Page 64 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
Oh, and job hunting. Because there was no way I could mope for long. Not when the bills needed to be paid.
So I sat there, at the little table in our kitchen, looking through the want ads on my phone and wishing for the first time in my life that I wasn’t in New York.
Right at that moment, I would have given just about anything to be back in Nevada. I missed Las Vegas for so many reasons, not the least of which were the friends I had made there. I would miss my lunches with Daphne and my talks with Dolly that always dissolved into fits of giggles. I would miss Moira and the girls from the call center, and Silas and the way he always knew just what to say that would embarrass Stone in the best way possible.
And I missed the hell out of Stone.
His gruff demeanor and the way he worked so hard to prove himself, especially when he didn’t have to. How he always wanted what was best for the people around him, even if he tried to do it anonymously. I loved watching him interact with Daphne, being the big brother he was always meant to be, and the way he was with Silas, solid and reliable and the type of person you knew you could count on when you needed them.
I missed the way he looked at me, like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out, but he enjoyed trying all the same. I missed how his hands felt against my skin, his rough calluses causing shivers as they roamed my body, mapping every plane and curve. And the way his warm heat reached all the way to my bones.
I missed his kisses, the slow and passionate ones that felt like they could go on forever, as well as the rough and frenzied ones that told me that he couldn’t wait another minute to be with me, touching me, inside me.
And I missed the way he held me, late at night, when he was asleep, his face finally releasing the stress and angst he carried around. I would lay next to him and watch as a kind of peace settled over him, but the whole time, he never let me go, his body always reaching across the bed for mine as though even his subconscious had to know where I was at any given moment.
That was what made the fact that I hadn’t heard from him hurt the way it did. I didn’t know how I could have felt so much, could ache for him this way, and yet he seemed to feel nothing at all.
I looked up from my phone when I heard the key in the lock. My mom came in, her peacock blue scrubs bright in the late afternoon sun. She had worked the early shift today, so I told her I would cook dinner, which meant I picked up a frozen lasagna and tossed it in the oven.
She turned to me, her eyes concerned even though there was a smile on her face. “Hey, there Penny Lane.” I smiled at the use of my childhood nickname. She hadn’t called me that for a long time. I was typically my dad’s thing, being that he was the Beatles fan in the house, but mom tended to bring it out when I needed a bit of a boost.
Apparently, she thought that was today. And I was grateful.
“Hi, Mom. How was your shift?”
“Oh, not too bad today, actually. The girls say hi. They want you to come by, when you can.”
“I will.” Just the thought of all the ladies my mom worked with made me smile. They had been so kind, gifting me those beautiful pink shoes before I left, their faith in me never wavering. I kind of felt like I let them down, and I wasn’t ready to face them yet.
I was too ashamed.
Shoving that thought to the back of my mind, I took a breath. “I went to see Dad today.”
My mom looked at me from where she was hanging her jacket in the closet. “Oh,” she said solemnly. “And how was that.”
It was hard, actually, but needed. I knew that if he were here, dad would be telling me to fight, not just what Constance had done to me, but for Stone, too. I think my father would have liked Stone, once he got past the grumpy parts. They both had that thing inside them that made them care, that made them want to look out for those that couldn’t look out for themselves. In my mind, I could see them sitting together, watching a western, while mom and I cooked a meal. It was an image that made my heart clench, and I held on to it for a few moments before answering my mom.
“Good, I think. We talked.” I talked, he listened. “It felt good to be back there. But,” I paused, wondering how she’d take the next thing I was going to say. “I don’t think I’m gonna go back for a while, you know? I think dad would want me, want us, to move forward a bit.” I watched as my mom smiled, her eyes filling with tears as she reached for me.
“I think you’re right, baby.” I could see she meant it, even if it hurt a bit to say. “I think it’s time. Your dad will always be with us, but we can’t stay still anymore.” She pulled me into a hug, squeezing me so tight I felt some of my jagged edges coming back together. “I am so proud of you, Penelope.”
I buried my face in her shoulder to hide my tears, loving the smells I always associated with my mom; her shampoo, warm coffee, and the disinfectant the hospital used. They felt so familiar, so needed right now, when everything seemed so different. “How can you be proud of me, Mom? I lost. And I-I…”
I had told my mother, in as little detail as possible, about the photos and the blackmail. I was so ashamed I couldn’t say it again.
“Penelope, don’t you feel bad about it for one damn second.” She pushed me back, her hand sweeping my lank hair out of my eyes. “You did nothing wrong. It was your privacy that got invaded, and that makes you the victim,” she spat, her anger over my lack of desire to pursue charges was real, but she understood the risks that meant for me as well, so left the choice up to me. “You are a grown woman, and if you want to,” she paused, wiggling her eyebrows at me. “Get it on in your office, then that’s your choice.”
I burst out laughing, my tears still there, but knowing she didn’t think less of me because of my behavior was a weight off my shoulders. “Thanks Mom. But, please. Never say that again, alright?”
She smiled at me, and this time it reached her eyes. “I make no promises. Now, I’ll finish dinner while you go take a shower. I love you, my girl. But, man, do you stink.”
Great, now I was embarrassed again. “Deal.”
Twenty minutes later I re-entered the kitchen, fresh as a daisy in clean yoga pants and a long-sleeved shirt. My freshly washed hair was up in a messy bun and I had on thick woolly socks. It may have been spring, but the Mojave Desert this wasn’t, and a chill hung in the air. I seriously hated cold feet.
Mom was just pulling the lasagna out of the oven and I was setting the table when the sound of sirens made us both look up. It was kind of a habit for families of police officers, and one we couldn’t seem to kick. It was just two short bursts, not the whole siren wail, so we didn’t think much of it. But when it happened again a few seconds later, and then again, we decided to check it out.
Opening the front door, I could hardly believe the sight that greeted me. There were half a dozen police cruisers parked on our street, lights flashing like a carnival. Neighbors were starting to pour out of their homes looking as curious as we were as to what was going on. When the officers started to get out of their vehicles, I realized I still recognized a few of them from dad’s time on the force. They waved at us, the smiles on their faces telling me something up.
