Page 52 of His Virgin Vessel

Chapter Twenty

Asa

I've done stuff in my life that I haven't wanted to do. I've done things that have needed to be done, but have been difficult. I've found myself in awkward situations and places I would rather not be. Never, in my life, have I felt more uncomfortable or less happy in the place in which I had ended up, than when sitting down to negotiate the terms of my freedom with the man whose daughter ran off with me. And, of course, that was only the tip of the awkwardness iceberg where relations between myself and Brian Dugas were concerned. I found myself unwillingly wondering, would he ever be able to look at me and not think, 'This man is doing my daughter?’ Certainly, I could never look at him without thinking, 'I'm doing this man's daughter, and it's the best sex I've ever had.’ Of course, I tried not think about it, but the more you try not to, the more it dominated your mind. I could only imagine how it was affecting Dugas.

That being the case, our conversation went extraordinarily well. At the start, I was constantly on the alert for him leaping across the room to pistol whip me again, but soon I realized this was not going to happen. As ever, the one thing you could say about Brian Dugas was that he played by the rules. He might have let his emotions get the better of him earlier, in the heat of the moment, but that was an anomaly. He was here to do a job, and he would do it professionally, only ever mentioning his daughter when it was necessary to clarify the story I was relating. I, in turn, tried to be equally upfront and honest. I hid nothing. I gave him the bare facts, exercising a certain laxity over detail where Corinne was concerned. Dugas neither needed nor wanted a blow by blow account of our relationship.

The sheriff remained tight-lipped and stone-faced throughout, but at the end, he nodded curtly and outlined how we might proceed. I had told the truth, and he had recognized that. We got up and shook hands, not as friends, but as men who found themselves on the same side and trusted each other. Perhaps also there was an unspoken bond in that we both cared for Corinne.

"One more thing," Dugas said as we headed for the door. "I hardly think it needs to be said, but I'm going to say it anyway."

"If I hurt Corinne, you'll kill me?" I suggested.

Dugas shrugged. "I was going to say 'cut your balls off and feed them to you,’ but I guess that would probably kill you. So, yes."

I nodded. "I would never hurt her."

Dugas watched my face with the same granite expression he had worn throughout, and I think he once again recognized that I was, indeed, telling the truth.

When we re-entered the kitchen, and Dugas delivered his verdict, I kept my eyes on Corinne. The sight of her face lighting up in relief and happiness was worth everything. Whether she admitted it or not, Corinne had been torn by the loyalty that she felt to me and to her dad. These few days had been difficult for her and had forced her to address feelings that had lain dormant a while. It had been so easy, a week ago, for her to go against her father's wishes and hook-up with the bad-boy biker. In fact, it had been a wicked pleasure for her to break his rules. But, strangely, in breaking those rules, she had learned how much her father meant to her, and how much hurting him rebounded on herself and was an almost masochistic urge. I liked to think that I had played some part in that learning process, and that I had brought daughter and father closer together. If all this went wrong, which it easily still could, then perhaps that might be the legacy of my relationship with Corinne—that she and her father would be closer than they had been for years. It might end up being the one honestly worthwhile thing I had done in my life.

As I watched her now, these thoughts playing through my head, I found myself a little woozy, and leaned against the door frame. Corinne reacted instantly.

"If that's all settled, can we please do something about Asa's head? He's bleeding."

"Barely at all," Dugas said, perhaps feeling a little guilty for hitting me.

"I've had worse," I said.

Corinne rolled her eyes. "God save me from men who think medical care is an affront to their masculinity. I'm sure you'll make a very manly corpse, but not a very useful one. So how about you let me put a bandage on it?"

I looked to Dugas, who shrugged. "Go on," he said. "Porter and I have to talk police stuff anyway."

"There's antiseptic and bandages in the bathroom cabinet," Porter said.

Corinne took my hand and led me out of the room. I wasn't wild about the image of being led off by my girlfriend to tend to the boo-boo on my head. On the other hand, it was starting to throb a bit, and I was feeling a little light-headed. That said, I still felt like I had a part to play, and, as Corinne had pointed out to me, playing a role like Asa Covert, President of War Cry, can become second nature, whether you mean it to or not.

"I'm fine. I don't need a bandage."

Corinne pulled me into the bathroom. "Have you even seen it yet? Look in the mirror. There is a gash above your eye that looks like a war wound."

I looked in the mirror. Admittedly, it did look pretty ugly. Brian Dugas hadn't been pulling any punches, and the man knew how to swing.

"A bandage won't kill you," Corinne said, taking charge.

Maybe it was her newfound authority, maybe she was looking especially pretty, maybe it was the thrill of knowing her father was just downstairs, or maybe it was the knowledge that, once again, we might soon be saying goodbye, but, right at that moment, there were other things on my mind.

I captured Corinne with an arm around her waist as she turned back to me.

"Instead of the bandage, how about you kiss it better?"

Corinne gave my forehead a perfunctory peck. "How does that feel? No better? Well, let's try the bandage."

"I don't feel like your heart was really in that."

I kissed her, and she responded, melting into my arms, before reasserting herself and pulling away.

"Quit it. Now, sit."

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