Library

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Moira suddenly felt self-conscious. Did she look ridiculous? What had she been thinking with this dress? Welker had only managed to scrape out her name, and now he was gaping.

Her gut seized up and she made up her mind.

“Right,” she clipped. “I’ll go change.”

She spun on her heel, but before she could move an inch, a hand shot out and stopped her.

“Don’t you dare,” Welker rasped. “You look…gorgeous.”

Moira thought maybe she’d misunderstood, and turned to him with a question hovering on her tongue, but before she could utter a single syllable, Welker leaned in and gently laid a kiss on her parted lips.

His touch was light, quick; not anything that could be construed as sexual, but…

Her mouth tingled, and she could feel the contact all the way to her toes as he stepped back and stared at her.

Moira wasn’t sure what had just happened. “Did you…?”

“Move in for a kiss?” Margaret’s giddy voice interjected from the other side of the room. “I’ll say he did. But… I’m also thinking he can do better than that,” she teased.

Moira blinked, and regarded Welker. “Can you?” she asked throatily. Then appalled at her boldness, she immediately backtracked. “I mean…if you were to actually… What I thought was?—”

“Yes,” Welker cut her off, his unwavering stare holding more heat than she’d ever seen in any man’s eyes before. “I can, and with your permission, I will.”

Moira continued to splutter. “Okay. Uh… But…not here. Not…now. Okay?”

Welker smiled and chuckled. Or was it more of a satisfied purr? “You name the time and place, Moira, and I’ll be there.”

“I—"

“If you kids don’t get moving, you’re going to be late.” Margaret snapped them out of their fascination.

“Right,” Welker agreed, clearing his throat. “You ready to hit the road, Moira?”

“Sure.” One word was all she was capable of at the moment.

Was this a dream? Had the man she’d been secretly desirous of for months, actually laid his mouth on hers?

Now if she could only get her sandaled feet to move.

“Moira?” Welker’s voice penetrated her fog.

“Got it.” She nodded, proud that she’d graduated to a pair of words. “Leaving now.”

Margaret’s tinkling laugh brought Moira further back to reality.

Moira looked back at Margaret and cleared her throat. “Is there…anything you need before we leave?” she asked.

“Not a thing, dear,” Margaret replied enthusiastically. “I’ve had food, companionship…entertainment,” she snickered. “And your beau made sure all the leftovers are in my fridge, so I’ve got plenty to eat for a week. Now you kids go have fun, and know that you’ll have filled my dreams tonight with remembrances of how it felt when Henry and I were starting out.”

A lovely sentiment, but…

“Oh.” Moira pointed between herself and Welker. “This isn’t?—”

Welker reached out and lowered her hand, not letting go once he caught it. “It just might be, Bliss. If you’ll just get rid of the prickly cacti you’ve let grow up around you.”

Moira swallowed convulsively. Hadn’t she been telling herself that exact thing? That she’d isolated herself too much, and if she really wanted to experience…whatever this was with Welker, she was going to have to make some changes?

“I can try,” she finally told him, but her voice—normally strong—shook.

“Of course you can, Moira.” Margaret assured her, rising from her chair to head across the room, shooing them out. “Now. You can’t get the rest of your night started by standing here like a couple of startled dear.”

Lady Guinevere chose that moment to fart, loudly, which succeeded in breaking not only wind, but the tension.

They all laughed until the smell reached them and their eyes started watering, which had them swiftly scooting out into the hallway to escape.

“Uh, have you tried Beano, Margaret?” Welker coughed.

Margaret chortled, seemingly not bothered at all. “Yes. As well as every other enzyme that’s supposed to work wonders. Guinie just eats them and farts even more.”

The smell seemed to be following them no matter how many feet they put between themselves and the malodorous mutt, so they said some quick goodbyes that were accompanied by hugs, and fled out the door.

“Shit. I don’t know how she stands it,” Welker quipped as they walked to his car.

“I don’t think she even notices anymore,” Moira answered, breathing deeply but still feeling a little tongue-tied over that kiss. “Regardless, I’m just glad she has Lady Guinevere for company.”

Welker’s face took on a serious cast. “Which reminds me, I don’t like that she’s way out here, all on her own.”

Moira was more pragmatic. “She’s been by herself for a long time, Welk, and I understand she’s more comfortable staying in a place that’s familiar to her than changing things up at her age. I think the best we can do, is to give her back-up.” She already had in her head that she’d spring for a security system for her new friend.

“You’re right,” Welker agreed. “I also told her she’d probably be meeting our teammates, sooner, rather than later. We can all pitch in and help her out. The house is actually in really good shape, but if we schedule a group weekend, we can help her spiff things up for winter.”

Moira sent him a huge smile as they both got into the car. “That’s a great idea. Between all of us, we can probably even get the place painted before it gets really bad.”

“I like the way you think,” Welker told her, starting the car. But before he dropped it into gear, he turned to look at her. “I like a lot of things about you.” His gaze smoldered.

Could she do this?

“I…like you, too, Welk.”

He looked satisfied at that, and changed the subject as he began to drive, making their way toward town. “How about that artwork Margaret does?” he marveled. “She’s pretty talented, huh?”

“She sure is. And I was wondering how we can get her more visibility. I’m sure any amount of income it generates would be a great supplement to her social security.”

They knew nothing about Margaret’s financial situation, but nobody ever balked at earning a little more.

“That’s a great idea. I’ll talk to Sabira.”

“Sabira?” Moira questioned. “I thought she was… Doesn’t she work in the food service industry?”

Welker laughed. “Among other things. She’s actually an influencer. She picks a recipe or a product, and somehow manages to get it trending. Don’t ask me how. It seems like magic or voodoo if you ask me.”

“It’s certainly a talent I don’t have,” Moira agreed. “But if you think Sabira could push Margaret’s art, we’ll have to set up a meet and greet between them.”

Welker reached into his pocket and handed her his phone. “Send Sabi a text. That way neither of us will forget.”

Moira nodded, and after Welker had trustingly given her the code to open his phone, her fingers flew. She read aloud as she typed. “Met a sensational artist today. Ninety-five years old.”

Welker stopped her, aghast. “What? Are you kidding me? I had her pegged for mid-eighties.”

“Nope. She told me first thing how old she is. I think she’s proud of it.”

“And rightly so.” Welker marveled. “All the more reason she needs some new friends to replace all the old ones she’s lost.”

“You have a soft heart, Welker,” Moira told him, her tone letting him know she liked that about him.

“As the kids say, it takes one to know one,” he countered without hesitation.

Moira was glad the darkness of the car hid her blush as she continued texting and talking. “…would love to have you meet her sometime soon.”

“That should be enough,” Welker said, reaching out for his phone. When she gave it to him, he brushed against her fingers a little longer than necessary.

Moira pulled up her metaphorical big-girl panties—not the ones she had on, because those were scandalously tiny, but her normal cotton numbers. “Are you…flirting with me, Vestore?” She reverted to his last name to make the comment a little less…coquettish.

“Moira,” he sighed dramatically, “I’ve been flirting with you for months, and clearly doing a piss-poor job of it since you haven’t noticed. I’m just upping my game, now, because it feels like you’re finally giving me a chance.”

“I didn’t…” Moira cleared her dry throat. “I didn’t know you were flirting. I thought you were just…giving me shit.”

Welker sighed. “Not even close.”

She grimaced, knowing he was gearing up for some tough questions.

“What happened Moira? Who, in your past, made you so skittish?” he asked seriously.

Was she ready to go into this?

If Welker was willing to give her a chance to…what? Date? Have sex? Didn’t she owe him an explanation as to why she was such a loner?

“It’s my father,” she finally spit out.

“Your father?” he repeated, gently urging her on.

“Yeah. I have kind of a fucked-up past, Welk. Are you sure you want to hear this?”

She could see his face grow serious in the subdued light of the dashboard. “Yes. I want to hear everything about you, Moira. I’m drawn to the woman you are, not your history.”

It was said so sincerely, Moira took a chance.

“I was dropped on my father’s doorstep when I was a baby.”

Welk’s brows went up, a shocked look on his face, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It seems he had a fling with my birth-mother.” She snorted. And any other woman he could lure into his revolving-door bedroom. “Which obviously resulted in a pregnancy.” Moira sighed. “She was a woman who clearly didn’t want me, because she left me, literally, at my father’s front door, with nothing more than a blanket and a DNA test.”

“Seriously?” Welker looked pissed.

“Yup. Not kidding,” she assured him. Moira took a deep breath and kept going. “I’m not sure why he didn’t put me up for adoption, but some strange sense of duty must have made him decide to keep me. Not that he ever saw to me, himself,” she scoffed. “He immediately started hiring a never-ending train of women to take care of me, fucking the majority of them, and making the ones who wouldn’t fall into his bed miserable, and driving them away pretty quickly.”

“I’m sorry, Moira. It sounds like a hideous way to grow up.”

Moira couldn’t stop now. She had to get it all out.

“It wasn’t great. By the time I was old enough to recognize my ‘nannies’ as nothing more than sleezy hangers-on who were looking to get a hand in Daddy’s deep pockets, I’d already decided to be the opposite of them; look plain and dress down.” Her throat convulsed, but Moira continued. “Lucky for me, as I got older, that strategy also kept my father’s friends from noticing me. Mostly,” she added.

“Mostly?” Welker repeated, growling the word, his fingers gripping the steering wheel, hard.

“Yeah. They weren’t…the best kind of men to be around, and there were a few who were fairly persistent.” Moira wasn’t going to stop, now. “Boob men, my father called his handsy friends. My breasts, even then, were, uh, large.”

“Your father joked about your chest?” Welker’s voice turned frigid.

“Not exactly,” she confirmed. “He just wasn’t concerned over his buddies’ interest; he wasn’t worried, and he wasn’t exactly a nurturer, anyway. He thought, because of the way I dressed, that I was gay. Or as he so crassly put it, a dyke, so he wasn’t worried his friends would ‘get with me’ because of my perceived proclivities.”

“He still lives around here?” Welker asked through clenched teeth.

“Bar Harbor,” Moira snorted. “In one of those huge-ass mansions that the MC targeted. That’s why I was assigned to the case. My father might be an asshole, but he’s kept his finger on the pulse of my life, and knows I’m good at my job. Sheriff Gladstone would never have assigned me to the case in Bar Harbor, but my father hobnobs with and finances the campaigns of several prominent politicians in the area. Gladstone had no choice but to give me the job, just to keep my old man happy.”

“How is it that you managed to get out of your father’s house?” Welker asked, still flexing his knuckles.

“My grandfather.” Moira’s voice softened.

That wonderful man. Other than the cars she learned to love, he’d been the one bright spot in her otherwise bleak childhood, even though she didn’t see him often. “He was a shut-in, but a rich one. Several strokes when he was in his mid-fifties left him confined to a wheelchair, barely able to speak. But his mind was still sharp, and he had a cadre of expensive and savvy attorneys on his payroll. So when my father, who subsequent to Papa’s strokes, took over the family’s manufacturing firm just after graduating college, challenged his competence, Papa retained control over his fortune.”

She chuckled sadly. “My grandfather was a force to be reckoned with, but even incapacitated to the degree he was and the infrequency of me being able to visit, he saw what was happening to me. I was unaware of the fact, and much to my father’s confusion, Papa made sure I’d be able to live my own life the way I wanted to after his death; leaving me a sizable portion of his estate in his will which I inherited when I reached twenty-one.”

“But you…” Now Welker looked confused. “You live so…simply,” he finally managed.

Moira shrugged. “What, exactly do I need?” she asked. “I have two jobs I love, and a roof over my head.” She wasn’t going to tell him that her hobby was finding worthy causes and charities on which she could bestow her money. That was a part of her life that would remain secret. For now.

“I’m happy for you, Moira,” he said, sincerely. “That your grandfather made it possible for you to get out from under that toxic roof, and that you had someone who truly loved you.” He grew introspective. “My own grandfather,” he added, choking up a bit, “took over the role of father in my life after mine died.”

Moira studied him.

She’d shared. Now it was Welker’s turn.

“Tell me about him.”

“Gramps—my mother’s father—was a great guy,” he reminisced. “The best. He’s the one who taught me about cars, and carpentry… When my father passed from an aneurysm when I was twenty, he stepped in and took care of us all. He was so proud when I became a SEAL…”

Welker grew quiet. Clearly his mind had gone back to the man he admired so much. When he spoke again, his voice held the roughness of tears. “Gramps died three years ago, and there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t miss him.”

“I get that,” Moira responded, laying a hand on Welker’s forearm. “We were both lucky though, to have them when we did.”

“Amen to that,” Welker agreed.

The drive, after that, was quiet, each staying in their own heads. But there was nothing somber about the mood. It was simply…contemplative.

When Welker finally pulled up in front of Harper’s and parked, he turned with a question on his face. “Do you still feel like doing this?”

“Do you?” Moira countered.

The corners of his mouth lifted. “I think it might be a good idea. At least for a short while.”

Moira gave him the brightest smile she could conjure. She’d dared get dressed up, after all.

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

Comments

0 Comments
Best Newest

Contents
Settings
  • T
  • T
  • T
  • T
Font

Welcome to FullEpub

Create or log into your account to access terrific novels and protect your data

Don’t Have an account?
Click above to create an account.

lf you continue, you are agreeing to the
Terms Of Use and Privacy Policy.