Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Was this really his life?

Over the past week, Welker and Moira had continually consummated and cemented their bond, bringing their feelings for each other out into the daylight.

All except the “L” word, that is.

Welker felt it, for sure, but he didn’t want to scare Moira away, and she was still a little skittish; a little skeptical regarding her self-worth, so he could wait. But as far as Welk was concerned, he was all in.

A lot of things had happened since they’d made love in his car.

Foremost, and much to his good fortune, they’d repeated the act multiple times; in his bed, in the kitchen, and in the shower. Moira, it turned out, was an enthusiastic and skilled lover, no matter how much she repudiated it. Welker couldn’t have asked for a person who matched his passions better than this woman who he wanted permanently in his life.

Another bit of exceptional luck—because Moira had time off and Welker didn’t—was that she took advantage of her freedom by cooking every day. After Welk’s BPD shifts, he’d come home to pastries, cookies, pies, and always a scrumptious, gourmet dinner before he’d head back into town for his four-nights a week forensics course. Welk knew the food-train couldn’t possibly continue once Moira was back full-time at her job on the sheriff’s department, but in the meanwhile, they were both enjoying it.

Not only did Moira cook, she also outdid herself in his car-barn. She’d asked one day if she could see what was hidden under the tarps, and Welker had given her carte blanche. Next thing he knew, she’d had the wonky carburetor off his ’69 Dodge Charger, replacing it with the 580 cfm 4-barrel aftermarket that he’d been meaning to install for the past six months. The car now purred, and Moira was a certified miracle worker.

On a sour note, the sheriff’s department and Moira’s boss, Abe Gladstone, were keeping pretty mum on what was going on with the MC. But Hayden Yates had been hired, and according to Gladstone’s schedule, Moira’s temporary replacement was due to report to her new job later this afternoon. Little did the sheriff know that Hayden and her husband Boone had actually flown in two days earlier, and were staying with Mason and Everlee, holding several, informative and clandestine meetings with the SWAT squad leaders and Moira. They made sure to bring the Texans up to speed on things Hayden should be looking for as she began her undercover investigation.

Moira and Hayden had gotten along famously, and seemed to be cut from the same cloth. Neither woman played up their beauty. They both dressed down to deemphasize their obvious femininity, and each spoke plainly and strongly of their convictions. Welker could tell that after only a couple get-togethers, the women were going to be good friends.

Moira seemed willing to wait things out at Welker’s, and other than those sanctioned meetings, had been pretty much laying low. On occasion, however, she borrowed Welk’s Subaru while he was working, to visit Margaret. The team had decided, since the woman lived off the beaten path, there’d be no danger to either of them that she’d be seen. And considering Moira was extremely careful in making sure she wasn’t followed, the trips hadn’t become a blip on any bad-guys’ radar.

And Margaret? She was ecstatic. Besides Moira’s visits, several of their teammates had also taken to stopping by to check up on the elderly woman. True to form, Margaret enjoyed the hell out of all the new attention.

Lastly, on the insurance front, Moira’s company was making headway with her house claim, but the timing no longer seemed important. Moira had actually confessed how comfortable she was staying with him, and didn’t mind if it took a while. Welker had taken that as a reason for quiet celebration. If he had his way, Moira would never move out.

It had been a long, uneventful week. Hayden had been on the job for Sheriff Gladstone for seven days, and was uncovering lots of small things that seemed out of whack with the department, but nothing big yet that would lead to an MC connection. Welker, for one, was glad it was Friday. He was finally headed home in his truck. Not only did he not have classes tonight, but he looked forward to being alone with Moira for an entire weekend. He’d promised her they’d spend the whole two days laying around, making love, eating, and inundating themselves with sports, as both football and baseball were in season.

Driving up to his place, however, Welker scowled. There was an Uber just leaving his driveway, with…Margaret in the back seat? She smiled happily at him as they drove by.

That was strange. He hadn’t known she was coming for a visit.

Welker shrugged. Margaret certainly had looked cheerful enough as she’d passed, so her presence couldn’t mean anything dire. Right?

But… Wait. Was that…?

Welker rolled down his window, slowed his truck and listened. He could hear the sound of motorcycle pipes in the distance. It could mean trouble, but…probably not. Noise often traveled long distances in the valley where his compound was situated, and the bike could be miles away. Nothing said it had to be a suspicious ride. He really shouldn’t worry even if it was the notorious 227 MC. There was no way, even if they’d somehow found out Moira was hunkering down here, that they’d get past his security system.

When Welker approached his house, he saw Moira sitting on the front doorstep, a large, open box at her feet. His girl was beaming widely as she looked up from shuffling through its contents.

He waved, pulled around back, then quickly jogged back to the front to find out what had Moira so giddy.

He dropped his ass onto the step next to her, nuzzling and kissing her neck where it met her ear. “What have you got?” he asked, once he’d gotten his fill of the scent and feel of her soft skin.

“Bird feeders,” Moira chortled merrily, licking her lips. “Can you believe it? Margaret bought them for me.”

Welker kicked himself. He’d been meaning to make a trip to the one and only “Everything-birds” store in town to get Moira some replacements, and considering the huge number of broken ones he’d picked up and discarded at Moira’s house, he should have remembered. Not.

He peeked into the box. “That’s a lot of feeders,” he coughed, trying to keep his disappointment to himself over his lapse. “She must have bought the store out.”

Moira laughed. “I said the same thing, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer when I said she should return half. She told me it was the least she could do, now that she was feeling seen again. With us visiting, and a bunch of our teammates stepping up, she says she’s discovered a whole new lease on life. She’s using her kitchen to cook again, so she’ll have ‘goodies’ for all her new friends. And guess what else?” she grinned.

“I can’t imagine,” Welk responded, returning her smile.

“After one week, Sabira has already sold nearly two dozen of Margaret’s art pieces on line. Isn’t that awesome? And Margaret, being Margaret of course, couldn’t wait to spend some of that money on me.”

Welker kissed Moira again. This time on the lips, because she kept staring unconsciously at his. “You’ve made a huge difference in her life, Moira.” He took a deep breath. “And in mine, too.”

He was ready to confess to a lot more, but Moira’s kisses were a little distracted as she drew back and continued with more news. “I heard from the insurance company today, along with the private adjustor I hired. They’re ready to settle my claim.” She mentioned a figure that was far higher than Welker expected, but having the adjustor on their side had clearly skewed the numbers in Moira’s favor. No wonder she was looking so pumped. “Which means I can start thinking about getting the place put back together, and dive into what I want to buy for furniture.”

“Uh, slow down, Moira. That can’t happen until all the MC business is settled,” Welker reminded her a little sourly. He tried to sound upbeat, but he didn’t like that the clock was ticking down the hours until Moira could leave.

She turned to him and raised a brow. “What’s the attitude for?” she asked archly.

“Okay. Fine. I’m having a moment, okay?”

She waited him out.

“I like having you here,” he huffed. “And I don’t want you to leave,” he continued honestly. “Moira…” He could do this. “I’ve never wanted to share my space with anyone before. Not even Callie and Sabira. As much as I love them, I can’t wait until their own house is finished so they don’t have to stay with me anymore. You, however…” He choked, and couldn’t quite get the next words out.

Moira’s lips parted. “Say it, Welk.”

Was now a good time? Hell, if he knew. He’d been tamping down his script, waiting until he thought Moira was ready, but, dammit , maybe it was just him being chicken.

He sucked up his courage. “I want you to stay, Moira. I want you to make this your home… our home.”

“Why?” It came out of her mouth the merest whisper, and Welker knew she was waiting for him to come clean.

“Because…I love you, Moira. I have for a while now, but I didn’t want to scare you away.”

Moira slowly and deliberately laid the box aside, lifted her ass from the stair and turned to straddle him. She took his face in both her hands and cradled it.

Welker couldn’t catch a full breath. Was she about to shoot him down, or make him the happiest man alive?

“You silly man,” she began. “Haven’t you figured out yet that not much scares me? And you, declaring your love… It’s something every woman wants to hear from the person they’ve already decided they love, too.”

“You…? You…?” Welker needed clarification or he feared his head was going to explode.

“Yes Welker. I love you.” Tears welled up in her large, expressive brown eyes. “And I can assure you I’ve never said that to anyone other than my grandfather.”

Welker couldn’t hold back. He wrapped his arms around Moira—probably tighter than he should have—closed the few inches between them, and devoured her mouth.

She gave back as good as she got, which had Welker rising to his feet with Moira clutched to his body as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“You’ll move in? Permanently?” he asked.

“If that’s the plan, then yes,” she agreed elatedly.

“Hot damn! We need to…” Welker paused and shifted her in his grip. “Uh, I hope there’s nothing on the stove that will burn,” he rasped, his cock rock-hard and raring to go.

“Mmm,” she responded, attacking his mouth and not freeing him up until she’d practically made him come. It was a damned good thing she hadn’t threaded her hand down between them, because one touch, and he would have made a mess.

When she finally separated with a groan and a smack of her lips, she assured him that things—food-wise—were fine. “I planned on grilling tonight,” she apprised, huskily. “There’s a new porkchop marinade recipe I’m trying out.”

He sent a series of love-bites across her jaw. “How long does the meat have to infuse?”

“Which meat?” she asked provocatively, grinding against him.

Welker growled. “Food, Moira. Food.”

“Oh, I’d say another half hour or so.”

“Perfect,” Welker hissed.

He spun on his feet, carried Moira through the front door, and pausing only to set the alarm and lock up behind them, conveyed her up the stairs and into his…

No, their bedroom.

Luckily, the meat-marinating timetable wasn’t science, because it took them a bit over that hour to exhaust their need for each other.

Moira finally rolled off him after their third go-round to run her finger down the side of Welker’s face, where the scar that had destroyed his boyish good looks cut a swath from his eyebrow to his chin.

“You’ve never told me about this.” Her voice was tentative. “But if it’s not something you want to talk about, you don’t have to.”

Welker chuckled wryly. “Not a problem,” he assured her. He’d come to grips with it. Sort of.

Not that it hadn’t screwed with his life for a while. He knew the insecurity of having his face scarred was what had led him to bed a parade of nameless women. He’d needed their anonymous validation that he was still desirable. If only he’d met Moira then, all his doubts would have been negated. She saw past the scar to the man who lay beneath, and he’d never been more thankful.

But still…

Welker sighed.

The sneak attack responsible for his eyebrow to chin scar had not only spun him into near man-whore territory, it had also fomented his need to have over-the-top surveillance systems installed at his house.

“ This , is what ended my career as a SEAL,” he finally answered.

She waited patiently beside him, her digits still tracing his scar-tissue, with a questioning look on her face. “I’d heard that. But we don’t?—"

“No. Seriously. I don’t mind talking about it,” he told her, staring at the ceiling while basking in her touch. “It was one of those things you hear about all the time, except in this instance, it happened to me. I was in Afghanistan on patrol one night with a couple of guys from another unit who I hardly knew. One of them was a little amped up, couldn’t be reined in. The third guy and I knew he was making too much noise, but we thought there weren’t any insurgents in the area.” Welker groaned. “We were wrong. A group of five ambushed us, appearing out of nowhere. The loud guy was killed, instantly, but the guy behind me was balls-to-the-wall. He and I took out the rest in a bitter fight to the end. Luckily for my back-up, he escaped unscathed. I got sliced by a big-ass blade, and ended up with this.” He squinched up his face where she touched.

Welker wouldn’t lie. He’d felt awful that the one soldier had been killed, but he’d also been relieved it wasn’t one of his actual team who’d died that night. His buddies had heard the skirmish and swiftly rushed to his aid, probably saving his eye by giving him immediate medical attention and calling for a medivac.

“And you got discharged from the service because…?”

“Because after the surgeons made their repairs, my vision was compromised,” he admitted, knowing the remnants of his disability wouldn’t be a game-changer for Moira.

“They call it penetrative physical trauma, and it’s kind of a crapshoot. The doctors weren’t sure how much, if any of my visual acuity I’d regain over time, but the higher-ups weren’t amenable to waiting around and finding out,” Welker told her.

Yeah. He’d been bitter about that. He’d given several good years of his life to the Navy, and they’d cut him loose without a backward glance.

“But it’s their loss.” He shrugged. Water under the bridge. “Time sorted things out to a point where although I’ll never be twenty-twenty in that eye, I’m good enough to do my job as a cop and a SWAT member.”

“Of course you are,” Moira kissed his boo-boo then winked. “All that and more.” She hesitated, then asked another hard question. “So the amped up security around here…?”

“Smart girl,” Welker huffed. “Yeah. You guessed it. I ended up with a fear of being snuck-up-upon. It’s not as bad as it once was, but I still don’t like surprises.”

“Good to know.” Moira patted his chest. “I’ll make sure I cause a ruckus every time I approach.” She gazed at his scar again. “So you don’t mind having it now? Because I think it’s kind of…rakish.”

Welker chuckled. “Yeah. All the ladies love it,” he teased. The women he’d…sampled, had assured him it just added to his mysterious, bad-boy persona.

“Well, this lady has dibs.”

She snorted, then straddled his prone body with smirk.

Yup. Round four.

When they finally emerged from their room to walk downstairs, Welker wondered if Moira’s legs—her long, fucking gorgeous legs, showcased by his shirt she was wearing, which gave him repeated glimpses of paradise—were as wobbly as his. He’d never, in his entire sexual history, had someone who could rock his world the way this woman did. And for so many times in a row. He’d orgasmed more in the past two hours than he’d ever imagined was humanly possible.

Moira was if for him, and he planned on letting her know it every day for the rest of their lives.

“You’ve ruined me for anything else tonight, Moira. I’d been thinking we might take a walk in the woods after we eat since the weather is still cooperating, but my muscles are totally shot. You’ve made me a marshmallow.”

“Oooh,” Moira piped up, full of far too much energy for the amount they’d just expended. “That reminds me. I found the ingredients for s’mores in your cabinets, so after pork-chops, instead of a walk, we’ll?—”

The perimeter alarm blared to life, interrupting.

Welker instantly lost any of his remaining lethargy, and grew immediately alert.

“I wasn’t expecting Callie and Sabira tonight,” he said, headed straight for his office at a run, toward his computer.

Moira was right on his heels. “Who else comes to visit?”

Within seconds, Welker had his exterior camera feeds up, and…

He snorted, then looked at Moira. “You, uh, might want to go put on something other than my shirt,” he warned her.

“Why? Who is it?” she asked, already taking a few steps back toward the stairs, knowing he wouldn’t suggest she get dressed if there were any other option.

Welker sighed deeply. “I knew we couldn’t put it off forever. But I was hoping for a little more time.”

He screwed up his mouth, apologizing. “I’m sorry, but… Take a deep breath, Moira. You’re about to meet the inimitable Betta Vestore. My mother.”