, too.” Abraham’s voice filled my ear, the line crackling with static for a moment before clearing. “What are you doing?”

“Were you serious when you said you don’t listen to gossip?” I glanced at the girls, huddled together on the couch and whispering, before inching down the hall. “Because if so, you missed a real eventful day.”

“Give me the Cliff Notes version now and you can tell me the unabridged version tomorrow night over dinner.”

“About tomorrow.” I slipped in to my room and closed the door, leaning against it and sighing. “Can we take your car? Mine isn’t large enough for six people.”

“Six?” There was a faint tinkle in the background and the mournful wail of Hank Williams. “Last I checked, there were only five of us. Did you adopt another kid in the last twenty-four hours?”

“Kind of.”

“Kind of.” He paused and a few seconds later the noise level dropped—he must have gone in to the backroom. “Okay. So maybe I should get the slightly longer than Cliff Notes version.”

I gave him the shortest version possible, sliding down to sit on the floor with my back against the dresser. When I finished, he was quiet for so long I started to wonder if he’d hung up while I was rambling. “Abraham?”

“I’m still here.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that you’re not only smart and ambitious and sexy as fuck but you’ve also got a heart of gold.”

“Don’t spread rumors.” I closed my eyes and sighed. “I couldn’t leave her there, Abraham. I don’t think any person who wasn’t an absolute monster could.”

“You did the right thing.” His voice softened, almost becoming a caress. “Doing the right thing is a helluva lot more demanding than dropping ten percent in the offering plate on Sunday morning.”

“I used to think life would be easier if I had more money.” I laughed, surprised to find myself a little weepy and even more surprised that he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. “And it is, in some ways. But it doesn’t change how fucked up other people are.”

“Nothing short of God is going to do that and even that is up for debate.” He paused for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “So are we still sticking with two rooms?”

“Yeah, somebody needs to stay in the room with Dolly and Conway and I don’t think either Tammy or Kitty want to sleep in a room by themselves.” I pinched my nose and rubbed my forehead, wondering if I’d stashed some headache medicine in my room somewhere. “We’ll need one with connecting doors.”

“As long as the connecting doors lock.” His voice dropped an octave, grew rougher and smoother at the same time, and I shivered as if he’d stroked me with his hands. “I don’t think the kids should see any of the things I plan to do to you tomorrow night.”

“Right.” If I’d been ashamed at the threat of tears earlier, I was even more appalled at the shaky arousal a single sentence could ignite. “Um. Yes. That makes total sense.”

“I’ll pick you up around six tomorrow morning.” His low chuckle raised goosebumps over my skin and I had to fight back another sigh. “Get some sleep tonight, Jeannie Jackson. You’re going to need your strength.”

––––––––

THE NEXT MORNING, I was sitting on the front steps when Abraham pulled up, looking the epitome of calm, cool, and collected, a to-go cup of coffee in one hand. I stared at him for a moment before saying, “You have no idea how much I hate you right now.”

“Really?” He raised one brow, his eyebrow piercing winking over the top of his sunglasses. “I’ll bite.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You’re making sex jokes so you can’t hate me that much.”

“Yes, I can, because you have coffee and I don’t.”

“Oh, is that all?” He rounded the car and strolled toward me, stopping at the foot of the steps. He held the cup out, giving it a little shake. “This isn’t mine. It’s yours.”

“Seriously?” When he nodded, I surged upward, lurching down the steps and all but stumbling in to him, throwing my arms around his waist and gripping him tight. “I changed my mind. I love you. I love you so much.” Pulling back, I wrenched the cup out of his hand. “Gimme.”

“Payment first.” He pressed his lips to mine, the kiss short and sweet and tasting suspiciously of coffee. Drawing back, he said, “I’ll get the rest of what you owe me tonight.”

“You’ve attached a very steep price to a single cup of coffee.” I took a sip and bit back a moan. “Granted, it’s a very good cup of coffee but still—I don’t think it’s worth the sort of sex I’m sure you have in mind.”

“If you knew the kind of sex I have in mind, we probably wouldn’t make it to Savannah.” He gave me another quick kiss before nodding at the door behind me. “So are they ready? And out of curiosity, did you adopt any more children since our last conversation?”

“Maybe and no.” I turned, pushing the door open a few inches only to pause and glance over my shoulder at him. “You might want to prepare yourself.”

Before he could ask for what, I pushed the door the rest of the way open, wincing at the wave of sound which came pouring out.

“Dolly, you have to wear real shoes, you know this, why are you arguing?” Tammy, looking as frazzled as I’d ever seen her, shoved one hand through her hair, yanking on the ends in obvious frustration. “And Conway, you know you can’t wear a dress. People will talk.”

“So let them talk.” I took another, longer sip of coffee and sighed as the first jolt of caffeine began to worm its way through my system. “If he wants to wear a dress, he can wear a dress. It’s clothing, right? And Dolly, you can wear flip-fops. I know your other shoes are too small.” I shot Tammy a look when she started to argue. “I promise you, nobody in Savannah is going to care whether or not you’re wearing flip-fops.”

“Ms. Jackson?” Kitty’s question came out on a tentative whisper and I found myself wondering if she ever spoke in anything else. The second I looked at her, she started wringing her hands, a habit I was already determined to break her of. “I don’t have to go if it’s a problem. I can stay here.”

“After the headache I went through last night, you’re going, even if I have to drag your ass to the car.” I winced and shook my head. “Which was probably the wrong thing to say, all things considered, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She gave a shy smile, the first one I’d seen from her, and I realized she had twin dimples. “I do. And if you’re sure it’s not a bother—.”

“Kitty, I told you it wasn’t.” Tammy stalked over, giving her friend a gentle shove toward the door. Apparently, my niece took her shopping very, very seriously. “You get a window seat because you know you have a tendency to get sick randomly.”

“Yes, she should definitely be next to the window.” Abraham held out his arm, flashing Kitty a smile. “And I know this is terribly old fashioned but I would feel so much better if you would allow me to escort you down the stairs. Just to be on the safe side and all.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and snort at the over the top gallantry, hefting my overnight bag in one hand and the suitcase the two younger kids were sharing in the other. “Anybody who’s going—which is everybody—better get in the car. This party bus is leaving in the next five minutes.”

––––––––

IT TOOK CLOSER to ten which was annoying but not as annoying as the fact that what should have been a five hour drive, six tops, turned in to something closer to eight. By the time we reached the hotel and checked in, my nerves were completely shot, Dolly and Conway were tired and whiny, Tammy was cranky about having to wait until tomorrow to do any serious shopping, and Kitty was on the verge of tears for no other reason than hormones. The only person who seemed to be at least somewhat okay was Abraham and as soon as the connecting door shut, I hurled a pillow at him. He caught it one handed and blinked.

“Okay. Maybe you’d like to tell me why you’re throwing things at me.”

“Because you’re so calm and I wanted to see if there was anything which would fuck that up.” I flopped face down on the bed and groaned. “And apparently, there isn’t.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” The mattress dipped a moment before I felt his lips on the nape of my neck, his muffled chuckle sliding through my body like chilled tequila. “There are a few things you do which disrupt that calm demeanor you’re so unhappy with me having.”

“The kids are going to want dinner here in a few minutes.” It was important to remember the kids because if I didn’t there was a good chance we were never leaving the hotel room. Hell, we wouldn’t even leave the bed. I rolled over, laughing when he took the opportunity to settle between my jean-clad legs. “Abraham, seriously. We locked the door but that doesn’t mean they won’t beat it down if they decide they want in here.”

“Is sex all you think about, Jeannie Jackson?” He scraped his teeth over my jaw, humming low in his throat when I arched toward him. “Maybe I just want to make out with you for a little bit. You ever think about that?”

“Huh?” Despite my earlier admonition, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him tighter against me. The man had the most incredible mouth. If I wasn’t careful, I’d wind up addicted. “Make out? Like teenagers?”

“Maybe a little dirtier than that but... yeah, essentially.” He popped open the top button on my shirt, leaning down and pressing his lips to the flushed skin there. “I think it would be a good idea to keep some clothes on but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.”

“Right.” I pulled his shirt free from his pants, both of us sighing when my hands slid up his back. “So like freshman in college level make out session.”

“I forgot you did the whole college experience thing.” He flipped open another button, exposing the top of my bra, sliding one finger under the lace hem. “I didn’t, so you’re going to have to teach me what smart college girls like.”

My laugh trailed off in to a groan when his tongue followed the path of his fingers. “I think you’re doing just fine on your own.”

“Still, I’m just some local boy who never went anywhere or did anything and you’ve been lots of places. Done lots of things.” He nipped at the curve of one breast and then the other, his breathing turning nearly as ragged as mine. “So I need you to teach me, Jeannie Jackson.”

“Is this some sort of roleplay thing or....” I trailed off, losing my train of thought when he unhooked the button on my jeans and eased the zipper down. “Abraham. The kids.”

“I’ll be quiet if you be quiet.” He shifted upward, sinking his teeth in to the sensitive skin over my escalating pulse. “I just spent eight hours in a car not able to do anything more than look at you. I can’t wait any longer.”

“We have to.” Even as I protested, I was fumbling with his pants, my fingers suddenly thick and clumsy. “The kids—.”

“Are behind a locked door. We’ll be quiet. And quick.” He tugged my jeans down just past my hips, his own movements jerky. “I need you, Jeannie.”

“Damn you.” I yanked his pants down, wrapping one hand around his cock and stroking, slow at first and then faster, as he slipped one finger inside my cunt, already wet and aching. I arched toward him, swallowing back a moan. “I hate you for this.”

“I hate you a little bit, too.” His hair fell forward, brushing my cheek as he crushed his mouth to mine. Pulling back, he rasped out, “Please.”

“God.” Almost blind with desire, I pulled him toward me, a whimper dying in my throat when the head of his cock brushed against my folds. He gripped my wrist, dragging my hand away as he twisted his hips, burying his full length inside me with one thrust. We both froze, our bodies taut with tension, before simply going lax, like butter left too long in the sun. I hooked my free arm around his shoulders, sighing as I rolled my hips to pull him deeper. “It’s not supposed to be like this.”

“I know.” He pressed my wrist to the mattress and used his other hand to do the same to my hips, his thrusts already harsh to the point of bruising. “So I have to hate you a little bit or....”

“Or what?” I dug my nails in to his shoulder, the impact blunted by his shirt. I was already so close to an orgasm I could almost taste it, every muscle straining for the sort of release poets wrote about. “Abraham.”

“Not yet.” He shook his head, his next words coming out on what I would have called a sob if it’d been anyone else. “Don’t make me say it yet, Jeannie Jackson.”

Because I felt some of that desperation, that feeling I was standing on some sort of ledge, steps away from falling in to an abyss I wouldn’t be able to climb out of, I simply nodded, turning my head and taking his lips with mine. Less than a dozen thrusts later, the orgasm I’d been chasing turned and crashed in to me, the surge of endorphins wiping out all sound and sight for long moments before I slumped back against the mattress. Abraham collapsed on top of me, his body still quaking with his own release, the hard jerk of his hips against mine wringing another, smaller orgasm from me.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was our ragged breathing. Abraham cleared his throat, his lips still pressed to my slowing pulse. “I don’t hate you. But I do.”

“I know.” I stared at the ceiling, waiting to feel the usual urge to get up and get out, worried when it didn’t come. “I don’t hate you, either. But I do. I have to, a little.”

Or there was a good chance I wouldn’t just fall in to the abyss.

I’d throw myself there, arms wide open.

And I had a feeling Abraham Hansom wasn’t the sort of vice you walked away from without a few scars.