Sleeping with the Frenemy

Deborah Murnay has a life most women would die for. She has a loving wife of four years who gives her anything she wants. But Deborah hides a dark secret. Her wife, Genevieve, not only enjoys kinky, dangerous sex, but is insanely jealous and possessive. When a violent argument between the two leaves Deborah bruised and battered, she has no other choice but to run away.

Through some intricate planning on Deborah's part, she's able to trick Genevieve into thinking she's dead. Deborah becomes Sharon Wade and ends up hundreds of miles away in the small town of Woodberry Creek, where she can start over again, even though she lives in fear that Genevieve will find her and kill her.

When grade school teacher Bridgette Woodberry notices her new neighbor, she quickly figures out Woodberry Creek's new resident is hiding something. Deborah knows she can't have a future with Bridgette, but finds herself attractive to the kindhearted redhead whose kisses and warm embrace makes her feel protected.

As Deborah turns to Bridgette to help heal her scars, Genevieve is waiting for the right moment to take back her wife and make her pay for deceiving her…

Chapter One

The howling of the coyote in the distance gave Deborah Murnay a chill. She wrapped a towel around her body after rubbing in the vanilla-scented lotion her wife had ordered special for her from Paris. Deborah could barely stand the smell of vanilla any longer, but since Genevieve enjoyed the scent, and always took time out of her busy day to kiss a part of her body covered in the lotion, Deborah wore it nevertheless.

Ignoring the howl of another—or possibly the same—coyote, Deborah walked out of her bathroom and into her bedroom where lying on her king-sized bed was the short gold dress she planned to wear for the season opener of the Peyote Springs Opera House. The opera always started the year with a performance of Giuseppe Verdi's 1853 La Traviata. The first time Deborah had seen the tragic opera, she cried. The second time she was overcome by the beauty of the music. Now, her fifth time, she was bored. Even though Genevieve hired a tutor to teach her Italian, Deborah could barely understand a word of it. Genevieve loved going to the opera, which they tended to do every three months. Deborah would rather see something more modern, like a Broadway show, but since her wife found popular musicals gauche, Deborah kept her mouth shut.. Genevieve would expect it no other way.

The clock on the far wall released a soft melodic ping. Deborah had less than a half hour to get dressed before they had to leave. Sighing, she pulled a comb through her damp highlighted blond hair that would dry soon enough in the Nevada heat. At six in the evening, it was still a stifling ninety degrees. Her dress was perfect for tonight, and for the after party that always followed. They always attended, since Genevieve was one of the opera's generous patrons. Deborah hoped Genevieve wouldn't be upset by her wearing gold instead of the standard white she wore on Sundays.

Pulling open a drawer, she found her beige thong. Her lips curved as she almost decided to go buff; a small surprise for Genevieve in case she wanted to play with her under her skirt. But she wasn't that outrageous, so she concealed herself with the small scrap of fabric. Searching through the pile of underwear and socks, she found the small shiny box she planned to give Genevieve before they left. Inside lay a silver locket with her picture in it—even though she purchased the jewelry with Genevieve's money—in celebration of their anniversary tonight.

I can't believe I've been with the same woman for so long. Deborah turned her diamond-covered wedding band around her finger and took a moment to reflect as the blazing orange sun dipped below the horizon.

The bedroom door opened and in walked Genevieve, wearing a short tight black dress complete with a choker and high-heeled sandals that added even more height to her five foot eight inches. Deborah held her breath, stunned by Genevieve's beauty.

Genevieve held a small box wrapped in silver and left it on the dresser as she rested her hands on Deborah's shoulders and smiled. Deborah smiled softly, her heart speeding as it did whenever she was in Genevieve's presence. Her wife's straight, copper-toned hair falling down past her shoulders complemented her wonderful dark tan. Unfortunately for Deborah, she didn't tan as well as Genevieve, even with the smattering of Native America blood that had been diluted centuries ago.

“Dearling, why aren't you ready yet?” Gen pursed her lips, tilting her head to the left as she examined her.

Deborah stopped herself from wincing. She hated when Gen called her dearling. She'd rather be called ‘my sexy nurse’, as Gen sometimes said. It reminded her who she was and where she came from.

“I wanted to take the extra time to look perfect for you tonight.” Deborah wrapped her arms around Gen, lifted up on her toes, and kissed her under her ear. Gen shivered and tightened her hold. Deborah closed her eyes and inhaled Gen's scent—a combination of aloe and papaya. They stayed like that until Gen's hand went under her towel and caressed her bottom, her thumb drifting into her thong and brushing in between her ass cheeks. Deborah stiffened and almost clenched down on her wife's roaming finger.

Gen released a husky laugh and stepped away. She removed her hands and wagged a finger in front of Deborah's face. “If we had another hour to spare, I'd lay you out on our bed and rim you until you screamed, but you're running late.”

Deborah blinked at the crude words Genevieve used to explain the intimate act she enjoyed doing. And the emphasis on how she was late, and not we, had been noticed as well.

“Give me ten minutes and I'll be already to go,” Deborah said and dropped her towel, contemplating whether or not she needed to wear a bra. Genevieve observed her openly through the mirror as she fluffed her hair.

Before she could pick up her dress, Gen walked over and held out the box. “I know you've wanted to open this since I came in the room. Happy fourth anniversary, dearest.”

Genevieve gave her a kiss and her tongue went deep into Deborah's mouth, licking the inside of her cheeks and eliciting a moan. Deborah almost fell back onto the bed when Gen tweaked her nipples and rolled the hard nubs with her thumbs. When she went to slip her hand inside Gen's bodice, Gen backed away, breaking the kiss. She patted Deborah's mouth with her manicured hand and laughed.

“Open your gift,” Gen urged and Deborah slowly untied the bow when all she wanted to do was rip it apart. She took her time, building up the anticipation, and when she pulled off the lid, her jaw dropped at what she saw on lying on a red satin pillow.

“Oh, it's breathtaking.” Deborah lifted up the fragile gold strand with a small diamond in the middle.

“It's not a necklace, but a belly chain. Knowing this will be tied around you would please me immensely.”

“Like a collar?” Deborah joked weakly.

“You can call it that if you'd like.” Gen took the chain from her and latched it around her waist.

Deborah stood in front of the mirror admiring her gift. Gen fingered the chain and dipped lower, cupping her mound and pressing her fingers in deep.

“Thank you. I love it as much as I love you,” Deborah said in a husky whisper and spread her legs apart, hoping Gen would push aside her panties and play with her clit for a minute or two.

Gen laughed again and backed away, leaving Deborah hot and frustrated. She loves teasing me. Hiding her irritation, Deborah went over to the dresser to give Gen her gift.

“Before I forget, I have your—” Deborah turned around, finding herself alone. Her beautiful gold dress was missing, and when she glanced over at the walk-in closet, Gen came out holding a silky white tank top that gaped low in the bodice, and a matching miniskirt. Deborah had only worn it once when she and Gen had gone to Las Vegas for a weekend getaway. This type of ensemble was suited for a dance club or a casino, but would be very out of place at the opera.

“Did you forget it's Sunday, dearling?” Gen asked, placing the outfit on the bed.

Deborah's pulse increased. “I thought I'd shake things up a bit. I bought the gold dress to impress you. I know how much you love the color.” Deborah flicked her anniversary gift for emphasis.

Gen gave her an easy smile, although irritation lurked in her eyes. “You're sweet, but I prefer we stick to protocol. Don't you agree? We can't have you going back to wearing ratty T-shirts or those horrible-colored scrubs you once wore.”

Deborah shut her eyes for a moment to stop from saying something that would lead to an argument. Those scrubs Gen always denigrated were what Deborah had worn when she worked as a nurse for her sick mother.

She opened her eyes and gave Gen a remorseful smile. “Sorry. I hate disappointing you.” She looked down at the bright white, very expensive outfit. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

“That's perfectly okay. We all make mistakes,” Gen responded and gave her a delicate kiss, gently rubbing over her small brown mole near the right corner of her mouth. “How about I help you with your makeup?”

Deborah gave Gen a full smile. She loved when Gen did her makeup. “Oh yes, please.”

Gen pulled her by the hand and into their bathroom where not only did Gen make her look beautiful, but also well loved and pleasured since they did have five extra minutes to spare.

* * * *

Deborah was always awestruck whenever she entered the lobby of the Peyote Opera House. Built in 1845, the building was a masterpiece of architecture, from large sloping buttresses and marble staircases with red runners that complemented the marble walls. Billboards of the various operas performed there since the turn of the nineteenth century hung on the walls of the first floor. She wished she had more time to inspect each poster, but Gen expected her to meet and greet her associates and various friends she knew from other formal functions they attended.

With their drinks in hand—a glass of chardonnay for Gen, a vodka and cranberry for Deborah—they made their way to their box on the third level, situated right smack in the middle of the auditorium. Deborah sat in a seat on the right and Gen sat on her left. When Deborah tried to cross her legs, the belly chain got caught and pinched her stomach. She hissed and tried to shift in a way that wouldn't be too risqué since her skirt was quite short and at Gen's urging, she had gone commando: no bra or thong.

“What is it, dearling?” Gen asked in concern as she put her drink in the cup holder next to her and stroked Deborah's arm.

“Ah, my chain pinched my skin.” Deborah quickly corrected her embarrassing problem and sat back, taking hold of Gen's hand.

Gen brushed her mouth alongside her knuckles. Deborah rubbed her legs together, that familiar dampness coating the inside of her thighs as Gen looked at her with desire. She swallowed the rest of her drink down and sucked on an ice cube.

A soft laugh escaped Gen and she lowered Deborah's hand on the arm of the chair.

“What's so funny?” Deborah asked as she fanned herself with her program.

“Don't make it obvious, but the Van Moores are staring at us with daggers in their eyes.” Gen pointed out from the side of her mouth and played with Deborah's fingers as she lifted her hand again and rubbed her cheek against the inside of her wrist.

Ever so subtly with half-closed eyes, Deborah zoned in on the older couple across from their box, who whispered to one another. Mr. Van Moore, with his bald shining head and triple chins to match his wife, who barely fit in her seat, turned her nose up at her the moment she caught her eye. Deborah smiled brightly and Mrs. Van Moore's mouth dropped. Her husband licked his lips and his eyes dropped down to Deborah's chest.

Dirty old fart. Deborah slouched in her chair, hoping the velvet covered balcony blocked her front. It was bad enough she didn't wear a bra; her nipples grew hard over the slightest thing.

“It seems to me old man Van Moore is bored and needs to be amused. Why don't we shock him even more?” Gen purred and pulled Deborah around the back of her neck, not only giving her a passionate kiss, but one where her tongue delved in deep, making Deborah moan. She lifted her hand up to Gen's cheek to caress it, the urge to straddle her obvious to all who could see.

Gen ended the kiss, barely out of breath while Deborah panted. She cleared her throat as Gen wiped her drool away from the corner of her mouth.

“You've made me wet,” Deborah announced softly, her face overly warm. From the corner of her eye she noticed the Van Moores's heads close together as they whispered furiously, agitated.

“Mission accomplished,” Gen whispered and rested her hand high on Deborah's knee. Her thumb rubbed over her skirt, lifting it up until Deborah placed her hand on top of hers.

“Behave, Mrs. Murnay,” Deborah said lightly, willing herself to relax so she wouldn't excuse herself to clean away her come in between her legs.

“Only for the moment, Mrs. Murnay,” Gen responded with sass and a hush spread over the crowd as the orchestra played the overture.

As Deborah concentrated on the action on the stage, she hoped Gen meant that when they went home, they'd celebrate in lusty ways not meant for the public eye.

* * * *

By the time Alfredo and Violetta began their duet of Un di, felice, etera, Deborah had just begun to nod off. But as soon as Gen dug her pearl-colored nails into her thigh, she became alert. Deborah glanced at an enthralled Gen as she hummed her favorite section from the opera.

“If I choke up, don't make fun of me.” Gen sniffed as Alfredo proclaimed his love for Violetta.

“I promise I won't, dear—dearest.” Deborah stuttered, not used to calling Gen by a pet name. It didn't feel right to her.

Gen shifted closer, her lips brushing over Deborah's earlobe. “The way Alfredo sings his passion for Violetta is the way I feel about you.”

Deborah closed her eyes as Gen whispered the Italian lyrics in her ear, trying not to sigh as Gen's husky voice fill her head. She bit her lip when Gen's hand brushed along the inside of her leg.

“Genevieve,” Deborah whispered, her eyes widening as Gen's hand moved higher until she was almost touching her mound.

“You told me to behave and I said I would. But now is later and I want to feel you come against my hand as my favorite duet is sung.” Gen's tongue lapped over the side of Deborah's neck, and Deborah's legs opened wider, allowing Gen access.

“What if someone sees or hears?” Deborah asked, her eyes darting around. Complete darkness surrounded them, the only light coming from the stage. And since the sides of the box were high, as well in the front past waist level, those near them and across the way wouldn't notice how Gen was about to get her off.

“If you keep your eyes on the stage and your mouth closed, no one will suspect a thing,” Gen said.

Deborah dug her fingers into the seat and the stage went blurry as she grew wet from her maddening lust. Gen's middle finger circled around her folds and with a simple flick, found her clit and tapped it.

Deborah's head rested back against the seat as she swallowed a moan. Her near cry was drowned out by the orchestra as a second finger went inside her. The sounds of slapping, wet suction filled her ears, and she swore she smelled her feminine musk as she dampened. Gen's breathing grew harder and she bit down on Deborah's shoulder. Her teeth dug in her skin and Deborah rose half out of her seat, then back down to impale herself on Gen's fingers.

“That's my special girl. Rock just like that. Yesss…” Gen pushed her closer to her climax, and Deborah grabbed Gen's hand, moving her fingers along with Gen's to help her find the sweet spot that would make her lose control.

“I want your mouth on my cunt,” Deborah whispered harshly, shocking herself by her salty language. She'd never talked in such a way with her former lovers. Only when she and Gen became involved did she get aroused by the dirty talk they used while they loved one another.

“Come for me, dear. I want you to drench my hand so I can lick it off,” Gen ordered and sucked down hard on the shoulder she was busy kissing.

When Alfredo and Violetta finally rose together in harmony to finish, Gen rubbed faster against Deborah's clit. With another swipe, her nail scraped over the side of her pussy and gave her a slight burn. Deborah opened her mouth to scream, but Gen quickly removed her hand and molded her mouth to Deborah's, swallowing her soft cries.

The vibrations flowing through Deborah's body from her climax made her weak and slink down further in her seat. Gen continued with the hungry kiss, her hand venturing back down, only to stop to mold her breast and tweak her swollen nipples, then in between her legs again where she swirled her fingers around Deborah's throbbing pussy.

Deborah could barely lift her gaze as Gen held up her hand covered in her juices. Gen swallowed a dripping finger and sucked. When Gen set her palm over her mouth, Deborah licked away her own fluid, the salty, tangy fluid somewhat unpleasant to her taste buds.

And as Genevieve, Deborah's loving wife and the best sexual partner she ever had watched in near rapture over her action, she knew there was much more to come that would leave her a quivering and raw mess by tomorrow morning.

Chapter Two

“What if Gilberto hears us?” Deborah moaned low as Gen lapped over the naked breast she'd taken out of her top. Deborah held back a snicker, still tipsy from the champagne she drank at the after party. So what if Gilberto their driver could hear them? He'd heard enough coming from this car, and from them, for the past five years not to be surprised anymore.

“I pay the Mexican enough money for him to keep silent and not judge,” Gen replied in a lusty snarl and pulled on Deborah's breast with her teeth.

Deborah grimaced. She hated when Gen was vocal about her bigoted thoughts on other races. One too many times she said things about her employees that really didn't sit well with Deborah.

“God, I love how your nipples are always stiff for me.” Gen bit down around her areola, hard enough to make Deborah dig her fingers into Gen's ass in pain, not pleasure.

“Go deeper, love,” Gen commanded and lifted up her ass. Deborah hated doing it, but since Gen loved when she diddled her rosette, she couldn't deny her. Gen always came faster when she finger-fucked her ass. And the way she was riding her finger now gave her a good indication Gen would come soon.

Gen didn't disappoint, and as she clenched down on Deborah's finger, she rose up and gave her more bruising kisses against her mouth.

“You're in a mood tonight,” Deborah said around her wife's mouth as she removed her finger, wishing she had a baby wipe.

“Yes!” Gen went lax across Deborah for a moment, her body twitching. When she'd recovered from her climax, her lips swallowed Deborah's nipple, much like a nursing baby. Deborah had never experienced such a thing, but could only imagine it felt like this.

“You were amazing, like always. I love you so very much, my darling love,” Gen kissed her swiftly on the mouth and sat up, brushing away the damp strands of hair sticking to Deborah's face.

“And I love you as well, my beautiful wife,” Deborah replied back, giving Gen a kiss in return. Exhaustion filtered through her body as she covered her yawn with the back of her hand.

“No yawning. We have a full night ahead for us.” Gen opened her black clutch and handed Deborah a baby wipe.

Deborah wiped her hands as Gen inspected her face in the compact she held up.

“You would beat me if I fell asleep on you.” Deborah joked lightly, resting her head on Gen's shoulder, when Gen's hand shot out and squeezed her chin in a tight grip.

“Do not. Even joke about that,” Gen said, her body strung tight as her hand shook.

Deborah swiftly nodded and lifted her own shaking hand up to Gen's forehead to remove the damp hair lying there. “I'm only playing,” she said as clearly as she could with Gen's hand digging into her chin.

Gen finally released her and shook her head in disgust. “I hate when you use slang like some teen gangbanger from the streets. Correct yourself.”

Deborah tilted her chin down, wanting to rub her burning skin there, but instead clenched her one fist by her side. “I apologize. I didn't mean to sound so crass. Can you forgive me?”

“Of course, dearling. Haven't I always forgiven you for your silly mistakes?” Gen asked and curved her arm around Deborah's shoulder, brushing her nose over her cheek.

Sitting there as motionless as she could, Deborah tried to relax so Gen wouldn't notice how edgy she was. She'd expected more than a verbal lashing and was surprised by the outcome. The reason had to be the amount of alcohol in Gen's system and the multiple orgasms she gave her.

The car came to a stop, and with one last loud kiss on her cheek, Gen opened the door and grabbed Deborah's hand, not bothering to wait for Gilberto to do the honors.

The tall, dark-skinned, bearded man walked swiftly ahead and opened the mansion's front door for the two women, where they were met by their housekeeper, Gilberto's older sister, Teresa.

“Good evening, Mrs. and Mrs. Murnay. The opera was to your liking?” the short gray-haired woman asked in stilted English as she folded her hands in front of her stomach.

“La Traviata was done amazingly, as usual,” Gen stated.

Before Deborah could reply, Gen tugged her up the stairs. “You're relieved of your duties,” she said to Teresa. “Deborah and I have more celebrating to do for our anniversary.” Gen rushed up the stairs with Deborah stumbling after her.

Why is she in such a rush? Deborah could barely keep up with her wife, who dashed down the hall in sandals that would've made Deborah twist her ankle if she wore them while sprinting.

“You're still horny?” Deborah asked in a winded voice. Gen's only response was to glance over her shoulder and wink.

Deborah did want to make love to Gen, but hoped it would be sweeter and tender, although from the ways Gen had been intimate with her during the night, that probably wouldn't happen. Deborah would hate to fake it, but since she could barely keep her eyes open and all she wanted to do was go to sleep, she'd do her best to give Gen her climax as quickly as she could.

When she entered their bedroom suite, Gen slammed the door shut and backed Deborah against it, pressing her mouth to hers and mimicking with her tongue what she'd surely do to her elsewhere in a few minutes. Deborah moaned loudly, and Gen reached under her top, squeezing and twisting her nipples back into tight little buds.

“Do you want me?” Gen asked as her mouth drifted down and nibbled on the side of Deborah's neck. Deborah tilted her head, giving Gen the access she wanted. The way Gen tugged on her skin with her teeth would leave a noticeable bruise there by tomorrow.

“Y-yes. I always want you,” Deborah whispered and closed her eyes as Gen's hand slipped into the waistband of her skirt and rubbed her stomach where her chain hung.

“I have a special surprise for you. Get undressed and lie down on the bed,” Gen instructed and released her.

Deborah walked over to the bed and took off her top and unzipped her skirt. Her clothes fell into a puddle at her feet. As Gen toed off her sandals, she went into the walk-in closet. Deborah glanced over at the dresser where Gen's gift still lay and she went over to pick it up. She turned around when Gen came back into the room, wearing nothing and holding only a flat slim white box.

“Look at you, with your tits and ass on display for me.” Gen licked her lips, tapping the box over her palm. “Get on the bed.”

Deborah's stomach clenched and her thighs quivered from the way Gen's nostrils flared, her face lustful. Deborah nodded, and held out the present toward her wife.

“I forgot to give you your gift before we left for the opera tonight. Do you want to open it before we go further? I'd love for you wear it as you loved seeing me wear your gift.”

A frown marred Gen's face and when she took a step toward her. Deborah quickly sat down on the edge of the bed. Gen came over to stand in between her legs. She smiled softly, took her present, and put it on the bed, along with the box Deborah was curious about. Tears came to Deborah's eyes as Gen smiled down at her with such love in her own.

“I do love you so very much,” Deborah said, breaking the silence.

When Gen cupped her face and kissed her, Deborah sighed and fell back on the bed. Gen climbed in between her thighs and rubbed her perfectly trimmed mound over Deborah's own waxed damp one.

Deborah's mouth fell open over the onslaught of Gen's invading tongue, lifting her legs up to wrap around Gen's waist. Gen moved her head back and motioned for Deborah to move up. When Deborah almost hit the iron headboard, Gen straddled her hips and ground against her. Gen's hand cupped her pussy and a finger disappeared between her folds. Deborah had the sudden urge to taste her seductive wife's cunt.

“Ride my face. I want to eat you as you find your release,” Deborah said, and as she lifted her hands to Gen's chest to play with her breasts, Gen brushed her aside and grabbed Deborah's wrists in a tight grip.

“Not yet, dear. First I want to make you come for making me the happiest woman alive,” Gen said, and with one last kiss across Deborah's swollen lips, she leaned over and opened the drawer to the bedside table.

Deborah's throat seemed to close and a twinge of unease shot down her back. That drawer was filled with Gen's toys, where she kept a vast array of sex paraphernalia she enjoyed using the majority of the time they made love. Deborah couldn't even remember the last time they didn't use a form of bondage or dildo while having sex.

Out came two black leather restrains and a seven-inch cobalt, slightly curved, nubbed glass dildo, along with a tube of warming intensifying gel. Deborah swallowed, her eyes widening as Gen swung the wrist restrains in a circle and dropped the dildo on the bed.

“Place your wrists high against the headboard,” Gen ordered softly, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving.

“What if we just kiss and touched one another for now? I-I don't think I can—”

“Hush.” Gen placed her finger against Deborah's lips, her smile still in place, although her eyes became a bit colder.

Deborah shuddered, and Gen slowly played with her hair, brushing it back from her face and caressing her cheeks and throat to calm her. When Gen held up the restraints again, Deborah complied.

Please be gentle tonight. Deborah bit her lip as Gen took her wrists and attached them to the headboard until her arms rested above her head. Gen gave her another kiss, then drifted down until she hovered over her chest and laved her nipple. Deborah arched her back, her pussy a swollen mass of nerves all because of how unbelievably sensitive her nipples were. All it took was a swipe of Gen's tongue or fingers on her tits to make her come.

“Gen, please…I can't take it.” Deborah cried out, pushing her hips up, wanting Gen's fingers or mouth on her pussy to make her find her release. She could barely take the torture.

Gen released her nipple with a soft pop and chuckled against her breast. “You've been such a good girl and now deserve your reward.” She climbed off Deborah and sauntered over to the edge of the bed to open the white box. When she held up the wide, bulging snakelike instrument, Deborah closed her legs together.

“What's that?” she asked, having never seen such a thing before.

Gen slapped the silicone object against her palm and sat down beside her with a mischievous grin. “This, my loving wife, is called the Cheeky Dinger. It's an electronic anal stimulator to increase your pleasure and give you a mind-blowing orgasm. First we'll use our favorite dildo together, then this ten-inch bad boy on you.”

Ten inches? Dear God, I won't survive with that in my ass.

Deborah inhaled and opened her mouth to argue when Gen suddenly climbed back on the bed, her face over her navel. She snickered, and before Deborah could say another word, Gen pulled part her legs apart and stuck her mouth over her mound.

Deborah yelped from Gen's talented mouth as her tongue went in deep, lapping over her swollen folds and tissues. She moaned and humped Gen's face, dying slowly as Gen pushed her legs out wider and attacked her pussy with great intensity. Bright purple spots appeared in front of her eyes, and when Gen's finger went between her ass cheeks, Deborah shrieked and rocked.

She was overcome with pleasure and couldn't control the gush of her come. It shot out and covered Gen's face. She blinked, trying to bring Gen into focus, pulling on her restraints. Gen lifted her face up slightly, glistening with her juices. She bit down hard on the inside of her thigh, sucking deeply. Deborah fell back on the bed and clenched her inner pussy muscles around one of Gen's fingers as it rubbed against a sensitive spot, making Deborah's entire body go numb.

The blinding spots in front of her eyes changed to black as she climaxed, and when a cool, wet substance landed on her, she trembled as Gen's finger pushed in and out of her pussy.

Gen picked up the nubbed dildo and without preparing her further, thrust it deep within her pussy. Deborah yelped from the near burn as her inner muscles grabbed hold of the glass implement, fitting perfectly with the aid of her come and gel. She was filled deep inside, perhaps even near her womb, and she shuddered, releasing more of her creamy fluid as Gen twisted the contraption in as far as it could possibly go.

“Come again for me,” Gen commanded and Deborah did just that. Her whole body shook, sweat covering her from head to toe.

When she came back down and could catch her breath again, the dildo remained inside her and Gen was covering the anal stimulator with lubrication. Gen turned to the side and knelt, reaching behind her own backside and moaning low as she moved her ass over the instrument.

Gen thrust a good five inches into her ass with only one hump out in the open. She wiggled her hips and moved the beaded silicone toy in her ass. Deborah longed to press Gen down on the bed and be the one to fuck her with it.

“Let me pump your ass,” Deborah panted and lifted up to kiss Gen's mouth. She couldn't reach her and growled until Gen moved her face in close to hers.

Their mouths locked over each other's with teeth banging and tongues dueling. Deborah dug her nails into her palms as Gen's pussy rubbed over her thigh where her come ran down her leg.

Blood filled the inside of her mouth from Gen's harsh biting and she inhaled deeply when Gen broke off the kiss. She could barely think and she clenched around the dildo, wanting it out of her body before she passed out.

“Turn on your stomach,” Gen ordered and grunted as she pulled out the massager from her ass.

“Why? Don't you want me to go down on you?” Deborah asked.

“Not right now, dear. I want to use my new special toy on you.” Gen lightly slapped Deborah's stomach with it and Deborah did her best to hide her revulsion.

“You're going to clean it first,” Deborah said.

Gen released a husky laugh and shook her head. “We're one and the same. Why would I erase the proof of my desire for you?”

It's unclean. Deborah knew the moment those words left her mouth, Gen would react the complete opposite way she was now. Resigned that she had no choice but to obey, she twisted, and with her aching and stiff arms crossed, she lay face first on the pillow, the dildo slipping in further, making her shudder silently.

“There's my girl…my very own special girl. Now let go and enjoy yourself,” Gen said against her ear as she pushed the stimulator into her asshole. Deborah bit down on the pillow as Gen inserted it into her ass, helped by her own lubrication and from the gel.

Deborah was filled to the brim from her pussy and ass, not altogether unpleasant but invasive. She released another shudder, trying to remain still, but couldn't, especially when Gen straddled her legs and her heavy breath fanned over her butt cheeks.

“Rock back and forth for me,” Gen said and pumped the dildo inside her slowly as her mouth rubbed against her ass.

Deborah did what her wife told her to do, and tears fell down her cheeks from the burn. She could barely stay conscious and released a high-pitched squeal when Gen's tongue skimmed around the edges of her rosebud.

“Oh God! This is so…I…” Deborah slurred in a hoarse whisper, her throat sore and her lips raw and chapped. She couldn't last any longer and when Gen's tongue went farther into her asshole and the pulsing toy went in deeper, Deborah screamed and tumbled into darkness.

The last thing she remembered was her arms being released and Gen holding her close, wet drops falling on her face as Gen cried her own release among whispers of love that helped Deborah succumb into a deep slumber.

Chapter Three

She's so precious to me. Genevieve pulled on her white robe and matching satin pajama bottoms as she looked down at her young wife sleeping in their bed. It was late morning and she'd just risen since she and Deborah fell into an exhausted slumber after hours of loving each other. She'd allow Deborah to sleep uninterrupted for a while longer before their yoga instructor arrived for their lesson.

Stretching her arms high above her head, she continued watching Deborah, who lay on her stomach with the sheet low across her ass. Genevieve noticed the stains on the sheets from the lubrication gel and their dried fluids and frowned. Now they would have to be washed and replaced from their carelessness. Sometimes she wanted to blame Deborah for the uncontrollable way she made her react, when she couldn't help herself to the point where she wanted to spent hours eating Deborah's pussy.

Deborah moaned and turned over on her back. Genevieve's eyes brightened upon seeing the big purple bruise the size of a quarter on Deborah's collarbone, as well as some red spots on her chest and a rash near her nipples where she had sucked and nibbled.

Pleased she'd marked her, and with one last soft kiss on Deborah's cheek, she grabbed her cell phone and began leaving the room, only to stop in the doorway and take another moment to watch her comatose wife, as well as the destruction from the pillows and covers on the floor to the dildo and anal toy on the far corner of the bed.

Genevieve closed the door and walked down the stairs where Teresa was dusting a vase.

“Good morning, Mrs. Murnay. You look well rested,” Teresa complimented her as she made her way across the foyer.

She did feel rested and was in a fabulous mood. “I had a wonderful night's sleep, as did Mrs. Murnay. I assume you have brunch waiting for us near the veranda. I would like some coffee and yogurt to start. My wife will join me later since she's still sleeping.”

“Yes, ma'am. Everything is as you suggested yesterday when you went over the meals for today. The Stewart siblings are cleaning the pool.” Teresa pointed out the window.

Genevieve lightly grunted. She would have preferred some privacy as she enjoyed the sunshine and her breakfast, but since both siblings were very attractive, especially the spirited nineteen-year-old Patty, she didn't mind their imposition for a while longer.

“That's perfectly fine,” Genevieve said and smiled at Teresa, who nodded respectfully.

Not caring what Teresa thought either way, Gen told her to carry on and walked toward the back as she punched in her password for her voice messages. Walking out onto the patio, she listened to a message left from her head financial advisor regarding to her quarterly trip to Las Vegas to meet with the stockholders of her highly successful multimillion-dollar construction company that once belonged to her now-deceased father.

“Hello, Mrs. Murnay!” Patty waved as she pulled out the long pool skimmer. Her twin brother, Paul, also waved as he vacuumed the bottom of the pool. Brother and sister were dressed alike, in aquamarine T-shirts with their family's company logo and tight white shorts accentuating their tanned legs nicely.

If only I wasn't married and totally in love with Deborah, I'd have taken little Miss Peppy Sunshine into the pool house long ago and made her my own little personal plaything. Gen sighed, wishing Deborah would at least try a threesome with her, but then again, she'd have to share her with another person, and that was unacceptable.

Taking her sunglasses out of her glass case, she pulled them over her eyes and walked over to a table with a large white umbrella that blocked the bright desert sun. Even before she could sit, Teresa appeared with a carafe of coffee and a bowl of yogurt and mixed fruit.

Genevieve settled back in her chair as Teresa laid out everything before her. She left quickly, and as Genevieve poured her coffee, Patty came over to her with her backpack.

“Sorry to intrude on your breakfast, but Paul and I are about finished here.” Patty smiled, her sandy brown braid swinging over her shoulder.

Genevieve glanced down at Patty's chest pushing against her T-shirt. Her large nipples poked through, and she couldn't help but wonder if Patty was excited to see her or perhaps she forgot to wear a bra or bathing suit with enough padding. Either way, it was an enjoyable sight, much like Deborah's problem with her own nipples that never stayed dormant for too long.

“As always, I appreciate the job you and Paul do. Teresa will give you both your pay before you leave. It's in cash, so you don't have to worry about going to the bank. I put in a little extra as well.”

“Thanks a bunch, Mrs. Murnay!” Patty hopped slightly in her sneakers and Genevieve nodded in response as she sipped her coffee. Ah yes, the teen was nice to look at, but nothing much more. Too young—too innocent and too unbearably annoying.

“Oh, before I forget, could you give these back to Debbie?” Patty took out three paperbacks and placed them on the table.

“Debbie?” Genevieve asked softly, lowering her cup onto her saucer with a slight crack.

Oblivious to the sudden change in her demeanor, Patty nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, Mrs. M said I could call her Debbie. Anyways, Debbie's been letting me borrow books from your library since I barely can get to the one in town. She gives me two or three books when I come to clean the pool and we end up discussing what I've read.”

“Isn't…that's nice.” Genevieve breathed loudly through her nose and clenched her spoon in a tight grip.

“I hope you don't mind—”

“No, not at all. It just came as a surprise since Debbie never told me.” Genevieve pointed to the chair next to her and gave the teen a tranquil smile. “Since your brother is still cleaning up, why don't you sit and have a cup of coffee with me and tell me what you and Debbie have talked about?”

* * * *

The cramping in her calf woke Deborah out of a sound sleep. She sat up in bed and rubbed the sore muscle, pushing her snarled hair away from her face. Slowly the pain in her leg subsided and other aches and pains began to make their notice. She shifted her legs and winced, the inside of her thighs sore and tender, as well as her lower back and inside of her ass.

“What a crazy night,” Deborah whispered to the empty room and groaned, thinking back to all Genevieve had done to her. The late-night hours were a blur, and she massaged the sides of her head, still woozy. She stood slowly, holding onto the bed frame as the room tilted. With a back bend that made her moan, she sluggishly made her way into the bathroom to relieve her bladder and drink some cold water to ease her dry mouth and sore throat.

After finishing with the toilet, she splashed some lukewarm water on her face, longing for a hot shower to loosen her muscles. But first she'd join Genevieve for breakfast before washing away the stickiness of last night's lovemaking—or rather the raunchy sex they had together.

Deborah wiped her face with a white washcloth, eyeing it, wondering why Genevieve loved the color white so much, from the towels to their bed and even the carpet. She'd be wearing her white silk robe and slippers. For some reason, she wore the complete opposite color last night: a tight black leather number that brought a dominatrix to mind.

Shaking that thought away, she opened the vanity mirror and took out a clip to pull back her hair that needed to be brushed. Of course she'd have to wait to do that, since Gen enjoyed brushing her hair after they took their morning shower, right before yoga at one o'clock.

Deborah gave herself a quick glance in the mirror. Bright red splotches covered her chest and parts of her neck, including a very obvious black-and-blue bruise near her collarbone left by Genevieve. Deborah never got the chance to return the favor last night, something she would remedy, perhaps when they both relaxed in the sauna before dinner. Genevieve would be spread out naked on one of the wooden benches, her pink pussy lips on display, and she lying between her thighs, sucking on the inside of her leg, or perhaps her breasts where Deborah would be the one to leave a mark this time—

The ding of the clock on the wall in the bedroom pulled her out of her daydream and she walked over to the dresser and took out a matching rose-colored cotton pajama set. On Mondays, she always wore some type of red or variation on the color, right down to her underwear. She put on her outfit, twisting from side to side, enjoying the cracking of her bones. She spotted the black dildo and anal instrument lying on the bed next to the half empty bottle of lubrication, as well as Gen's gift that still remained unopened. She grabbed the sex toys and threw them in the goody drawer. She didn't want Teresa embarrassed when she came up later in the day to set the room right. Later on she'd clean them for the next time they would be used. The small jewelry box went in the bottom drawer, until the right moment when she could give Gen her gift.

As she walked down the hall, a soft sigh left her mouth as her back and thighs stiffened. She stopped by the window, where Patty talked to her brother in the driveway.

Deborah smiled down at the twins, and when Patty glanced up and waved up at her, she did the same. She always enjoyed her talks with the sweet girl about books and school, loving the advice she gave Patty on her studies.

Whistling softly, Deborah walked down the stairs and turned down the other hallway to go into the library. There she would find a few more books to give Patty the next time she came to clean the pool.

A small pile of hardcover books sat on a desk. Her eyes brightened upon picking up a copy of work by the poet e.e. cummings she'd read when she was in high school. She was so involved in reading she barely heard the library door close.

Deborah turned when she felt she was no longer alone in the room and glanced up at Genevieve, who wore her white satin robe tied with a matching sash around her waist. Deborah curled her toes in the rug as Genevieve walked over wearing her white slippers that showed off her red-painted toes.

“Hello, Mrs. Murnay. You look well this wonderful Monday morning.” Deborah flashed a grin as she closed the book.

“When I first woke up this morning, I thought the same,” Gen said softly and sauntered over to the other side of the desk. She tapped one of the books, then rested her hand on top of a silver paperweight shaped like a globe.

Deborah took a step back, holding a book up against her chest. “Is something wrong?”

“Why would you think anything is wrong? Do I look upset?” Gen asked calmly and lifted up the paperweight.

“I don't know, it's just that you look…displeased. Did you hear bad news?” Deborah asked carefully. Goose bumps rose on her arms and the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

Genevieve snorted and her lips twisted in a very ugly way. “Displeased? Why would you think that? As for news, I've heard you have a new friend and failed to inform me of the fact.”

“Fr-friend? I don't know what you're—”

“Yes, a fr-friend, Debbie.” Gen pronounced her name with such venom in her voice that Deborah backed away.

“Um, who do you mean? You know everyone I—”

“Just shut up for a moment and cease your stuttering,” Gen barked, moving the paperweight back in forth in her hands.

Oh please, don't… Deborah's stomach turned and she was almost up against one of the stacks when Gen released a loud laugh.

“Imagine my surprise when that twit Patty told me how you lend her books from my library, very expensive first-edition copies, and how you two had more than a few friendly chats together. Why, even allowing her inside our home, where you both were enclosed in this room for almost a half hour at a given time.”

“Gen, nothing happened other than Patty borrowing the books. What's the harm?” Deborah asked softly, trying to keep the tremors out of her voice.

“The harm?” Gen bellowed, causing Deborah to flinch. “Are you that stupid or don't care what we have? I know you want to fuck the little airheaded slut and probably have right under my nose!”

“That's not true at all! You're jealous—”

Gen screamed and the paperweight flew at Deborah's head.

Deborah ducked, but nearly not fast enough, and the rotund missile struck her on the side of her head. She cried out, pressing her palm over where she was hit, when Gen rushed over and backhanded her across the face. Deborah went down, falling against one of the stacks, causing books to tumble on top of her. She held up her hands to try to cover her face. She landed on her side and rolled into a ball as Gen grabbed hold of her by the hair and slapped her again.

“You little tramp! After all I've given you. How dare you go behind my back and fuck another cunt!” Gen screamed like a banshee and rained punches down on Deborah's head.

Deborah moaned and sobbed, trying to talk through her tears, but couldn't find the words, her lips numb as Genevieve continued to hit her. And when Genevieve punched her low in her stomach, Deborah gasped over the loss of air and hacked deep in her throat as she choked.

She continued to sob softly as Genevieve's rage finally died down. Her harsh, painful gasps filled the room and she flinched when a glob of something wet dripped down her cheek. Genevieve had spit on her.

Stop. No more, Deborah mouthed around her arms that were covering her head, and kept her eyes shut as she heard Genevieve rise to her feet. Gen stood over her, her breathing coming through very clear as Deborah waited for the next attack.

“I've decided to cancel our yoga class and instead will go into town for a massage. You will clean up the mess in here and in our bedroom without the aid of Teresa. I expect those rooms to be neat and orderly by the time I return. Do you understand?” Gen asked in a very soft voice.

Deborah nodded and whimpered “yes” in response to her wife's orders.

“Good. Now get off the floor. It's embarrassing. You always overreact when we have one of our arguments,” Genevieve said in disgust, and as Deborah slowly lifted up on her shaking elbows, Gen opened the door and left.

Sometime later, Deborah sat up and stared at the open doorway. After she heard the distant clicking of heels on the marble floor, some muted conversation, then the sound of a car driving away, she rose to her feet. She went over the leather desk chair and slowly lowered her aching body in the seat, holding her head in her hands as the room spun around her.

She wiped her wet eyes. The side of her hand came away with blood. When she fingered her bottom lip, it stung and more blood covered her skin. Her stomach throbbed and the side of her head hurt.

At least Gen didn't sprain my wrist this time. Deborah rotated her left arm and stiffened from the soreness there. Last month when they had one of their “arguments,” Gen grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back to the point where her shoulder almost popped. Eight months before that, Gen stomped on her arm and Deborah had to wear an arm brace for a few months.

After the feeling of vertigo left, Deborah rose, her back cracking, making her almost fall to her knees. She bit her lip and swallowed a cry, walking slowly to the middle of the room and viewing all the destruction Gen had created.

“Mrs. Murnay, I'll clean up here. Go take a hot shower, and when you have washed up, I'll help you clean your room and make you brunch.” Teresa stood in the doorway, twisting her hands together.

“Please don't, Teresa. If Genevieve finds out, we'll have another…argument and she may fire you,” Deborah said, and when she went over to pick up the paperweight on the floor, she almost fell back down in pain.

“Senora, please, you'll hurt yourself.” Teresa came over and took Deborah's arm.

Deborah's lips trembled and tears filled her eyes once again. “Perhaps I should take a shower first to loosen these stiff muscles of mine. Then if you have time, maybe you can help me straighten up in here and in the bedroom?”

“Of course. Mrs. Murnay doesn't have to know. If she's asks, I simply say no.” Teresa patted her arm and led her out of the room.

“You're a good friend, Teresa. If not for you and Gilberto, I'm afraid I'd be…” Deborah broke off to keep her tears in check as she and Teresa climbed the stairs up to her room.

Teresa murmured soft, comforting words in her native language and made Deborah sit on the bed while she turned on the shower. When she came out with a big, fluffy towel, Deborah took off her pajamas, wincing as she wrapped the towel around her body and shuffled into the bathroom.

She dropped the towel and climbed into the large shower stall, the stream of hot water raining over her abused body. Shakes took over Deborah's body and she fell down to the tile floor, crying loudly and rocking, wishing she was dead.

Chapter Four

When Deborah finished her shower, she went through the motions of getting ready for when Genevieve returned from town. She was due to arrive shortly, or so she had been told by Teresa when Gilberto called to say they were on their way back.

She quickly finished putting on her makeup, although the cover-up didn't hide the small gash on the right side of her head that almost matched the older, faded scar above it she received last year when Genevieve had accused her of cheating with a neighbor. As she swiped on her coral-colored lipstick, her split bottom lip swelled and continued to lightly bleed even after she put pressure on it. For the next few days she'd be stuck on the property since Genevieve would never allow her to go out in public after an argument like this one.

Stepping gingerly into the walk-in closet, Deborah flinched as her muscles tightened and she wheezed from shortness of breath. Her clothes and shoes on the left, across from Genevieve's own wardrobe, were all lined up by color coordination to denote each day of the week. Yet another rule of Gen's. For each day she was to wear the color Gen had decided long ago for her. Every color of the rainbow was there except purple. Gen hated the color, while Deborah adored it. She hadn't worn the color since she married Gen.

How did I get to this? Deborah shook her head sadly as she put back on her rose pajama set, wishing she could run to her mother and hide in her arms. But her mother lay dying, hours away, and only Gen could give her the permission to go see her.

Deborah glanced down at her fisted hands and relaxed them. She combed her fingers through her hair, wanting to smash something expensive of Gen's against the wall. Instead she took a calming breath, circling the bedroom Teresa had put back in order. After pacing for a few minutes, she finally left to eat something before Genevieve came back.

Her appetite was lacking, but she'd try her best to eat. Already she was too thin—or fit, as Gen called her. Deborah longed to go back to the days when she could eat whatever she wanted, perfectly fine with having the extra weight on her frame, since she looked better with curves than none at all.

She made a quick stop at the library that was back to the way it was before their “argument.” Always an argument, never a fight or a beating from Gen. Oh no, no—God forbid she confronted Gen and threatened to leave her again. This time she'd only leave the house in a body bag.

“Senora, please come out on the veranda. It's a beautiful day!” Teresa called out from the foyer, and when Deborah walked into the kitchen, Teresa took hold of her arm.

“Teresa, I'm not an invalid. I'll be all right. You know how Genevieve gets when she loses her temper,” Deborah explained, trying to keep her voice light, as if she hadn't been beaten.

Teresa raised an eyebrow when Deborah smiled and winced from her bruised lip. They walked out on the patio and over to one of the tables facing the back of the property that had a perfect view of the mountains. Deborah sat and tilted her head back, breathing in the dry Nevada air, taking a moment to reflect how lucky she was to be alive.

If only Genevieve stopped hurting her, then all would be perfect.

Deborah's mouth trembled as she thought of her wife, who she did still love very much, but whom she could no longer stay with.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a sip, the strong dark taste filling her mouth as she planned in her head. Hopefully she'd be able to pull Gilberto aside at one point in the day, when Genevieve was indisposed. He was her only hope.

Deborah went still and stared straight ahead upon hearing Gen's voice behind her. This time she wouldn't jump up and welcome her with open arms as she did every day.

The clicking of Genevieve's heels on the pavement burned Deborah's ears as she waited for another eruption of rage to be directed at her. When Genevieve came to her side, Deborah didn't greet her, but instead tilted her head down to stare at her lap.

Genevieve's hand fell lightly on top of her hair and pulled through her strands, her touch oddly comforting. Deborah stopped from grabbing Gen's palm and laying it over her cheek.

Neither broke the silence. Deborah finally relented. “Did you finish your errands in town?”

Genevieve rested her chin on Deborah's shoulder, her arm coming around to hold her close. “Yes. My massage was very relaxing and I bought a few items for the house, including a little something for you.”

Deborah nodded slightly and pressed her lips together to stop from asking what that little something could be. Genevieve kissed her on the cheek and took hold of her hand. “Come with me and I'll show you what I bought.”

Deborah left her uneaten bowl of oatmeal and blueberries, her weekday breakfast that never changed—another rule set by Genevieve—and allowed herself to be led back into the house. Gen had a soft, dazed look on her face, most likely from one too many Bloody Marys or mimosas she drank at the day spa.

Both Teresa and Gilberto stood in the kitchen, and when Gen nodded in their direction, they did the same, watching them leave. Gen didn't say a word to her, not that Deborah cared. She didn't think she could hold a conversation at that moment, her whole body tense with anxiety at what Genevieve had bought her. She'd hope it wasn't another outlandish sex toy used to invade her body as a form of love shared between them.

Tremors almost overtook her body, and when they reached their bedroom, Gen turned, her face full of worry and her eyes cloudy with torment.

“Oh dearling, I'm so ashamed about our argument we had this morning. You know how nervous I get right before the end-of-the-quarter meeting I have with my stockholders.” Gen waved her hand as if the incidence was of no real consequence.

Deborah smile didn't reach her eyes. “I know full well how nervous you get. We all have our moments where things get the best of us.”

Gen gave her a warm smile, and when she pulled her in close for a hug, Deborah went into her arms stiffly. She rested her head in the crook of Gen's shoulder and closed her eyes.

This would be one of the last hugs she received from this woman.

“I love you so much. Please forgive me for the way I overreacted. I know you would never do anything to hurt me intentionally,” Gen whispered in an impassioned plea.

Like you've done to me time and again, to the point where I've wanted to kill myself? Deborah remained unyielding in Genevieve's arms.

Genevieve cupped Deborah's face and placed her lips over hers. Deborah waited for Gen's tongue to slither in, as was her usual custom when she kissed her, but instead she left her lips over her own. Tears from Genevieve's eyes fell and landed on Deborah's cheeks. A watery sigh escaped Genevieve and without stopping the kiss, she backed into the bedroom with Deborah in her arms.

When Genevieve finally released her, Deborah went to sit on the bed. Gen stopped her and lifted up a dark purple box. Deborah's eyes went wide, and when Genevieve held it out toward her, she took it.

“Just a little something from me to you…as an apology.” Gen winced when she spoke the last word and tugged on her diamond earring.

“There's no need for you to apologize. It's all forgotten,” Deborah said automatically and quickly opened the package. She covered her mouth upon seeing the risqué purple and black lace negligee. “It's…gorgeous.” I'll look like a prostitute wearing this.

“Put it on,” Genevieve ordered softly and Deborah took off her pajamas. When Deborah was naked, she glanced up at Gen's face. Gen's eyes sparkled as she licked her lips, her eyes zoning in on the belly chain.

Deborah lifted the velvet chemise over her head. She tugged the tight fabric down and sucked in her breath as it bunched around her hips. Finally she pulled it down over her thighs, but it rode up high, showing off the curve of her ass.

Gen held up her hands to her face and laughed. “You're so beautiful! Turn around in a circle.”

Deborah turned around a few times. When she finished her third rotation, Gen walked over and linked their fingers together. She backed her over to the oversized cream-colored chaise longue in the corner near the window and made her sit.

Gen whispered something Deborah couldn't catch as she knelt down and slid her palms up and down her legs. She lightly scratched the top of her thighs with her nails, and kissed her with more passion than before.

Deborah fell back with Gen hovering over her on her palms, nipping and tugging on her lips. Deborah could barely find any enjoyment in the desperate kiss, and whimpered in pain as she tasted blood. Gen lifted her mouth and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Her eyes brightened and her tongue lapped gently over Deborah's mouth.

“My poor darling has a cut on her lip? I hate to see you in pain. Does my special girl want me to kiss her someplace else to make it all better?” Gen asked in a baby-sounding voice, and with a wicked smile, dropped her face down to Deborah's stomach.

“Yes, please,” Deborah replied softly and stared up at the ceiling, lifting her arms over her head as Gen's breath washed over her pussy and thighs. And when Gen began to lick and suck her cunt, and her sharp nails dug into her legs, she bowed her back and willed her body to enjoy Gen's administrations. She instantly went wet since a tongue and mouth, regardless of it being Gen's, made her respond.

As Gen took her time eating away at Deborah's core, the sounds of her mouth slurping and sucking loudly, Deborah moaned and sighed at the same time—coming violently. Gen's mouth worked her over as Deborah thought out her plans: the plans she'd been making for a very long time to escape from this monster, who'd rather see her dead than allow her to leave alive.

Chapter Five

All of Deborah's secret preparation over the past year would come to pass with Genevieve attending her stockholder meeting like she did twice a year. She'd end up staying overnight in Las Vegas, Friday to Saturday, without Deborah by her side. Deborah wasn't needed since Genevieve didn't want her to mingle with the business men and women Genevieve controlled, much the same as she did with her wife.

As the sun rose on that Friday morning, Deborah made slow, tender love to Genevieve, knowing it would be the last time she'd ever kiss her, smell her, and feel her body against hers. No words were exchanged between the two. Deborah had no more to give. Genevieve's jealous rages had destroyed everything special between them.

Now she waited on the front steps after sharing empty goodbye kisses and fake promises and admissions of love from her that Genevieve was totally unaware about. Deborah kept her smile in place and waved as the limo left, taking Genevieve three hours away where as soon as she arrived at her destination, she'd call to check to make sure Deborah was there to receive her call.

She'd be in for quite the surprise. Deborah would be long gone, vanishing into thin air where Genevieve would never find her.

Gilberto came up beside her, silent as the car turned the corner and rode away on the main road. Deborah finally released a sigh of relief, then looked at the dark, brawny man standing beside her.

“Were you able to get everything you needed for my trip into town today?” she asked him.

Gilberto nodded. “The documents, including the directions you need, are in the backseat. Also the funds you gave me on Tuesday were put in a special account only you can access.”

“And I can assume the funds I gave you and Teresa have been taken care of as well?” Deborah asked.

“Yes, ma'am. You'll be very pleased how everything has turned out.”

Deborah smiled up at him and nodded. “Very well. Why don't you start the car while I go upstairs and get my purse? We can't be late for my spa treatment.”

“Yes, Mrs. Murnay,” Gilberto responded stiffly and Deborah walked back in the house where Teresa waited, wiping her eyes with a tissue. Deborah walked up to her and pressed a palm over the older woman's cheek. Both women stared at one another with tears in their eyes, and finally Deborah broke away and climbed up the steps.

She went right into the bathroom where she knelt down near the toilet and threw up her breakfast until she was dry heaving. Her nerves were at an all-time high and the moment she left this house, she'd constantly be looking over her shoulder, for she was about to betray Genevieve in the worst possible way.

If Genevieve ever found her, she'd kill her.

* * * *

Deborah sat in the backseat looking out the window, clutching a large nondescript brown bag where she put away the documents Gilberto had referred to. She wouldn't need them right away, but she kept them close so as not to forget to take them later on. She tried to keep a clear mind, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the note addressed to Genevieve that she left with her wedding band on top of the dresser in the bedroom, in which she expressed her love, as well as her horror at the abuse she suffered all those years by Gen's hand. She explained how she couldn't take the pain any longer and had to take her own life to escape her suffering.

“Mrs. Murnay, we should be arriving at the spa in less than ten minutes,” Gilberto said from the driver's seat.

“Thank you, Gilberto…for everything. I sincerely don't know what I would have done if not for you and Teresa.” Deborah cleared her throat, holding back the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

“I wish I could have done more,” Gilberto replied, his eyes full of discomfort as he looked back at the rearview mirror.

“Please don't blame yourself. What happened to me is all on my shoulders. If I had left the first time Gen hit me, we wouldn't be in this situation. And now…”

“And now what?”

Deborah went to play with her wedding ring when she noticed her finger was bare. She sighed brokenly, blinking away her tears. “And now we've come to this.” She leaned forward as the car turned to the right and down the street. “I know we've been over this a million times before. But, when a few weeks have gone by after my ‘death,’ you and Teresa should go back to your family in Mexico. Take the one hundred thousand in that secret account your friend helped you set up, and disappear. I don't think Gen has power to reach you out of the country, but you never know.”

Gilberto parked the car and laid his arm back over the seat. “Deborah” Gilberto cleared his throat as he paused. It was the first time he ever called her by her first name. “Don't concern yourself about me or my sister. We'll be fine. Your wife knows nothing of our family. We made certain not to. Teresa and I will stay around until she thinks you're truly dead,” Gilberto said the word “she” as if it was a curse.

Deborah gave his hand a slight squeeze. “I'd hate to think you or Teresa could end up as victims of Genevieve's rage. If she ever found out your part in my—”

“She never will, Mrs. Murnay,” Gilberto said strongly and pulled his arm away. “It's time you went to your appointment. You wouldn't want to be late.”

Deborah nodded and glanced inside her purse. She took out her sunglasses and the belly chain Gen had given her for their anniversary. She untangled the chain from her glasses and palmed it, almost giving it to Gilberto, just as she had done with most of her jewelry over the past year for him to sell and raise enough money for not only her, but for him and his sister. But she didn't think this piece of jewelry could be sold. It was too unique. Instead of putting it back in her purse, she put it on her seat. At least if the car was found, not only would Genevieve have her wedding ring, but the chain as well to remember her by.

Deborah pulled on her sunglasses and swung her hair, giving Gilberto a bright smile. “You've been a great friend. Please tell Teresa the same when you see her.”

Gilberto nodded and stared straight ahead, mimicking the action he usually did whenever he drove Deborah into town.

She nodded and got out of the car, leaving him behind as his cell phone went off. “Hello, Mrs. Murnay. Yes…your wife has arrived at her appointment safely.”

Deborah walked ahead, her face blank as Gilberto talked to her wife, who called to check in on her.

* * * *

Two hours later, Deborah had been waxed, massaged, and given a manicure and pedicure. She glanced down at her nails painted with clear nail polish. She couldn't have them with any color whatsoever so as not to be noticed.

Her cell phone vibrated. Genevieve had called two times and left a text message telling her to call her as soon as she finished. Deborah put her phone back in her purse. There was no sense in calling Gen. She'd said her goodbyes to her that morning.

Taking a deep breath, Deborah walked down the hall to the reception desk. She backed against the wall and took out the spare set of car keys Gilberto had given her, along with the other essentials. Knowing time was of the essence, she turned around instead of going out the front. She walked toward the back where another door would take her into the side parking lot.

Deborah didn't run. She even nodded at the employees as she passed them by. Her legs didn't tremble as she walked out the back door and across the pavement to the car. Instead of using the electronic key chain to unlock the car, she slid the key into the lock and climbed in. Closing her eyes for a moment, she inhaled and started the car. Less than a minute later, she drove out of the parking lot and down the main road.

The drive took around fifteen minutes. Deborah chewed her nails the entire time, ruining her manicure. She was a ball of tension, constantly looking out the rearview mirror, expecting to be pulled over by a cop, or for some crazy reason for Genevieve to be right behind her, having figured out what she'd done. The road Deborah drove on was practically empty, and when she drove off the highway, she clenched the steering wheel harder. Her knuckles were almost white under her usual lightly bronzed skin as she turned off the road and farther away from the urban area, leading her to a more rocky section surrounded by big boulders and mountains in the distance. Deborah didn't park the car near the picnic tables or where the hiking trails began. She drove further in, trying to keep her cool as she passed one or two empty cars.

Finally she parked the car near the entrance of a small bridge that had been under construction for more than a year. The two-lane bridge led to the other side and around the bottom of a small mountain. But Gilberto had informed her when the discussed places for her “suicide” that the bridge was out of commission. It was desolate—and perfect for what Deborah had to do.

Keeping the car running, Deborah got out and carefully stepped up on the bridge. She went to the edge where the river was high enough that as soon as the car hit the water, it would be carried away. Luckily for her, it had been a wet season, a bit out of the ordinary from the dry conditions that usually led to a drought. From the way the water crashed and flowed, the rapids swirling under and beyond her, she had picked the right place to commit her fake suicide. If all went well, the car would be beaten up, pulled under the waves, and taken miles downstream. Perhaps days would go by before it was found and people believed that her body was eaten by whatever fish lived in the river or the rocks, tearing her corpse to pieces.

Deborah checked her watch. Genevieve would be arriving at the hotel and calling either her or Gilberto again since Deborah had never answered Genevieve's original calls or text messages. She threw her cell phone, the last form of communication she'd have with her wife, into the rushing water.

She got back in the driver's seat and pulled the car in reverse until it faced the edge of the ravine. She put the car in neutral and walked behind it. Flexing her arms, glad she'd used weights with a trainer, she walked a few feet away, then suddenly sprinted toward the car. With her fast momentum and her pushing, the car began to roll, picking up speed, and with one final push, the car fell to the water below. The crash came seconds later, a loud boom ricocheting around her. She went over to the edge and watched the smashed vehicle in the water with its wheels up, willing it to start moving.

After a few tense-filled minutes, the car circled around in the rough waters and floated down the stream, bobbing in and out, hitting huge rocks sticking out, causing glass to break and metal to screech.

Deborah quickly glanced through her oversized bag, pulled out a white scarf, and wrapped it around her head. The disguise wasn't much, but it would keep her protected from the sun. Glad she'd worn her Keds and comfortable capris, she climbed over the barrier blocking the bridge and ran across to where she'd find the road and the ride that would take her to the bus station and to freedom—sweet freedom!

Chapter Six

A clean-cut, dark-skinned man a good decade older than her waited in a red Corolla on the side of the road. He had rolled down his window and called her by her name, confirming he was a friend of Gilberto's. She got in the car, her heart pounding rapidly as he drove away, not speaking again until he parked at the bus station twenty minutes later. He handed her a disposable cell phone and instructed her to only use it once—to call Gilberto when she arrived safely to wherever she was headed, then to throw it away. He also gave her a white plastic bag with a baseball cap and a T-shirt with some sort of sports logo, recommending she go change in the bathroom before the bus left.

Deborah thanked her driver, and as she walked swiftly toward the bathroom, he drove away. She tried her best not to look wildly around. Again fear overtook her, knowing Genevieve could appear at any moment. No one was in the bathroom when she went inside. She went into a stall and peed since her bladder was ready to explode. She pulled on the T-shirt that was a size too big for her, put up as much of her hair as she could in a black band, then fit the cap on her head. When she finished, she went to the sink and washed her hands. When the door opened and people came in, she dropped her head and walked out to her waiting bus.

She gave her ticket over to the driver, went in the back and into a seat in the far corner, and hunched down so her face couldn't be seen from the window. She tried to stop her teeth from chattering, not from the cold but from the fear flowing through her body.

When the bus drove away, Deborah closed her eyes and silent tears fell down her cheeks in near relief.

* * * *

The four-hour bus ride was uneventful. By the time the bus stopped in the town of Rockfield, it was near dusk. On stiff legs, Deborah walked off the bus with the rest of the passengers, clutching her bag and rolling her stiff shoulders.

She'd only been to Rockfield a number of times since her mother had been admitted into the retirement facility there. The urge to go see her mother first and foremost was strong, but she couldn't yet. She was exhausted, sweaty, and hungry. First, she needed to get to the hotel indicated in the directions written out for her.

The small, five-story hotel was a few blocks away. She hurried along, keeping her head down the entire time, and when she walked up to the front desk, a polite male hotel clerk welcomed her. Deborah smiled through trembling lips and said she was staying for the night and should have a reservation waiting for her under the last name Smith.

“Why, yes, Mrs. Smith, your husband checked in earlier in the day,” the desk clerk explained and gave her the electronic key to her room.

Deborah hid her surprise. She couldn't believe the lengths Gilberto went to or the special group of friends he had to help her. For a short moment she wondered if she should had taken up his suggestion at hiding in Mexico where he said he could protect her better. She pushed that idea away since she'd asked so much of him already and didn't want to put him in more danger than he already was.

“Thank you,” she said softly as she took the key and went over to the elevators. She rode up to the third floor where her room was located.

She walked down the long hall and passed an older couple who gave her a strange look, or so she believed since her paranoia was at an all-time high. As soon as they walked inside the elevator, she rushed down the hall and with fumbling hands, slipped the keycard into the slot of the door. When the green light came on, she opened the door and shut it with a loud slam. She stumbled into the middle of the room, dove face first on the bed, and hid her face into a pillow.

* * * *

With her breath lodged in her throat, Deborah sat straight up out of a sound sleep. Her eyes were dry and her skin itchy and tight. Her nipples poked through her wrinkled T-shirt and goose bumps covered her body from the chill in the room. She rubbed her arms, her cap hanging off the back of her head barely covering her tangled, sweaty hair.

She couldn't say what woke her. It wasn't a nightmare or even a loud sound that may have come outside. The hum of the air conditioner drowned everything out. Squinting in the darkened room, she noticed the digital alarm clock. It was barely five in the morning. She'd slept for almost ten hours.

Her stomach let out a low rumble and she stretched her arms over her head while flexing her cramping feet. She still felt logy and stiff. But at least her heart didn't feel like it wanted to jump out of her mouth.

Rising from the bed, she turned on the lamp and shuffled over to her bag on the floor. She picked it up, pulled out the cell phone, and flipped it open as if to make a call. But she couldn't do that yet. First she had to visit her mother to make certain she was safe.

Deborah's bladder needed to be emptied and as she yawned loudly and held her hair away from her face, she walked into the bathroom. Among the typical toiletries such as the small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and soap, there were also items on the bathroom counter usually not found in a hotel bathroom. Not only was a black suitcase standing next to the toilet, but near the sink was a box of hair dye, a magazine showcasing all different types of hairstyles and a silver pair of scissors one would find at a hair salon. There was also a makeup kit—not the usual kind a woman would use daily, but more the type one would use to cover her face if going to a costume party or dressing up for Halloween. None of these things came as surprise to Deborah. She expected to find them there.

Deborah pulled the suitcase on top of the toilet, opened it, and found clothes including underwear and bland-colored T-shirts, jeans, capris, and pants that would hide her curves and her femininity.

She pulled off her T-shirt and hung a towel around her shoulders. Grabbing the box of hair dye, she tore it open and began to make herself into a different person.

* * * *

She cried again in the shower. Deep, hacking sobs shook her body as she thought about all she'd left behind. Genevieve's name echoed in her mind, and even though there was no way she could return to her, she still ached to hear her voice one last time. But she couldn't do that. If she did, she most likely end up dead in the desert with a bullet in her head like the old-time mobsters did to their victims in the mid-twentieth century as Vegas was being built.

After Deborah shed her tears and washed out the dye from her hair, she got out of the shower and dried herself off with the towel. Wiping the condensation away from the bathroom mirror, she stared back at the reflection of a woman with jutting cheekbones and average run-of-the-mill brown eyes. But instead of her former highlighted blond streaks, now her hair was pure black. She was lucky her skin tone wasn't pale. She'd look very strange with her new hair color then.

She still wasn't done with her hair by a long shot. Flipping through the magazine to the section where the short hairstyles were located, she searched for the haircut she needed. After four years of never cutting anything more than an inch, she lifted up a good six inches off her shoulders and began cutting away. This time her eyes were bone dry as her hair fell into the sink and on the floor.

When all was said and done and her hair stood up in spikes only a few inches away from her head, she put in blue color contacts to complete the disguise. A total stranger stared back at her.

Gone was Deborah Murnay and in her place was a new woman— a woman reborn.

Chapter Seven

“That'll be fifteen dollars, sir,” the taxi driver said to his male passenger sitting in the back seat.

The scruffy young man, who looked a little past college age wearing dark jeans, a bulky gray T-shirt, and a jean jacket even in the ninety-degree heat, dug into his pocket and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He mumbled a thank you and grabbed his suitcase as he got out of the car.

The taxi drove away, leaving Deborah in front of the facility where her mother had lived for the past year and a half. Rolling back her shoulders, Deborah lengthened her stride to walk more like a man and went through the automatic sliding doors.

Her cheek itched and she almost went to scratch it, stopping at the last moment. Along with her eyes drying out from the contact lenses she wore, the bronze makeup on her face, neck, hands, and arms made her itchy. She swore she could feel a rash forming where the fake whiskers of hair or scruff she had pasted on her cheeks and chin were flaking.

But she had no choice in the matter. If she didn't go so far as to wear a disguise, she wouldn't be able to see her mother. She couldn't come as her daughter. So she came as her son Wade Whilby instead.

Deborah walked up to the front desk where a rounded, older-looking nurse with gray hair hung up the phone and smiled at her. Deborah cleared her throat deeply.

“Good morning. I'm here to see my mother, Cora Whilby. I should be on the list of approved visitors,” Deborah said in a raspy voice and held her breath, waiting for the nurse to figure out she wasn't a man.

The nurse pulled out a binder and opened it. Her finger skimmed down the page and she tapped her cheek as she read. “Wade Whilby, you said?”

Deborah nodded and hunched her shoulders. “Yeah. My sister Deb told me she put me on the list. I'm in town for a few days and wanted to see our mother.”

The nurse looked back at Deborah with raised eyebrows.

Please believe me!

“Ah! Here's your name. Sorry for the questions, but the last time your sister was here was more than a year ago. The only visitor since then has been her wife.”

“I guess Genevieve checked in on Mom since she's the one paying the bills,” Deborah replied easily and waited for the nurse to give her a pass.

The nurse rested her hand on the phone as if she was going to pick it up, and a trickle of sweat dripped down the side of Deborah's face. Finally, when the nurse took out a white pass and left it on the top of the desk, Deborah's shoulders relaxed and her knees unlocked.

“Your mother is in room 504. Walk down the hall and make the left where the elevators are. The nursing staff upstairs can help you if need be.”

Deborah grabbed the pass and nodded her thanks. The nurse nodded in return and picked up the phone when it started ringing.

The walk to the elevator and the ride up took seconds, but it felt more like hours. When she arrived on the fifth floor and the doors opened, she walked out into the hall, saw the sign on the wall with an arrow to 504, and went in that direction.

She couldn't believe it had been so long since she last saw her mother. With the cancer eating away at her body, she could no longer function on her own and was stuck to her bed. The last time she had seen her mother was when she and Genevieve had come to visit her at her former facility. The doctors there believed she didn't have much longer to live. Genevieve thought the same and moved her mother into a much more expensive care service after Deborah had come back after the first time she'd left her. Genevieve agreed her mother needed the best care possible. It was also Genevieve's way of controlling her. If she ever thought of leaving Gen again, Gen would take it out on her mother.

When Deborah arrived at her mother's room, she walked inside. The sounds of an oxygen tank filled the dim room, and when Deborah ventured in further, she covered her mouth. Her eyes grew damp as she saw her mother asleep in her bed. She looked so frail and peaceful, as if she was already dead.

“Mommy,” Deborah whispered brokenly, and left her suitcase in the corner, walking over to the side of the bed where she pulled over a chair and sat down. She gazed on the woman she loved more than her own life and a sob left her mouth as she carefully picked up her mother's limp hand and held it to her cheek.

Tears fell down her face and she sniffed loudly, unable to stop her shoulders from shaking as she cried. She swallowed and closed her eyes, her chest heaving. Again she whispered, “Mommy.”

This time her mother's eyelids flickered and a moan left her mouth as she turned her head. When she opened her eyes, she blinked a few times and grimaced.

Deborah kept her mother's hand against her cheek and licked her dry lips. “Mom, do you know who I am?”

A wheeze escaped Cora Whilby. “I think I know who my own child is, even with that getup on. Please tell me that evil woman you married is dead.”

Deborah laughed hoarsely and when her mother lifted up her other hand toward her face, Deborah leaned over and embraced her mother, finally reunited after being separated for so long.

* * * *

“I can't believe you destroyed your beautiful hair. Did you have to make it so dark?” her mother groused as she fingered Deborah's short, prickly hair.

“You know I had to do it. It's the only way I can be certain I'll be safe.” Deborah pointed out as she rubbed a palm over her head. For the last hour her mother not only complained about her hair, but her eye color and the makeup she wore that most likely was damaging her skin.

“You'll never be safe. You know that,” Cora said sadly, looking down at her lap, visibly shaken.

“Oh, Mommy, please don't cry.”

“Don't tell me what I can't do. If I want to cry, I will. Knowing you've been hurt and almost died at that woman's hands, and there was nothing I could do to stop it… oh, Christ.” Cora lifted up a shaking hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.

Deborah squeezed her mother's hand and didn't respond at first. She opened and closed her mouth, taking a deep breath before she spoke. “There's a possibility that could be true, but this is a chance I have to take.”

“Just like you took the chance in marrying that viper, even after I told you she'd be trouble?” Cora coughed into a tissue, her back shaking from the force. Deborah pushed the pillows up higher behind her.

“You're right. Is that what you want to hear? I've paid for my mistake in more ways than one,” Deborah said softly, wiping her cheek even though no tears fell.

Her mother's brow wrinkled and she grabbed Deborah's hands in both of hers. “We've all made mistakes. I know all too well, seeing as what I went through with your father.”

“Are you saying because Dad treated you horribly that I've fallen into the cycle you did?” Deborah asked. Flashes of “arguments” between her father and mother when she was a child popped into her head.

“I can't say,” Cora replied and stared out the window. “I wish I had more time with you.”

Deborah nodded sadly. As soon as she left and hopped on the bus, she might never see her mother alive again. “Let's make the best of what we have now,” she said brightly and gave her mother a happy smile.

Cora watched her closely.

Deborah looked away. “Mom, I know—”

“What time do you have to catch your train?”

“Four. I should leave here around three, at the latest,” Deborah replied and glanced at her suitcase where her ticket lay hidden.

“Well, son, I hope your trip is uneventful. You're planning on going back to that place I told you about?”

Deborah stopped from rolling her eyes over her mother's vagueness. “Mother, we can talk freely here. I don't think the room is bugged even with you-know-who involved. And yes, I'm heading to Woodberry Creek. “

“Good.” Cora nodded. “She won't think of finding you there.”

“I should hope not after all planning I've done. When I arrive in Woodberry Creek, Sharon Wade will be there waiting for me,” Deborah said and shared a smile with her mother. Not only would she be residing in the small town in Pennsylvania her mother grew up in and one Genevieve had no idea about, but she'd picked her new name in honor of her mother's mother, her grandmother Shara, and Wade, her grandfather.

“Did I hear ya say Woodberry Creek?”

Deborah lightly jumped as a loud booming voice echoed in the room. A large, stocky black woman with hair shorter than hers and wearing dark green scrubs walked in carrying a tray.

Her mother smiled at the nurse and coughed again. “You have ears like a hawk, Michelle.”

Michelle snorted and put the covered tray on the table near the bed. She pulled off the plastic cover and the smell of chicken and rice wafted up. “You'd better believe it.” Michelle jutted her chin out toward Deborah. “And who is this handsome young man?”

Deborah did her best not to blush under the scrutinizing stare. She dropped her face down near her chest, mumbling her “name.”

“This is my son, Wade. He's visiting me before he goes back home.”

Michelle fisted her heads on her abundant hips. “Pleasure to meet you. Your mother is a lovely woman, even if she does cheat at Scrabble.”

“I do not!” Cora shouted hoarsely and coughed loudly.

“Mom, calm down.” Deborah remembered to keep her voice low and lightly slapped her mother on the back.

“I-I'm okay,” Cora replied. When she finished her coughing fit, she took her breathing tube out of her nose, picked up a fork, and poked at her food.

“You're from Woodberry Creek? I have family there,” Michelle said as she fluffed one of the pillows behind Cora's back.

“Oh, really?” Deborah asked weakly, wishing Michelle hadn't overheard their conversation.

“Yup. My three brothers live on the border of Woodberry Creek, close to Augusta.”

Cora bit into a roll. “Augusta? In Georgia?”

Michelle gave her a strange look. “Yes, ma'am. The only Woodberry Creek I know of is in the state of Georgia.”

Deborah shared a knowing look with her mother and finally relaxed her shoulders. “I've lived there for almost five years now. Woodberry Creek is a beautiful town.”

“Next time I go visit, I should look you up,” Michelle answered.

“That would be nice,” Deborah responded and spent the next few minutes asking Michelle about her family, making certain to agree with her about the Woodberry Creek in Georgia she had no desire to visit.

When Michelle finally left, Deborah waited until her mother finished her late lunch. Soon Cora's eyes began to drop.

“I love you, Mommy, so very much,” Deborah whispered against her mother's ear as she placed her head on the pillow next to her.

“And I love you, my favorite daughter,” Cora replied to her only daughter, blinking away tears.

Both mother and daughter stared at each other until the elder woman drifted off to sleep. Deborah wanted to leave something tangible behind that belonged to her but didn't want to take the chance.

After saying her final goodbyes to the sleeping woman who did her best in raising her, she kissed her on the cheek and walked away.

No one called out or stopped the young man wearing a blue baseball cap, T-shirt, and jeans, who called a taxi from the pay phone in the lobby. And when the man got into the taxi, he was forgotten; just like one of the many visitors walking in and out the doors of the retirement home for the dying.

Chapter Eight

Deborah sat outside the station waiting for her train to come. Spending the next seventy-two hours on a train wasn't her idea of fun, but then again, being punched in the face and having your mother's life threatened wasn't either.

Taking out the cell phone from her pocket, she flipped it open and thumbed the keyboard. Taking a deep breath, she punched in the number that had been embedded in her head and held the phone against her ear as it rang.

After the third rang, someone picked up. They didn't speak right away and wouldn't until Deborah did.

“Hello, Gilberto,” she said in greeting.

“Hello. How's the baby doing?”

Deborah released a shaky breath upon hearing Gilberto's voice. “The baby is okay. How's your sister's employer?”

“She's upset and won't leave her bed because she's lost someone very dear to her. Right now she's sleeping from the pills the doctor has given her.”

Deborah fisted her hand on her knee. They had decided to use Teresa as code for Genevieve's name to be safe. From what Gilberto told her, Genevieve had learned of her death.

“And when everything is settled, when will you and Teresa take your vacation?”

“As soon as possible. I take it your vacation will be a safe one?”

“Yes. It looks like it will be.” Deborah wanted to know more about Genevieve, but her time was limited since the train had entered the station and passengers were getting on.

“Be very careful, mi amiga querida,” Gilberto warned gently.

Deborah closed her eyes. She'd miss Gilberto and Teresa, the only real friends she had for the past few years. “I will, my friend.” Deborah ended the call.

Getting up from the bench, she grabbed her suitcase and as she walked over to the train that would take her far away, she threw the phone into a nearby garbage can.

She walked onto the train toward her sleeping compartment. This was a start of a new life for her, one where she wouldn't jump at shadows or live in fear every time she might have done something Genevieve thought she did wrong.

From now on Genevieve would no longer consume her every waking thought. Deborah would live for herself and no one else.

* * * *

When she stepped off the train at the Woodberry Creek train station three days later, it was like she'd come home. She hadn't been to the town since her parents had moved to the West Coast before she was born. But hearing her mother's stories of growing up in the small town straight out of the movie The Music Man, she felt as if she'd lived there as well.

No one came to meet her, unlike the other passengers sharing greetings from family and friends who put their luggage into the trunks of their cars and drove away to their respective homes. After staying in the air-conditioned train for so long, Deborah's head ached and her eyes and inside of her nose were dry. The air here was thicker and she felt rank and worn out since she hadn't showered or barely slept. She was still too nervous, or perhaps it was the thrill of being on her own that made her jittery.

A soft summer breeze brushed over her face, that felt like it was going to crack into a thousand pieces. Her makeup had begun to flake off and her fingers were disgusting, with her nails bitten down to the quick. She needed to find a place to spend a few nights, take a nice long shower, and sleep undisturbed before she decided on her next move.

Deborah walked down the stairs where at the bottom the bathrooms awaited her. She glanced around, noticing no one around, and poked her head inside the women's room. The room was empty, with three stalls and two sinks. She went into the first stall and quickly changed. Gone was her masculine wear, replaced with a pair of black capris and a short-sleeved yellow T-shirt. When she exited the stall, she used one of the hotel towels she'd snatched back at the hotel, and used soap to wash away the grime from her face and hands. The water turned murky brown as her makeup fell off her face and down the drain. She rubbed her face almost raw and even went so far as to stick her head under the water to cool off.

Afterward, she took out her contacts and viewed herself in the mirror. Splotches of red covered her face and throat, but for the most part, she hadn't done any permanent damage. The only lasting marks were the scars she had on the right side of her head and a fading black-and-blue near the corner of her mouth, opposite her birthmark. Her lip wasn't swollen any longer and when she poked her stomach, it didn't sting.

“Aren't you one sexy bi-otch, Sharon?” Deborah announced, testing her new name and softly laughed as she pushed out her chest, her nipples poking through as they tended to do at any moment ever since she hit puberty.

The door swung open and a woman walked in holding a toddler. Deborah quickly left with her suitcase.

* * * *

From the bulletin board covered in fliers, Deborah found an advertisement for a small motel within walking distance. Other than a few cars driving by, no one was on the street and the majority of the businesses were closed. But then again, this wasn't a complete surprise since it was close to midnight.

She came upon the quaint one-story ranch-style motel and walked across the gravel parking lot, her eyes drooping and her jaw cracking from a yawn as she noticed the vacant sign hanging over the front door. She walked inside and a bell rang overhead. An older man with a big bushy white beard and a polo shirt with the motel's name over his right breastbone sat behind the front desk.

“Well, hello there, little lady. How may I help you?”

Deborah covered her mouth as she yawned again. “Sorry. I've been on a train for a few days and just got off. Would you have a room available for me?”

The man didn't even look at the computer to see if he had a vacant room. “For you, I have the perfect room. How many nights will you be staying?”

“A week, at least,” Deborah specified.

“Here on vacation?” the man asked as he typed on the computer keyboard.

“I'm visiting friends.” Deborah replied and pulled out a brown leather wallet. “And if it wouldn't be too much of a hassle, I'd like to pay in cash.”

The man's eyebrows matching his beard rose in surprise. Deborah braced herself for the questions at her odd request.

“It's been a while since someone has wanted to pay with cash, but I don't see it being a problem. I'll need to see identification and a credit card for a deposit in case you do charge anything. But don't worry, we won't charge the room to the card,” he added quickly.

Deborah took out her new license and credit card, the only one she had connected to her back account. She shifted from one leg to the other as the man took both cards and entered the information into the computer. After what felt like an hour, he handed back both cards, as well as the hotel card key.

“Your room is 118, right smack in the middle, facing the parking lot. We have a continental breakfast in the morning from seven to ten and the pool is around back. When you finally leave us, you can pay your bill. Do you need help with your luggage?”

“No, thanks. I got it covered. Have a good night,” Deborah said and waved as she left.

She could feel the man's eyes on her back as she walked out but she didn't turn back around. When she got into her room, she glanced over her shoulder, making certain no one watched her. She locked the door and pulled the wooden table near the window, placing it in front of the door. She closed the drapes without bothering to turn on the light.

The bed looked inviting and the slight scent of roses filled the room as she pulled off her sneakers and capris and unhooked her bra. Wearing only her white cotton briefs and T-shirt, she pulled down the covers, sliding under them. The minute she closed her eyes, she fell asleep.

* * * *

There was no reason for Deborah to get out of bed. Her body wouldn't move, even though she needed to pee badly. She wanted to remain huddled under the covers, so cozy, as the air in the room was perfect enough for her to be comfortable. She'd always loved that feeling of being covered in a sheet or blankets with the air on, even during the hottest days of summer. Gen never let her sleep in.

Rolling on her back, she wiped her eyes, trying to erase her wife, or rather her former wife, from her head. She'd been doing so well not thinking of her, but thoughts of Gen would sneak up on her. Her thighs clenched as she thought back to the last time she'd been with Gen in bed. Not only did her head feel like a balloon and her eyes gritty from too much sleep, but she was horny. She'd been depriving her body the release she needed for days. Going from having sex every day, sometimes twice a day, to none at all was wreaking havoc on her, physically and mentally.

Gen, I miss you so much… No! I can't go there…wanting her. She's poison.

Loud banging and muted conversation outside her room made her sit up. The room spun for a moment as Deborah brought it into focus. The light from the slit in the drapes and underneath the door allowed her to see. At least she had the presence of mind to put the Do Not Disturb sign outside her door.

As much as she wanted to stay in her room and sleep, she needed to get up. First a shower, then she'd find something to eat on her way to check her balance in her bank account. Then—she had no clue. Maybe she'd investigate the town, and if she didn't freak herself out with her paranoia, she'd see if there were any apartments or houses she could rent.

A home. Her own to furnish the way she wanted and laze around in all day if she longed to, even naked, with no worry of someone telling her no, or expecting her to act a certain way in the eyes of the help.

Pushing aside the covers, she stretched her arms high above her head, cracking her neck from side to side. Today was her day to do whatever she'd like. Today stood for freedom.

* * * *

Deborah's—or now, Sharon's—official first day of independence had started out well, with a nice hot shower where she masturbated until she came loudly. That helped her relax immensely. But by the time she fixed her flat hair that really needed some sort of mousse or gel, and dressed in another boring plain T-shirt-and-capris ensemble, the headache lurking in back of her head came on full force. Her hunger pains also turned to cramps. All these signs predicted her period. Unfortunately she'd didn't have anything she needed, no pills for her discomfort or tampons to stop the flow that would come in the next few hours, judging by the spotting she found in her underwear.

Upon opening her door, the bright sun blinded her, making her headache even worse than it already was. At least she had her sunglasses to block the light. She needed pills to numb the pain, tampons, caffeine, and some sort of sustenance before she started gnawing on her nails again.

The sight of Woodberry Creek in the daylight was very different from when she'd first arrived. The street in front of her bustled with cars and people. The stores were open and the smell of baked pastries called out to her. Maybe she would go up to the front desk and ask for a map or advice on where to go.

Aha! She spotted a drugstore called Meede's on the corner to her right. She patted down her pockets where her wallet and hotel room key were, and started walking that way.

The walk took her less than ten minutes and when she opened the door, a bell rang. What's with this town and bells? Shaking her head, she glanced up at the signs above the aisles to find what she wanted. First she grabbed a bottle of Midol, then went in search of her favorite brand of tampons.

Seeing she was all alone, she opened the Midol bottle, and quickly swallowed three of the blue pills without water. Yellow-black dots had appeared in front of her eyes, warning a migraine was imminent unless she took the pills. She'd also buy a hot water bottle while she was there, just in case her cramps became too much.

There were too many brands of tampons to count—all except the ones she wanted. “How can they not have the tampons I like?” Deborah muttered irritably, and as she leaned down to pick up a box of tampons on sale, a breezy female voice spoke beside her.

“You know, you shouldn't bend over like that. You might pull your back. I also recommend Meede's tampons over the ones you're picking. The ones you're about to choose can be too bulky, if you catch my meaning.”

Deborah stood up too fast, wincing as a pain shot down her spine. She arched her back for a moment, holding the box she was going to buy along with the bottle of pills that fell out of her hand and dropped to the ground. The blue tablets puddled over the floor.

“Great.” Deborah rubbed her palm over her face and started to kneel down when a hand landed on her arm. She sprang away from the touch.

“Sorry about that. I didn't mean to intrude on your personal space. Stay where you are. I'll clean this up.”

The woman sat down on her heels and picked up the pills. Deborah couldn't see her, face and only the top of her head encircled in different shades of blinding red curls.

She almost started to walk away, but then the woman, who came a few inches past her chin, smiled ruefully and held out the bottle. Deborah quickly scanned the petite, close-to-plump woman wearing a short denim skirt and a sleeveless white button-down shirt with matching white sandals displaying her magenta-colored toes.

“Um, thanks,” Deborah said hesitantly, trying her best not to touch the woman as she took back the bottle. The woman with the bright red hair gave her a big smile, her lips too wide for her face. Deborah wouldn't say she was attractive—perhaps passingly pretty at the most, with very noticeable curves in all the right places.

“Don't worry about the spill. Timmy won't chase you away for making a mess.”

“Timmy?” Deborah asked carefully.

“Timmy's the owner. He just took over the business since his father just retired. Meede's been here since the beginnings of the town back in the late nineteenth century,” the chatterbox broadcasted with great enthusiasm.

“Are you an employee here?” All Deborah wanted to do was buy her medicine and her tampons and leave.

The annoyingly cheery woman laughed loudly and shook her head. “I haven't worked here since high school. I'm a teacher at the elementary school.” The woman held out her hand. “I'm Bridgette Woodberry.”

Deborah didn't talk the hand offered to her and held the tampon box against her chest. “Your last name is the same as the town's.”

“Yes, it is. My family founded Woodberry Creek.”

“That's nice. Anyway, I have to buy this.” Deborah waved the box. When Bridgette took a step closer, Deborah backed away. “B-bye,” she said quickly and walked as fast she could to the register.

What a freak! What type of person advises strange women on what type of tampons they should buy? Thankfully she didn't have to stand in line and as she paid, she expected the strange, bubbly woman to come up behind her and start talking to her. She never did, and when Deborah took her purchases, she looked over her shoulder to see if she was being followed.

Bridgette's hands moved animatedly as she talked with a man behind the counter of the pharmacy. When the redhead shifted to the side and rested her hip against the counter, half facing the front of the store, Deborah jolted out the door, almost bumping into a group of teenagers, and ran back to her hotel room as fast as she could.

Later on she'd blame her reaction on her headache and cramping. And not because she'd been helped by a woman who had the sweetest smile and the kindest eyes she ever seen.

Chapter Nine

The interaction with the overly friendly redhead shook Deborah so much that she stayed in her room for the remainder of the day. She flipped through the phone book and ordered a pizza. It had been so long since she'd eaten pizza that when it finally came she ate more than half of it, vegging out on the bed and watching television, going as far as ordering a few movies until she fell asleep.

The next time she woke up, her cramps had lessened considerably and she actually felt rested and not as anxious as the day before. She took another shower, trying her best to style her hair, wishing she bought styling gel when she'd gone to the drugstore. Maybe after she talked to a real-estate agent, she'd go back to Meede's.

But what if the redhead was there again?

Pushing her thoughts away from the strange woman with the soothing eyes and outgoing smile, Deborah left her room to face the world again.

It was another sunny day and the street she walked down was busy with activity again. She tried to hide her discomfort and acted carefree, much like most of the people who called out greetings to her. She was so used to people rushing by without a glance that the friendly residents in Woodberry Creek freaked her out.

When she found a café with sign in the front window offering Internet access, she went in. She bought herself a large coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, purposely ignoring the yogurt and fruit plate on display, and sat down in front of a computer where she bought a half hour of online time.

She brought up the Las Vegas Sun newspaper and went back into the archives from the past week to see if she could locate any information about her death.

It took her most of the half hour to find anything. On the third page in the early-morning Sunday edition, there was a short article about a possible drowning in the river. A black Mercedes Coupe was found five miles down the river, and the unnamed woman driving the car hadn't been found yet. The police believed the woman might have been unstable when she took off without her driver, who reported the woman and the car missing. Upon further investigation, a suicide note was left for the woman's wife. The case was still open as authorities searched the river for a body. There was no mention of Genevieve anywhere in the article. But then again, Genevieve knew people in positions of power and could pay them off to keep her name out of the paper.

When the time began to blink at the bottom of the screen, she walked away. Since she only had a few dollars left in her pocket and didn't want to use her bank card without stopping at the bank first, she left to happy farewells from the café staff. She was becoming accustomed to the cheerful townspeople, she thought, as she went the short distance to the bank.

The same type of welcome waited for her there even though she was only using the ATM. Brushing aside the help of one of the representatives, she went over to a vacant ATM and slid her card into the slot. When her balance came up, her eyes went wide, still in disbelief at how much was in her account. She took out one lump sum to carry her over for the next few weeks.

With her cash in tow, she mentally checked off the next item on her list: finding a place to stay. She asked one of the bank tellers for a reputable real-estate agent in town. The assistant manager was more than willing to advise her to go to Woodberry Reality, run by the mayor's sister. Deborah couldn't help but wonder if Woodberry Creek was so small that everyone was related to one another.

As she walked toward the three-story brick building around the corner, she suddenly felt very lonely, wishing her mother could be here with her. Her mom would have gotten a kick out of looking at homes with her.

By the time Deborah reached the building with the Woodberry Realty sign in big gold lettering above the door, she'd lost all her excitement and wanted to go back to bed for the rest of the day. Before she could do just that, a woman wearing a striking white suit and matching heels, holding a binder and a cell phone up to her ear, got out of a silver Lexus she parked in front of the building.

“Thanks, Todd, I see her now.” She finished the call and smiled brightly at her. “Why, hello! You must be the young lady interested in buying something in the area. I can help you with that.”

“Actually, rent,” Deborah replied automatically and hugged herself, confused that this professional-looking woman knew about her situation. “How did you know I was on my way over here?”

“You were just at First National asking about real-estate agents in the area, correct? The manager you talked to is one of my cousins.”

“Are you all related to one another here?” Deborah asked, not caring if she sounded rude or not.

The woman didn't seem to notice, or care, as she nodded. “All it takes is to bump into one of the natives here and they'll tell you they're so-and-so's brother, cousin, uncle, and so forth.”

“How…nice,” Deborah replied with a weak smile and did her best not to be taken aback by the woman's loud, almost obnoxious laugh.

“You're definitely in for a culture shock, since Woodberry Creek is the type of place to welcome anyone and treat them like family. You must come from a big city where everyone is in a rush and don't have time to even say good morning or ask how your day was.”

Deborah shrugged and pulled on the back of her hair. “Maybe this isn't a good idea. I just arrived in town and I'm—”

“Dear, if I let you go, you'll just go back to your hotel room or wherever you're staying and sit there all alone watching bad Pay-Per-View movies and ordering takeout. Why not come inside with me where we can chat?”

Deborah flinched from hearing “dear”—that word she hoped she'd never hear someone call her again—and from the way this woman knew what Deborah planned to do if she walked away.

“Are you sure you're just a housing agent and not a psychiatrist?” Deborah asked half jokingly, half seriously. The woman responded with a loud laugh again.

“You'd be surprised by how insightful I can be after twenty years in this business.” The woman held out her hand for Deborah to shake. “I guess before we go any further, I should introduce myself. My name is Sandra Woodberry and I'll be more than happy to be your real-estate agent.”

Deborah almost backed into the window, startled by hearing her last name. “Woodberry? You're not related to—”

“Honey, I'm related to everyone. My family founded the town.”

Deborah bit the inside of her cheek. She wanted to ask Sandra if she was related to the bouncy woman she'd met in the drugstore.

“I'm…I'm Sharon. I think I've met some of your family members already.” Deborah said nonchalantly and did her best not to cringe when Sandra lightly took hold of her elbow.

“That shouldn't come as a surprise since there's more than one hundred of us Woodberrys living here. Why don't you come in like I said before and have a cup of coffee? I can tell you about some of my wacky relatives while you tell what you're looking for in a home.”

There was no way she could get out of this now without making a scene, which was the last thing she wanted to do. Instead, when Sandra unlocked the door, she walked inside and told her she'd like her coffee light and sweet.

* * * *

By the time Deborah had finished her coffee and Sandra, who preferred to be called Sandy, went over her housing needs, it was if a weight had been lifted away.

Sandy didn't waste any time and told Deborah about four properties that would suit her and ones she could show her today. Deborah didn't have any excuse not to go, so off they went. Sandra also gave her the nickel tour, as she called it, by driving around town and pointing out certain areas such as the commons in the middle of town where people picnicked, listened to free music on the weekends or where children played in the playground. Deborah saw the high school, all the key buildings such as the police station and fire station, and even went so far as to show off the mayor's house. Deborah couldn't help but admire it.

The tour ended as soon as Sandy parked in front of an apartment building where the first three places she wanted to show Deborah were located. Other than one apartment looking more like a loft and the other two having different dimensions and a floor plan, nothing about them called out “home” to her.

“These apartments haven't impressed you,” Sandy stated as she and Deborah walked over to the car.

Deborah shrugged. “They were all very nice and in the price range I'm looking for, but I'd rather live in a place with more space, like a house. Didn't you say the fourth property is a house?”

Sandy nodded as she unlocked her car. “Yes, I did. It may be too big for a single woman like yourself, unless you're thinking of starting a family in the future.”

Deborah never mentioned if she was single or otherwise and allowed Sandy to think what she wanted. “Would it be all right if we looked at it?”

“Of course,” Sandy replied with a big smile that had Deborah giving her one in return.

Less than ten minutes later, Deborah found herself on a residential street in front of a white two-story house with a nicely sized, newly mowed front lawn and a wooden porch with two rocking chairs in the right corner. The roof looked like it needed some work and the outside could use a new coat of paint, but otherwise Deborah couldn't find any other faults with it.

“The house has been vacant for almost a year. The landlord is more than willing to stay on top of the upkeep, as you can see from the lawn. I can promise you the inside has no big issues.” Sandy jangled her keys as Deborah followed her up the steps.

She unlocked the front door and motioned Deborah to go inside first. A sneeze escaped Deborah as dust flew up her nose. She sniffed and sneezed again, turning her head toward the beautiful stained glass window near the staircase leading up to the second landing.

Home.

Deborah barely listened as Sandy talked about the house as she walked from room to room. White sheets covered the furniture, and the walls had wonderful woodwork. She caressed one of the pillars near the kitchen and a pleasant warmth built low in her stomach. The kitchen had white cabinets and peach-colored walls, much like the ones she had grown up with. The upstairs had two bedrooms. The master bedroom faced the street while the other one overlooked the backyard surrounded by a wooden fence. The bathroom matched the décor of the kitchen and to Deborah's surprise had a sunken bathtub.

“I'll take it,” Deborah announced in the middle of Sandy's speech about the former renters.

Sandy stopped speaking and tapped her red-painted fingernails against the folder she held. “This may sound strange, but it's like the house has been waiting for you to arrive.”

Deborah wiped her hand across the sink and glanced around the small bathroom, a smile hovering over her mouth. “I've…I've never been on my own before,” she admitted quietly.

Sandy gave her a sympathetic look and patted Deborah's back. Deborah shifted to the side and rocked on her heels. “When can I move in?”

“The owner is very flexible and anxious for someone to move in. I don't see why you can't have the keys by Sunday, or Monday the latest. All I need is a three-month deposit and signing a lease for six months.”

Deborah calculated the cost in her head. Six months would work perfectly for her in case she had to leave suddenly if Genevieve—

Stop thinking about her!

“Sharon?” Sandy asked in concern and touched her shoulder.

This time Deborah didn't flinch from her touch. “Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts for a moment there. The deposit and lease shouldn't be a problem. Also, would it be too much of a problem if I met the owner and asked them any questions I might have?”

“The owner would love to answer any questions you have.” Sandy's lips twitched in humor.

Deborah walked out into the hall and started down the stairs. “Why do I have the feeling you going to tell me the owner is one of your relatives?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Actually, the owner is me,” Sandy replied.

Deborah stopped mid-step and started laughing. Sandy joined in and afterward they sat at the kitchen table and went over paperwork and contracts Deborah would sign.

* * * *

Renting a house was the third biggest decision Deborah ever made. The second was becoming a nurse, and the first was marrying Gen. Deborah was the type who always thought long and hard before doing something so drastic, but her failed marriage had been the exception. The moment Gen had kissed her outside her dying mother's room, one month after she started working for her, she'd wanted Gen and didn't think of the consequences.

How was she to know by doing just that, she'd be the one damaged in the process? But she'd survived, even with both physical and internal bruises. Now she was in middle of her new home that was all hers for the next six months. Since she'd never rented a property before, she thought it would be more difficult, expecting Sandy to run an intense background check. But she didn't, and even bypassed a few other steps when Deborah said she was trying to start over again after going through a bad relationship, and that she didn't want to be found. Sandy didn't even bat an eyelash, and the only thing she expected from Deborah was the money up front. In less than forty-eight hours, Deborah had the keys.

Grabbing her suitcase, Deborah climbed the stairs and walked into the bedroom. Instead of putting her things away in the drawers or closet, she pushed aside the curtains and opened both windows. The smell of freshly cut grass and a warm breeze entered the room. A dog barked somewhere in the vicinity and she smiled at the thought of possibly owning her own dog.

“I can't believe I'm standing in my own house!” Deborah covered her mouth and squealed against her palms. She may just be renting, and the house wasn't in her name, but it was good enough for her.

Mom would love it here. Deborah sat down on the bed, dust floating up around her as she thought about her mother, and how she wished she could send for her, but couldn't because of the danger. If only she could make one phone call to make certain her Mom was still alive and Gen hadn't gotten to her—

Ding dong.

Deborah jumped up from the bed and peeked outside the window. A white truck parked in front of her house. Her mattress had finally arrived! Clapping softly, she ran out of the room to welcome the men in.

Tonight she'd be sleeping in her own bed all by herself and wouldn't have to share it with anyone else.

Chapter Ten

Deborah put the rest of the glasses and dishes away in her newly cleaned kitchen. After her mattress had been brought in, she spent most of the morning cleaning and setting up the kitchen. She was grimy and sweaty, but didn't care. Next she'd tackle the bathroom. After she was done in there, she would reward herself with a nice soak in the tub.

“There are just not enough hours in the day,” Deborah grumbled as she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. The breeze through the window over the sink didn't do much to cool her. If she still had her long hair instead of her short cut, she'd be sweltering by now. With another swipe over her forehead and a back bend, she grabbed her bucket full of dirty, murky water and carried it outside near the back where she threw it onto the grass. She fisted her hands on her hips as she looked up at the sky. A few white puffy clouds floated by. Breathing in deeply, Deborah stepped off the rickety steps and scuffed her sneaker in a crack as she thought over the various cleaning supplies she would need. The process of cleaning the house would take days, if not an entire week. When Sandy said she'd have a cleaning crew come in, Deborah shot that idea down. She wanted to do the cleaning by herself—needed to do it.

Deborah snorted silently at the amount of cleaning she still had to tackle and went over to the garage shed-type structure she couldn't wait to paint. She lifted up on her toes to look through the darkened, dusty windows. Patting her pockets for the keys, she groaned, only just realizing she left them on the kitchen counter. Turning around to go back into the house, she froze when she heard an angry growl.

Less than five feet in front of her a black Rottweiler, with its ears back and nostrils flaring, snarled at her. Deborah took a step back with her hands out in front as the rabid-looking dog stalked her. When her back met the garage door, a whimper left her mouth.

“Ni-nice doggy. Where'd you come from?” she asked the creature in a soothing voice to not upset it any more.

The dog let out a sharp bark and scurried over to her. Its nose brushed over the top of her thighs, venturing toward her crotch.

“Hey!” Deborah yelped as the dog molested her. She was ready to make a run for it, but the fear of being mauled and having her head torn off froze her in her tracks.

The dog barked again, and when it landed back on its haunches, it released a low rumble from deep within in its mouth.

“Help me.” Deborah's throat closed up and she closed her eyes, praying the demon dog would get bored and leave.

“Rotquel! Get over here now!”

Rotquel? What the…Deborah opened one eye as the dog lifted its head upon hearing the voice. Its tongue flapped out of its mouth as it trotted over to a woman standing in middle of the driveway.

Deborah's legs trembled and she slid down on her butt as she waited for her racing heart to calm down. Not only was she completely covered in sweat, but her bladder was begging her to empty it.

“Good girl.” The woman with the bright red hair whom Deborah had met days ago in the drugstore, knelt down and gave the evil dog a hug. Her hair, Deborah noticed, was now in a more subdued braid.

When Deborah finally caught her breath, she rested her arms over her knees and glared at the duo, who continued to ignore her. “I thought dogs like that needed to be on a leash. That dog gave me the scare of my life.”

The woman—Bridgette stood up and patted her demon dog on the head. The creature lifted her leg and licked at a spot that had Deborah turning away from in disgust.

“I'm sorry about Rotquel frightening you. She got away from me, a first for her since she's always by my side when we go for our midday run.” Bridgette came up to Deborah and blocked the sun, holding out her hand for her to take. “I guess she wanted to meet our new neighbor.”

Deborah got up without her help. She wiped off her butt and did a quick scan of Bridgette, who wore running sneakers, gray cotton shorts, and a well-worn T-shirt. Her face was red, a healthy glow. Deborah bit her tongue, surprised her neighbor ran, seeing as she had too many curves to be considered athletically fit—

Wait. They were neighbors?

“Did I hear you right? You're my neighbor?” Deborah asked, eyeing the dog called Rotquel. I must be hearing things. It has to be the heat.

“Yup.” Bridgette smiled broadly and finally lowered her hand, not looking out of joint at Deborah for not taking it. “I live in the house right across from yours. My Aunt Sandy found you your new place.” Bridgette motioned around them.

“Are you kidding me? You two are related?” Deborah asked in surprise.

“Yup again. You'll be tripping over Woodberrys soon enough. You'll eventually meet my brothers, parents, and rest of the clan,” Bridgette said proudly, jutting out her chest.

Deborah took a quick peek at Bridgette's chest, then back up at her face. Bridgette's smile grew and she glanced down at her T-shirt, much the same as Deborah did to her. Her cheeks grew warm and when she crossed her arms, her nipples poked out.

“Must be nice to have such a…big family,” Deborah mumbled and brushed a hand over her damp head. “Listen, I'm pretty busy right now—”

“Woof!”

Deborah backed away when Bridgette's dog from hell tried moving in between them.

“Rotquel, heel,” Bridgette ordered and the dog did as she was told.

“What did you call her? Rockette, like the dancers in Manhattan?”

Bridgette placed her hands on her hips and chuckled. “It's Rotquel. I've had her for five years. At first she was named Raquel, but then my brother Bryan though he'd be funny and started calling her Rotquel because she's a Rottweiler. It stuck. Rotquel hasn't answered to anything else in years. Right, girl?” Bridgette patted the top of Rotquel's head and was rewarded with a loud bark and a swipe across her hand with a tongue.

“I'm surprised you don't keep hand sanitizer with you at all times, seeing as your dog has the unsanitary habit of licking your flesh—I mean skin.” Deborah swiftly corrected herself. Bridgette had more than enough abundant flesh she couldn't stop eyeing.

Bridgette released a girlish laugh and titled her head. “That's quite a sense of humor you got there.”

“Glad you think I'm funny. I can't crack a joke to save my life,” Deborah admitted.

“Who told you that?” Bridgette's expression turned into a more inquisitive one.

Not going there. “There are too many people to list.” Deborah said lightly, although only one had ever criticized her.

“If you say so.”

Deborah wiped her arm over her forehead, feeling like she had been in a sauna, while Bridgette acted as if she wasn't bothered by the humidity in the least.

“Before I forget, I should apologize for what I did to you at the drugstore the other day. It was rude of me and I didn't think before I spoke. That's one of the quirks I have,” Bridgette confessed as she pushed a few stray hairs behind her ears.

“There's no need for you to feel bad. I was cranky because of, well, you know. And where I moved from, not too many people go out of their way to be as helpful as you were,” Deborah said and lowered her arms to her sides. She glanced down at her feet as Bridgette stared too closely at her.

“That's a relief! I'd hate to think you would be upset with me.” Bridgette lowered her voice. “I just admitted another unfortunate quirk about me.”

What is with her and her quirks? Deborah found herself moving in closer and when Bridgette's tongue came out and swiped over her bottom lip, Deborah's nipples twitched. She moved back and shook her head. “I take it when you mean quirk, you mean a fault?”

Bridgette nodded her head. “Exactly. I hate saying someone has a fault. It sounds so harsh. Saying I have a quirk sounds kinder, don't you think?”

Deborah found herself speechless. Bridgette's seemingly sunny disposition and naivete was both refreshing and, in a way, disturbing to Deborah. When was the last time she met someone so open and honest without wanting anything in return?

“Either you don't know what to make of me or the heat has stolen your speech. I'd like to think it's the humidity and not my quaint personality.” Bridgette tapped her chin as she began to scrutinize her again.

Deborah opened her mouth to ask what Bridgette's deal was with her constant staring when Bridgette tugged on the collar of her shirt and fanned her face with her hand. “Jeez, it sure is hot today. I bet you don't even have a fan or air conditioner hooked up yet. My house is nice and cool. Why don't you take a break from moving in and come over to my house for some homemade lemon meringue pie and lemonade? I used the lemons straight from the tree in my backyard,” Bridge whispered, as if she was sharing a secret. “I'll have you know my pie has won the country fair three years straight.”

When Rotquel lifted her head and whimpered, Bridgette got down on one knee and pressed her face against the side of her dog, giving Deborah a pout. “See, even Rotquel wants you to come over and see her home. I promise you she won't attack you again or give you unhygienic doggy kisses. She may try to swipe a slice of your pie off your plate, but I have treats available to keep her happy.”

Deborah blinked as Bridgett finally took in a deep breath at the end of her long dialogue. Rubbing the back of her head, she shifted from one foot to the other. I really shouldn't—but what would be the harm in sharing lemonade and pie with this exceedingly kind-hearted woman?

“I suppose I can take a short break. It wouldn't help if I passed out from the heat since I've been so busy cleaning.”

Bridgette got to her feet and lightly clapped. “Great. Follow me.”

“Wait a minute,” Deborah said to Bridgette's back as she started to walk away.

“Yes?” Bridgette stopped and twisted to look back at her.

“I must smell rank and should wash up first. Plus I need to lock up the house.”

“I just ran for forty minutes, so you can only imagine what I must smell like. Also, there's no need for you to lock up anything. We're only going across the street.”

“Um, where I come from—”

“Sharon, you're in Woodberry Creek now. There's no need to worry someone might sneak into your house and steal your things. It's okay. Trust me.”

“All right,” Deborah conceded. As they walked to the end of the driveway, Deborah almost tripped when she came to the unpleasant conclusion about something. A nervous fluttering in her stomach grew and she almost turned and ran back into her house regardless if she was overheated or not. “I never told you my name.”

Bridgette lips twitched and she winked. “Let's just I have my ways. I'm too nosy for my own good sometimes.”

“Another quirk of yours?” Deborah asked, wondering what else Bridgette might know about her. Maybe it was better if she took more caution where this adorable redhead was concerned.

“Yup,” Bridgette responded happily. “I'll explain everything while we eat so you don't think I'm a stalker.”

Deborah continued walking, anxious to learn what she could about Bridgette Woodberry in case Bridgette's inquisitive nature got out of hand and Deborah would have to look elsewhere to live—and to hide.

Chapter Eleven

Bridgette knew as soon as Sharon had taken a bite of her lemon meringue pie that she'd want another. Sharon didn't disappoint, and after taking a long sip of her lemonade, she shyly asked for another small piece.

Bridgette planned on giving Sharon the rest of the pie as a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. And the hungry way Sharon are her slice, as if she hadn't eaten anything so tasty in such a long time, made Bridgette want to cook something more substantial for her.

Sharon also gave off a vibe, more like a flashing signal that said do not touch.

Perhaps it was the white skin of her left tanned ring finger that led her to believe Sharon had just ended her marriage. Bridgette knew from experience with the married men who'd hit on her, and their ring finger sans the wedding ring they slipped off in the hopes of getting laid. As if she would ever date a married man, or even a single man for that matter. At least the women she'd gone out with were honest with what they wanted from her and didn't need to lie about someone waiting for them at home.

“You're staring at me,” Sharon pointed out as she patted her mouth with a paper napkin and looked around the room, barely meeting her eye.

Bridgette had a bad habit of staring at people to the point they grew uncomfortable. She loved watching the angles of faces and the slope of a person's shoulders, especially a woman like Sharon, who had wonderful shoulders, but with a collarbone too thin from the way her clavicle bone stuck out.

“Sorry,” Bridgette said and shrugged, finishing off her slice and reaching down to give Rotquel a pat on the head. Rotquel rested her chin on her knee as she wagged her tail. “I guess you could say it's one of my—”

“Quirks?” Sharon lifted an eyebrow and lifted her hands as if she was going to pull back her hair. She stopped when she met the sides of her head and dropped them back on the table.

“You could say that.” Bridgette smiled lightly. “I love watching people, mainly their faces. I'm an artist and my specialty is drawing and painting portraits.”

“I had a suspicion you had some artistic ability from the décor of your house and the home made stenciling on the walls here.” Sharon indicated the intricate leafy design Bridgette painted that really brought excitement and flavor into the room.

“I'm glad you noticed. The first thing I painted was the kitchen, with my own personal flair,” Bridgette replied, pleased. “Do you enjoy painting?”

Deborah blinked a few times before responding. “I guess you could say that. I-I'm a freelance graphic artist and create websites for people and businesses. I do all my work from home.”

A warm fuzzy feeling filled Bridgette's stomach. A fellow artist. What a happy coincidence! She's modest about it. How cute. “That's lovely! Maybe we can compare our work sometime. I wish I could draw and paint full time, but it's nearly not enough income. I work as a first-grade schoolteacher to pay the bills.”

Sharon mumbled a response Bridgette couldn't catch. She gave Rotquel a piece of her leftover pie crust. Rotquel gulped it down and left her lap to walk over to Sharon.

Sharon watched Rotquel carefully and looked ready to vault up from her chair when Rotquel sniffed her arm, then laid her chin on her knee. Bridgette was about to order Rotquel to go lie down someplace else, but Sharon surprised her by petting her gently. Rotquel responded by thumping her tail on the floor and releasing a content exhale.

“Rotquel may seem scary at first, but she's a friendly girl and loves people. You've made quiet the impression on her.” And on me, with your haunting eyes and badly cut short hair. What has happened to you? She continued to view Sharon covertly, ignoring the need to wrap her arms around her new neighbor and promise her everything would be alright.

“I've never been around many dogs before so I panicked.” Sharon looked away from Rotquel and back at Bridgette, meeting her eyes for a beat, then glancing down at the table. “I've jumped at shadows too many times,” she said softly.

“I found out your name from my Aunt Sandy,” Bridgette blurted out, trying to put Sharon more at ease. She'd hate to think Sharon wanted to keep her distance from her because she was prying. From the moment she first met Sharon at Meede's, she wanted to know more about her. It had been so long since a woman had made such an impression.

Sharon smiled, swiping a finger across her plate and pushing her finger in her mouth to suck away the leftover cream. Bridgette swallowed over Sharon's seemingly innocent yet seductive action. Sweat trickled down her back and she quickly crossed one leg over the other to stop the release of liquid from her pussy dripping down her leg.

“I figured that out. You remind me of your aunt,” Sharon said.

“Because she asks a million questions and won't give up until she gets what she wants?”

Sharon laughed and rested her arms on the table. Rotquel moved away from her lap and left the room. “In that sense, yes. But she was also very kind and considerate to me.”

When Sharon gave her another timid smile, the heat building in between Bridgette's thighs continued to grow.

“This may sound as if I'm tooting my own horn, but I go out of my way to make others feel like they belong. Most of my family is like that. Actually, everyone in Woodberry Creek is very sweet. Once you're a resident here, you're considered family.”

“I feel as if I walked into another time. I'm expecting a horse and carriage to drive down the street and men to tip their hats saying, ‘Good morning, neighbor!’”

“Where you moved from isn't as friendly?” Bridgette asked as she got up from the table and grabbed their empty plates.

“Not really. The people are more superficial and keep to themselves. My Mom told me when she lived in Woodberry—”

Bridgette turned away from the sink when Sharon stopped speaking. Her eyes were closed and she was shaking her head. Her hands were also clenched on the table.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bridgette asked and gently patted Sharon's shoulder.

Sharon flinched, but didn't push Bridgette's hand away, and opened her eyes. “Don't mind me. I kind of have that same quirk you have where I don't think before I speak.”

Bridgette found Sharon's explanation odd, but let it pass. Apparently she didn't want her to know her mother had lived in Woodberry Creek.

“It happens, Sharon. Do you prefer Sharon or do you go by some other nickname? My brother, Bryan, he's a lieutenant here in Woodberry, loves calling me Red. My younger brother, Preston, who's away at college, calls me Ridge. When he was little he couldn't say the letter B correctly and could only say Ridgette. Soon he shortened it to Ridge.”

Deborah glanced out the kitchen window. “I've had some nicknames, but they never stuck for long or they've sounded too silly. Someone once close to me had her own pet nickname for me, but I hated it. I guess there's not much you can do with the name of Sharon.” She shrugged and looked back up at her.

Bridgette pulled her hand away, not realizing she'd left it on top of Sharon's shoulder for so long. At least some progress had been made between them, and Sharon didn't act uncomfortable by her touch. Bridgette went back to the sink to put the dishes away, the question on the tip of her tongue about who the person was and the nickname given to Sharon, when her eyes caught the flier hanging up on her refrigerator door.

“You do know that all new residents must take a day to meet all the townspeople. It's an unwritten rule here in Woodberry Creek.” Bridgette purposely made her voice light as not to make Deborah think what she was saying was fact. She grabbed the flier and put it on the table. Sharon picked it up and scanned the page.

“Oh, really? I wasn't made aware that it's expected of me to go to the Fourth of July town barbeque and dance this weekend,” Deborah said, her voice just as airy as hers.

Bridgette lifted her shoulders back and titled up her chin to give Sharon a haughty stare. “Why, yes, my good woman, you must attend. The day is filled with craft tables, amazing sidewalks sales, and enough food to have you rolling down the street from the amount you scarf down. Before the fireworks display there's dancing in the town square. It's all a real hoot.”

“A hoot?” Sharon's lips trembled as if she held back her laughter. Bridgette didn't care and giggled. Sharon finally released her own. The kitchen filled with their joy and Bridgette longed to wrap her arms around Sharon and give her a big hug—and a kiss to see if she tasted as sweet as Bridgette believed.

When Sharon stopped laughing, she stood up from her chair. Bridgette tilted her face back, wishing she was a few inches taller, so her mouth would be in perfect alignment with Sharon's. But a part of her didn't mind being so petite because then Sharon could pull her in a tight embrace. She'd lift up on her toes, pressing a kiss to her jaw and moving up higher until her lips met Sharon's and their tongues found one another until she was backed against the kitchen wall, her shirt riding up and Sharon's hands cupping her breasts—

“Bridgette?”

Bridgette blinked as Sharon waved a hand in front of her face. Bridgette palmed her heated cheeks and found herself rubbing her thighs together, turned on by her sudden fantasy. How embarrassing!

“Sorry, I zoned out for a moment there. Busy thinking about all that cotton candy I can't wait to eat on Saturday.” She gave Sharon a light punch on her arm to release of the tension.

Bridgette exhaled slowly when Sharon's lips twitched in humor, seemingly unaware of the brief erotic daydream Bridgette had been lost in.

“I should get back to my house. I have so much to do before it gets dark. I have plans to clean my bathroom so I can soak in the tub.”

“A bath would be nice,” Bridgette said lamely, a vision of a wet, naked Sharon rubbing a sponge over her breasts, and those nipples of hers that stayed in hard points from the moment she entered her house. In the future—possibly the very near future, when Sharon was more at ease and could trust her, she'd have them in her mouth to nibble on.

“Yes, it would,” Sharon said softly and took a step back. “Thanks so much for the afternoon snack. Maybe I'll see you around.”

Bridgette followed Sharon to the front door. Rotquel jumped up from the couch and came over to sniff Sharon's hand.

“We'll see each other Saturday at the barbeque. I can always stop over and see if you're free. We can go over together.” Bridgette hoped she didn't sound too needy.

Sharon scratched Rotquel around the ears. “Maybe, if I'm not too busy,” she said and with a wave, opened the door and walked out.

Bridgette gave Rotquel a light pat on her head. She watched as Sharon crossed the street and disappeared into the back of her house. The wind had picked up and gray clouds were forming in the sky, a sign of rain to come later in the day.

She closed her door and leaned back against it as she fanned her face, even though it was cool from the central air. She hoped the storm wasn't a sign of things to come in the newly formed friendship she hoped would turn into something more between her and the cautious Sharon Wade.

* * * *

By the time Deborah finished cleaning the bathroom and ate her small dinner of peanut butter and jelly, she was exhausted. Afraid she'd fall asleep in the bath, she took a shower and fell into bed just as the rain started. Her eyes drifted closed as the rain pounded on the roof. Along with the fan moving above her head and the breeze coming in from the open window, she wasn't hot in the least, although the creaking of the house and her overactive imagination had her opening her eyes and listening for anyone who tried to break in. A few times she sat up and crawled over to the end of the bed to look out the window. No suspicious cars or unmarked vans were parked out front.

She settled back down and a flash of lightning lit up the room.

Maybe I should get a dog to protect me?

Deborah rolled onto her back as she thought about Rotquel, glad she'd been mistaken about the dog. She no longer thought of her as a demon, but more as an angel, just like her owner.

Bridgette's sparkling face popped up in Deborah's head and she spread her legs apart. Her white tank top rode up until her stomach was uncovered and she circled a finger around her belly button. Her lips lifted and she moaned as her fingers tickled her stomach, moving down to her navel and under the waistband of her bikini briefs.

Her once-waxed mound had become bushier since she ran away. She fingered her curls, a damp musk forming over them. Getting waxed had been more of a punishment than a pleasure, one she'd never do again since she had been the one who forced her to do it.

From now on Deborah would never think of her former wife by a name again. That silent rebellion made her slicker as she circled her pussy and found her clit.

“Yes,” she hissed and arched her back as her finger went in knuckle deep. She rocked her hips as she cupped her mound, moving her finger back and forth. She moved her other hand under her shirt and pulled on her nipple. Her pussy clenched around her finger from the tugging and she let out mewls as she rocked, wishing a tongue lapped over her to help her come.

The loud boom of thunder covered her loud cries as she pushed a second finger in to join her first. She bit down on her lip hard, almost close to the end, but still not there.

“Bridgette…” Deborah whispered in yearning, and she flexed her feet and stiffened as her come flowed down her inner thighs. With one last hard rub over her clit, she flew high, her eyes going blind from the bright spots appearing in front of them.

Her harsh panting filled the room as she took her hand away from her cunt and played with her breasts. The scent of her release drifted up toward her face. She licked her bruised lip, wanting to taste a woman's musk—Bridgette's desire and come all over her face.

Shudders soon overtook Deborah's body as she pressed her face into her pillow and silently cried, wishing she had a pair of arms around her. She was so lonely and hated it. Eventually she drifted off to sleep as the rain continued to fall from the sky—only to wake up screaming and drenched in sweat to a nightmare in which a shadowy being stabbed her in her throat with a knife until her head was hacked away from her shoulders.

Chapter Twelve

Tears kept falling from her eyes even though she continued wiping them away with a tissue. When a drop splashed on her wedding picture, Genevieve wiped her palm over the plastic covering. During the four-hour drive, she had flipped through her wedding album and cried uncontrollably as she remembered the day she and her Deborah had been so happy and in love.

“Oh, my dearest, how I miss you so,” Genevieve whispered and took out the picture of her and Deborah kissing behind their wedding cake.

It had been two weeks since she lost her Deborah. She left Las Vegas and drove back home after she received the phone call from the police saying Deborah had driven their car off a ravine. When she finally returned home, Teresa was sobbing and Gilberto held her, both dark faces pale. The two detectives were polite but distant, as if they had told family members many times before about the death of loved ones. When she declared they were mistaken, that Deborah would never do such a thing, they showed her the suicide note found near the bedside table. She grabbed the letter out of their hands and barely read the words as her eyes went blurry. She then crumbled to the floor, allowing the darkness to overtake her.

Now she sat in the car in the parking lot with the dreaded duty of telling Deborah's sick mother that her daughter had committed suicide. Genevieve pulled down the visor, wincing at her bloodshot eyes and splotchy face. She looked a mess, tired from lack of sleep. The only way she could sleep was by taking sleeping pills, since she didn't have Deborah lying next to her where she could hold her close and rub against her, whispering how much she loved her.

How would she ever go on without the only woman she loved with her entire heart and soul?

“Mrs. Murnay?” Gilberto's voice came through the speaker in front of her. “We've been sitting here for almost an hour. Visiting hours will be over soon.”

Genevieve curled her lip. If she wanted to sit here all afternoon, she had the right! No servant from some underdeveloped country would tell her what to do.

Her nails cut into her palms as she inhaled deeply before she ended up yelling at Gilberto. She'd let his indiscretion pass since he too was mourning the loss of his mistress and had been unbelievably shaken by what had happened, placing the blame on himself.

“Give me three more minutes to pull myself together,” she said to him, pressing her finger over the button for him to hear her. He gave her a muffled yes, then the line cut off.

Pulling back her shoulders, Genevieve closed her wedding album and placed it on the seat next to her. She opened her bag, pulled out Deborah's suicide letter, and held it up to her face. She rubbed it against her cheek, swearing it had Deborah's scent. It didn't smell like her at all. Placing the letter on her lap, she pulled on her new gold necklace with Deborah's wedding ring attached to it. She brushed a thumb over the diamond-encrusted band and kissed it.

When the back door opened, Genevieve nodded at Gilberto and got out of the car. She put on her sunglasses and tugged down the hem of her knee-length, linen sleeveless sundress, one Deborah had loved on her, and walked up the front steps and into the building.

A few patients in wheelchairs sat next to groups of people, as well as some with canes, walking down the hall with the aid of the nurses. Genevieve gave them no mind as she walked up to the front desk. Two women sat, one on the phone while the other typed swiftly over a computer keyboard. When Genevieve cleared her throat loudly, the older, stocky-looking woman with salt-and-pepper hair glanced up from the monitor.

Genevieve nodded and smiled the best she could, even though her lips trembled. “Good day, I'm here to see a patient. Her name is Cora Whilby.”

The nurse's brow wrinkled and she shared a look with the younger, black-haired nurse who hung up the phone. “And you are?” the nurse asked.

“Mrs. Whilby is my mother-in-law. I'm here to tell her news regarding her daughter.” She swiped a finger under her right eye to stop the flow of tears.

The older nurse with the name tag Fiona gave her a melancholy look. “Um…please wait right here while I get the doctor.”

She turned and walked away before Genevieve could speak and her temper grew. She was footing the bill here and there was no excuse for her to be left alone the way she was. She glanced down at the other nurse and tapped her fingers on the desk. “I've traveled all this way to talk to Mrs. Whilby in person about her daughter's death. I don't understand why I can't just go straight to her room.”

“Did you say her da-daughter's death?” The young nurse stammered in surprise.

“Ye-yes. Didn't you hear what I ju-just said?” Genevieve mocked the little nurse, her anger growing further by the moment.

“Ohhh…this is an unfortunate coincidence. It's probably best if you wait for Dr. Vernon to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Genevieve snapped and took off her sunglasses.

“Mrs. Murnay?”

Genevieve turned toward the familiar voice. Dr. Shane Vernon held out a hand toward her, which she took. The first time she met the fifty-something doctor with the amazing bedroom eyes and fetching smile, Genevieve felt a tug low in her stomach. She thought for a brief second about having a fling with the doctor, but since she was faithful to Deborah, she'd never do such a thing. The benefit after her interactions with Vernon was that she went home to her wife, who helped ease her frustrations with her wonderful mouth and hands.

“Hello, Dr. Vernon. I wish I could say it's a pleasure seeing you again, but I have unfortunate news to tell Cora about Deborah.” Genevieve covered her mouth and turned her face to the side. “My-my wife passed away a few days ago. I'm here to tell her mother about it.”

When Vernon took both her hands in his, she dropped her head, hoping he would hold her close in his brawny arms. He didn't, but simply squeezed her hands, finally releasing her. “If you follow me, I'll take you to Mrs. Whilby's room. We can talk there.”

Genevieve found it odd the way Vernon recommended they go to her room rather than say they'd speak with Cora. She followed by his side as he held out an arm behind her back.

“I hate to tell you even more bad news, since you look like you've barely recovered from what has happen to you wife. I'm so sorry for your loss.” Vernon patted her back and Genevieve nodded, weeping silently as he gave her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes, and as they took the elevator up to the fifth floor, she almost pulled him in close, but didn't since they were joined by another doctor and nurse.

“Dr. Vernon, I have the strange feeling you have something more to tell me regarding Cora,” Genevieve said as she finished her crying fit.

When the elevator doors opened this time, Vernon took her arm. “I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but since I was Mrs. Whilby's main doctor, it's my responsibility to tell you she passed away late last night. We were in the process of calling you when you suddenly arrived.”

They stopped in front of the doorway of the room where Cora had stayed. A chunky black nurse was making the bed. Nothing of Cora's remained in the room.

“This is a shock,” Genevieve said wearily and leaned against the

doorway.

Vernon folded his hands in front of him. “I thought perhaps someone here called you, and that was why you came. Such a shame that mother and daughter died within days of one another. Was she ill?”

Genevieve shook her head and hugged an arm around her waist. “She had an accident. She drowned.”

“Oh my dear, Mrs. Murnay, my deepest condolences,” he said and rested his hand on her shoulder. Genevieve gave him a shy smile.

“At least we know they're both in a better place. It's…I miss my beautiful wife so much,” Genevieve said in a hoarse whisper and wrapped her arms around the man.

“Right now it's painful, but it will pass,” Vernon assured above her head and patted her back.

Genevieve held him tightly, wanting to forget her pain and lose herself in a warm body. Vernon's manly scent, with a slight smell of mint, rose over her face and her nipples grew hard. It had been so long since she had a reaction to a man. She should feel horrible, debasing Deborah's memory, but needed the comfort.

“You're such a kind man,” Genevieve whispered and pulled away, wiping her face. She caught the large nurse rolling her eyes, and Genevieve bit her lip, restraining herself from putting the ugly woman in her place.

When Vernon's face grew flush, Genevieve smiled up at him and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“You'll be happy to know before Miss Cora's death, her son came to see her,” the nurse revealed as she walked over to them. “I'd never seen the woman so happy and energetic. That son of hers was such a nice young man. So polite and considerate to his mother's needs.”

The room seemed to spin before Genevieve's eyes. Son? What the fuck?

“Excuse me, you must be mistaken. Cora didn't have a son, only a daughter, Deborah, my wife.”

“I know who I saw and heard. I even talked to the man.” The nurse placed her hands on her broad hips and tapped her foot. “His name is Wade and he comes from Woodberry Creek, Georgia, a place I know very well since my family is from there. He spent a few hours with Cora and she even introduced him as her son.”

“Mrs. Murnay, are you well?” Vernon asked as he rubbed her arm.

Black spots appeared in front of her eyes. “Why wasn't I told this Wade had come for a visit?” she asked quietly.

“I believe your wife called to give the okay for her brother to be on the visitor's list.”

Something is very wrong here. Deborah would've told me if—

A loud ringing reverberated in her ear and she glanced between the two standing before her. “Can you tell me what Wade looked like?”

The nurse scratched under her chin. “He was a skinny thing, wearing blue jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a blue baseball cap. I also found it strange he wore a jean jacket in this heat. His hair was black and short.” The nurse snapped her fingers. “He had a nice smile and even with his scruff on his face, he had the cutest little mole near the corner of his mouth.” She pointed to her mouth where the mole would be.

Genevieve grabbed hold of the doctor's arm and squeezed. The mole Wade had was in the same area as Deborah's.

“Do-do you remember what Cora and Wade talked about?” Genevieve asked the woman, her chest heaving as she put two and two together.

“Well, other than him mentioning returning to his home, he told Cora a Sharon Wade would be waiting for him. Funny how the boy has a sweetheart with the same last name as his first.”

Genevieve gritted her teeth and shook her head as the ringing grew to a sharp whistle. When Vernon spoke to her, she couldn't hear a word he said.

Deborah didn't have a brother. She had lied…lied…she LIED.

Did that mean she wasn't really dead? Her body still hadn't been found—

“Mrs. Murnay!”

Genevieve snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the doctor, who held both her arms.

“What?” she asked, dumbfounded.

“Your face has become very red and your pulse is racing. Do you want to sit down? Michelle can get you a glass of water.”

Genevieve moved away and fisted her hands together, her body seething in rage. She had been made a fool of by her lying, cunning wife.

“I need to leave. I just remembered something important.”

Both the doctor and nurse called out her name, but Genevieve didn't stop and ran toward the elevator. The doors opened immediately and she got in alone. Once the doors closed, she banged her fist against the wall.

That deceitful cunt had tricked her!

By the time the elevator doors opened, Genevieve had composed herself as she walked down the hall. When her cell phone went off, she almost didn't answer, but when the number popped up from one of the detectives on Deborah's case, she answered.

“Hello, Detective Penning,” she replied smoothly, hoping he told her they found Deborah's body. If they didn't, she would know then that Deborah was still alive.

“Hello, Mrs. Murnay. We have news about your wife's possible drowning. The car has been located. I'd rather we talk in person—”

“I'm not near my home. I've gone to tell my wife's mother she's dead. I'm four hours away,” she said as she walked out the building and toward her car.

“Perhaps it's better if you hurry back soon. When we pulled out the car, we found something of interest.”

“What is it?” she asked in a hurried voice and barely acknowledged Gilberto when he held open the door for her to get in.

“A long gold necklace with a diamond attached. We were expecting to find the body, but it seems to have vanished. Your wife's body could have been pulled out from the force of the water since the windows were broken.”

Gilberto's voice came through the speaker, asking her if they should drive. She turned off the speaker as she listened to the detective talk. When the conversation ended with her promising to see him as soon as she returned home, Genevieve opened the wedding album and proceeded to tear the pictures into little pieces until only one remained—of her and Deborah staring at one another with love in their eyes.

The next thing she planned to destroy was Deborah—when she found her. She would punish her for leaving her the way she did.

Chapter Thirteen

The honk from a car horn made Deborah walk over to her bedroom window as she fingered gel into her damp hair. Standing in only her bra and underwear, she watched as Bridgette, wearing a cute white sundress with her bright red curls wrapped in a white scarf, got into a police car. She hugged the driver, which had to be her brother Bryan, who had the almost same color shade of hair. The car drove away as Rotquel barked loudly from the front window. Bridgette's next-door neighbor, who gardened in the front of her house, shook her fist in the direction of the barking. Deborah laughed, and with one last tug on her hair, went over to her dresser to choose what she'd wear for the day.

She hadn't spoken to Bridgette since that time in her kitchen, although the redheaded pixie was constantly on her mind. In part, Deborah kept her distance because of the nightly erotic dreams about the woman that left her bed soaked from her sweat. Deborah flexed her hand, her wrist somewhat achy, most likely due to the amount of times she'd masturbated over the past few days. At least her sex dreams didn't wake her, shivering in fear from the last nightmare she had about being decapitated by some unknown figure.

Since she'd been so busy cleaning the house and going back and forth on foot in town with even more cleaning supplies and things she needed, she didn't have any time to check for more information online about her death or even call her mother to see how she was doing or if she had any visitors. Today she'd go back to the café and hop on a computer, then roam around Main Street and check out the street fair Bridgette had mentioned. Maybe she would purchase a few more nice outfits, other than her typical T-shirts and mundane capris and shorts she'd been wearing.

Pulling out a yellow T-shirt, the color she had to wear because Saturday was yellow day, she lifted up her arms to draw the shirt over her head. But Deborah stopped midway and dropped her arms, eyeing the T-shirt. She sent it flying, and it landed on the bedside lamp. She pulled out a dark red tank top instead.

When she was fully clothed and her hair and makeup was to her liking, she grabbed an oversized bag she bought yesterday. With the sky clear and the humidity and heat not as intense as it had been over the past week, Deborah had a feeling it would be a wonderful day.

* * * *

“I can't get enough of Oscar's pancakes,” Bryan said as he took one last bite off his plate.

“You're ignoring my question,” Bridgette pointed out as she took a sip of her coffee. “Your divorce is final after you and Angie sign the papers next week?”

Bryan rubbed the back of his neck and tapped his fork on the side of his plate. Bridgette reached across and placed her hand on his. His pinkie came over hers and he glanced back at her face, sadness lurking in his eyes.

“Yes. My selfish actions ruined my marriage of seven years.”

“Oh, Bry, stop beating yourself up about it. You couldn't—”

“Couldn't what? Stop from cheating on my wife, my college sweetheart who made a home for us? I've betrayed her trust and destroyed everything we had together. She can't bear to be around me knowing I was unfaithful and, to rub salt in her wound even more, with another man.” Bryan wiped his palm over his mouth. “I've lied to her the moment we first met by not being up front about my sexuality.”

Bridgette's heart ached for her brother, who'd been grappling with his homosexuality for so long. She had warned him not to get married to Angie, whom she loved having as a sister-in-law, but knew right from the start their marriage wouldn't last—all from Bryan being gay and his deep feelings for Russ, his best friend from high school.

“Russ should be here supporting you instead of gallivanting across Mexico for the summer. What a schmuck.” Bridgette said the last part under her breath.

“Red, don't blame Russ for what I did.” He held up his hand when she began to argue. “I know it takes two to tango, but I was the one who went to him that night and acted in a way no married man should. My lust got the better of me.”

Bridgette finished the rest of her coffee as Bryan's face became red. “By lust, you mean the feelings you've had for one another for years and were too stupid not to admit before you got married?”

“It exploded in more ways than one.” Bryan shook his head and pulled out his wallet when the waitress left the bill on the table.

“Hold up, I got this. I know you're low on cash from giving Ang the house and most of your savings. Next time, you treat,” Bridgette said.

Bridgette could hear Bryan grinding his teeth, and when she glanced to the right, a group of people were whispering to one another as they looked at them. She rolled her eyes. The small-town gossip mill was in full effect since it concerned the police chief's son and the offspring of Woodberry Creek's most respected judges.

“Ignore them,” Bridgette said and grabbed the bill. Bryan stood when she did and stared right at the people, who continued to whisper loudly. They stopped and stared at their menus as he passed.

“Any plans later on, after you get off work?” Bridgette asked as she paid the bill.

“Nope. I'm working a double. I don't really want to go home. I'm grateful Mom and Dad are letting me crash in my old bedroom until I can find a place to say, but I can't stand the way Dad looks at me sometimes. I know he's upset.”

“From your finally coming out?” Bridgette asked softly. She found that surprising, since their father was a very open-minded man.

“It's not that.” Bryan held open the door as they left the restaurant. “He's more upset that I cheated on Ang, and that I was never honest with myself and with them. He said he didn't raise his son to be a liar.”

Bridget winced and wrapped her arm around her brother's waist. “Give it time. Something else shocking will happen and you'll be soon forgotten.”

“Hopefully one of the high school football players will run naked through the town square like they did during last year's fireworks.”

Bridgette smiled. “Maybe that's something we can look forward to tonight when—”

Bridgette noticed Sharon coming out of the dress shop, holding two bags and walking down the sidewalk. She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling out Sharon's name. She waited for Sharon to turn, but she didn't. She acted as if she hadn't heard her name and Bridgette called out again.

“Sharon!” Bridgette yelled louder. People turned in her direction, while Sharon continued walking and went into the hardware store.

“That's so odd,” she muttered and took a step to cross the street when she was tugged back.

“Red, who were you calling out to?” Bryan asked.

“Sharon Wade. She lives across the street from me. She just moved in a few days ago thanks to Aunt Sandy, who she's renting from. Sharon's a little shy. I don't know why she didn't hear me when I yelled her name.” Bridgette wiggled her nose, ready to catch up with Sharon in the store. Maybe she'd want to walk around town with her, and they could go to the dance together.

Bryan rested his arm around her shoulders as they walked over to where his car was parked. “Go have your fun with your new friend.” He winked. “I'm on duty in ten minutes.”

“I hope to have a great day of fun with my new friend,” Bridgette replied saucily and flipped her hair over her shoulder. Bryan chuckled and unlocked his car door.

“Take care. Love you, Red.”

“Love you back,” Bridgette replied and kissed him on his cheek.

She waved as he drove away and hurried into the hardware store to catch Sharon.

You won't escape me for much longer. Bridgette giggled over that thought and when she spotted Sharon in the paint aisle, she walked toward her with a skip in her step.

* * * *

Deborah dropped down on her heels as she found the can of paint she'd been searching for. The kitchen walls were in desperate need of a new coat, as did her bedroom. She decided on a nice mauve color that would go well with her dishes, and also the sheets and comforter she wanted to buy the next time she went out.

“Are we doomed to continue meeting in the aisles of stores? First tampons, now paint?”

Deborah almost fell on her ass as the familiar girlish voice spoke above her. She glanced up at Bridgette, who was close enough that her knee brushed her cheek. Deborah stood as her own knees cracked, holding the can of paint against her chest, and moved back an inch to give her more space.

“A funny coincidence?” Deborah asked as she looked down at the top of the paint can.

“Not really. I saw you walking and called out your name. You didn't even hear me, which I found odd, so I decided to follow you in here.” Bridgette smiled widely and tilted her head.

Shit. I have to remember my new name. “I guess I didn't hear you. I was lost in my own thoughts,” she explained.

Bridgette gave her a not-so-subtle disbelieving look. “Sure, it was crowded outside.” She pointed at the two bags at her feet. “What did you buy?”

“A dress.” Deborah licked her lips. “And a few other items. My wardrobe is very lacking. I have far too many casual clothes. There was this lovely purple-and-white polka-dot halter dress in the window that I tried on. They had my size and since it was on sale, I went ahead and bought it.”

“Oh yeah. That's been in the window for a while. It's not really my style. A bit too vintage for my taste.”

Deborah laughed and shook her head. She'd thought Bridgette would be the perfect candidate for the dress. But if what she wore now was any indication, she was mistaken. The dress Bridgette wore showed off a slight bulging around her stomach area. For some reason it didn't turn Deborah off, but actually quite the opposite, especially with the bodice of her sundress straining across her chest.

“What? Did I spill something on me?” Bridgette asked and swiped her hands down her front.

Deborah watched Bridgette's hands move over her body, and cleared her throat. She looked away and hefted the paint can up higher under one arm while she reached over to grab her bags with the other.

“Here, let me help you.” Bridgette grabbed the can, her arm brushing past Deborah's chest, right across her nipples that had grown into hard nubs. Deborah turned slightly to cover her body's reaction and took her bags.

“Thanks,” Deborah told Bridgette and walked over to the line to pay.

“You're going to paint something?” Bridgette asked in a slight teasing voice.

“Yes. I'm going to paint my kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. That's the plan I have for the next few days.”

“Need help? I'm quite the skilled painter,” Bridgette said as she placed the can on the counter.

Before Deborah could respond, the woman behind the counter rang them up. She chatted with Bridgette in a very friendly manner while Deborah watched in silence. The way Bridgette talked—flirted—with the woman wearing the tight T-shirt that showed a slip of her toned stomach had Deborah wondering if she and Bridgette once dated.

After Deborah paid for the paint, she didn't wait for Bridgette to finish her conversation. She had just reached the front door when Bridgette came up behind her.

“Wait up. Where's the rush?” Bridgette said, slightly out of breath.

Deborah walked outside and gave Bridgette a blank stare. “You looked pretty friendly with the woman behind the counter. I didn't want to interrupt, since I have more errands to run.”

Bridgette bit her lip and scratched her shoulder. Deborah had the insane urge to flick Bridgette's lip, but couldn't since her arms were full.

“Tammy and I used to date when I was in college. She's now in a committed relationship with her girlfriend of five years. I'm not attracted to her in the way you may be thinking,” Bridgette said softly, her mouth tilting and her eyes glowing.

Deborah cleared her throat in embarrassment over her jealous reaction. She waited for Bridgette to call her out on it, but she didn't. Instead, she took the paint can from her.

“So where are we off to now?” Bridgette asked as if the conversation never happened.

“You must have other things you want to do than tag along with me.”

“Nope. Nothing at all. I'd rather give you a tour of my town,” Bridgette replied and poked her elbow lightly into Deborah's side.

“Um, well…I was going to check my e-mail at the café down the street and get a cup of coffee.”

“Check your e-mail? Don't you have Internet hooked up yet? I thought that would be one of the first things you'd do because of your job.”

Deborah quickly scanned her memory to remember what she'd told Bridgette what she did for a living. When it came to her, she remained composed, although Bridgette stared at her in suspicion.

“My Internet installation has been scheduled for Monday. My clients know I'm taking time off to get settled in my new home.”

“Wow, no Internet yet? I bet you don't have cable either. How are you keeping busy and not dying from the boredom?” Bridgette asked as they started walking toward the café.

“Cleaning and fixing up the house, of course.” Deborah replied. “Now that I think of it, I don't have to check my e-mail. I can just go back home with my stuff while you continue to—”

“No can do, Sharon.” Bridgette clutched the can tighter and Deborah swallowed a laugh. Bridgette looked too charming for words, standing in a battle warrior-type stance. “How about we drop all this stuff off at my aunt's office so we can have our hands free to buy more stuff as we check out the tables and booths? Then afterward we can head back and get ready for the dance tonight. I can't wait to see you wear your new dress. What do you say?”

Deborah couldn't fail to notice the probing stare Bridgette gave her, scanning her body from head to toe. Deborah almost closed her eyes and smiled from the welcomed heat in her stomach area, as well as the way in between her legs grew damp. She was so glad they were on a crowded street because she was close to kissing her.

“All right. I'd love to,” Deborah relented.

“Great!” Bridgette said loudly and pulled on her arm as she led them toward her aunt's office building.

By the time they arrived, Bridgette was holding her hand and Deborah didn't mind in the least.

Chapter Fourteen

I wish I still had long enough hair to pull back in a ponytail. Deborah grimaced as she played with her hair.

Christ, I'm going to puke. Sitting down on the toilet seat, she held a hand over her churning stomach. She began to nibble on her pinkie nail and had to stop biting before she tore it off. She really needed to be in more control and stop this new nasty habit she'd picked up ever since she left Nevada. Taking in deep breaths, she lifted up the skirt of her new dress, loving the way it brushed against her bare legs.

She rose up from her seat and twirled slowly around the room. Her skirt flared out and she fixed the spaghetti strap falling down her arm. She also left the top button undone since the bodice was a bit constricting. When she first had tried it on she noticed the tightness, happy she'd put on more weight and didn't look as skeletal as she once had been. It made sense since she was eating all the foods she wasn't allowed to eat over the past four years.

“I've really got to do something with this hair.” Deborah grabbed a short, spiky piece and picked up the sparkling pink butterfly hair clip Bridgette had urged her to buy.

Smiling, Deborah put it in her hair, close to the side of her left ear. Perfect! Just like the day had been with Bridgette.

Bridgette had given her a lovely tour of Woodberry Creek, going as far as to introduce her to many of the people and business owners. Deborah greeted them with restraint at first, but since Bridgette's joy was contagious, she enjoyed chatting with her new neighbors. By mid-afternoon, Deborah was on a first-name basis with some, the names she could remember, and accumulated bags filled with more items for her house, as well as clothes and trinkets for her hair Bridgette helped her pick out.

Finally Deborah admitted how tired she was, and without any argument, they grabbed her paint and headed home to relax for a few hours before they headed off to the dance.

Deborah's stomach rolled again and she groaned. The last time she'd danced was at her wedding, and even then she had two left feet. Maybe she could sit off to the side and watch the festivities until the fireworks went off.

The doorbell released a sharp ring and Deborah took one last look at her reflection in the mirror. Her face no longer looked gaunt, and even though the shadows under her eyes were still there, they weren't as prominent as before.

When the bell went off a second time, she grabbed her purse, pulled on her white sandals, and walked down the stairs to meet her new friend.

Yes, a friend. Bridgette is my friend, that's all.

Deborah glanced out the peephole. Smiling, she opened the door to Bridgette, who wore a short denim skirt above the knees with a bright gold belt around the waist and a white tube top with red glittery dots across her chest. Her hair was a riot of red curls held back with a headband to match her belt.

“Don't you look like a firework?” Deborah teased and ducked her head after giving Bridgette a thorough stare.

“Wow, Sharon, you're beautiful,” Bridgette whispered, and when Deborah glanced up again, Bridgette licked her lips and stretched her hand out. She remained still as Bridgette fixed the shoulder strap that fell again. When her hand dropped, Deborah pressed her fingers over her shoulder, where her skin tingled.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Deborah said when she found her voice again. For some reason her mouth had gone dry.

“Back at ya.” Bridgette slid her hands in her skirt pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” Deborah pulled the door closed behind her. After she locked it, she climbed down the stairs with Bridgette beside her. Their bare shoulders brushed against one another and she stopped a whimper from erupting.

The moment they reached the sidewalk, barks from Bridgette's house rang out. Deborah giggled when she noticed Rotquel leaning up against the front window.

“Ah, the poor girl misses you,” Deborah said.

Bridgette rolled her eyes. “She hates being locked up. I usually put her out in the backyard, but I'm afraid she'll go crazy when the fireworks go off.” Bridgette waved as they walked past her frowning next-door neighbor standing on her porch. “Hey, Mrs. Heckel. How's it going? Do you plan to go to the dance and see the fireworks?”

The older woman compressed her lips in a straight line. “I plan to, if only to get away from your dog's annoying yapping.”

“You know Rotquel will quiet down in a few minutes.” Bridgette gave Deborah a wink.

“I need a drink,” the irritated woman grumbled loudly and went back inside her house.

Deborah covered her mouth as she laughed. “She really doesn't like Rotquel.”

“She's all talk.” Bridgette flapped her hand in the air. “I just ignore her. I've caught her throwing pieces of meat over the fence for Rotquel and overheard her giving Rotquel compliments when she thinks I'm not listening.”

“That's too funny,” Deborah said as they crossed the street.

Bridgette bumped her arm with Deborah's. “I know Rotquel would love to see you again. How about after the fireworks, you stop in to say hello to her?”

“O-okay,” Deborah said slowly, wondering what else Bridgette had planned other than visiting her dog.

Deborah stared out of the corner of her eye at Bridgette, who hummed under her breath. She waved at people standing in front of their houses and called out greetings to some. Her face was open and so innocent looking that Deborah decided she'd never be the type to do something too deceitful.

“Hey you, why so silent?” Bridgette bumped into her, this time her fingers coming in contact with hers. When Bridgette linked their hands and swung their arms, Deborah joined along.

“I was just thinking it's been so long since I've been to a dance. I can't dance to save my life. It's embarrassing,” Deborah admitted as she heard live music off in the distance.

Bridgette gave her hand a squeeze. “Don't worry. I'll make sure you don't embarrass yourself.”

Deborah nodded, knowing Bridgette would be by her side the entire time to make sure she didn't fumble.

* * * *

The bathroom wall was cool against her back. Deborah closed her eyes and gulped in air. She'd almost ruined everything and panicked. Bridgette had introduced her to both her father and uncle, where she proceeded to tell them what an incredible graphic artist she was, even without seeing any of her supposed amazing work.

“Shit. Why didn't I think of some other profession?” Deborah moaned and covered her face. She came up with the first thing that had come to her mind and wanted to impress Bridgette, who was an artist herself. And now Deborah was screwed. She'd never thought word would spread and people would want to hire her to create their web pages, including updating the sites of both the police and mayor's office.

Her head throbbed painfully and she turned to lean over the sink, closing her mouth to stop from vomiting. Everything had been going so well! She really enjoyed meeting Bridgette's brother, Bryan, and even her parents who, although they seemed overly interested in Bridgette's private life, were sweet and friendly people—much like their daughter.

Bridgette, the one Deborah wanted to kiss desperately and take to her bed—tasting her generous breasts, stomach, hips, and pussy lips that would—

“Sharon? Are you feeling okay?”

Deborah turned upon hearing Bridgette saying her name and feeling a warm palm on her back. She shook her head as she leaned back against the sink, facing a worried-looking Bridgette.

“I think I had one too many beers,” Deborah said lamely and fanned her face. She scanned the room, glad no one else had come upon her.

Bridgette tore away some paper towels from the wall and wet them under the sink. “I grew concerned when you suddenly said you had to use the bathroom and rushed away. You were gone for such a long time. Here, sit down and rest for a moment.” She pulled Deborah by her arm and sat her in a wooden patio chair, pressing her head down and placing the cool, wet towel over the back of her neck.

“What if someone comes inside?” Deborah asked into her lap. Bridgette kept her one hand over the towel while her other petted her hair.

“So what if someone comes in? Everyone else is getting settled in to watch the fireworks.”

“Shoot. We never got to dance like you wanted,” Deborah lamented and lifted her head back up. Her face was in line with the edge of Bridgette's chest. What if she leaned forward and laid her head there as Bridgette continued playing with her hair?

“Don't worry about it. I'll take a rain check,” Bridgette replied in a soft voice and her other hand came around, making circles along the sides of Deborah's head.

Deborah moaned. Her eyes flickered as Bridgette massaged her crown. “I'm sorry for freaking out back there. Sometimes I have panic attacks and don't do well in crowds,” she explained, hoping Bridgette believed her lie.

“Stop apologizing. I know you're…shy and not comfortable with people. No one remarked on you leaving. I only noticed you were upset because I care for you.”

Care for me? Deborah's eyes went wide as she stared up at Bridgette's face. “You've only known me for a few days. How can you care for me already? It's too soon…” Her voice drifted away as Bridgette's face came in closer to hers.

“I don't know why, but I do. And just so you know, I don't care for you only as my new friend.”

When Bridgette dropped her mouth over hers, she froze. Bridgette didn't move her lips or try to slip her tongue into her mouth. She waited for both, and when Bridgette finally opened her mouth, Deborah moved her hands up until they were covering Bridgette's arms. When Deborah sucked down on Bridgette's bottom lip, Bridgette's tongue came out and swiped across the edge of her mouth.

“Bridge,” Deborah whispered and dug her chewed-down nails into Bridgette's arms. She tasted the slight sugar coating Bridgette's mouth from the cotton candy she had eaten earlier.

“Hmm,” Bridgette replied and continued playing with her hair as her tongue swept over Deborah's.

Deborah sat back as Bridgette's palm rested on her cheek. She shuddered and kissed Bridgette harder. As her mouth opened again to welcome more of Bridgette's tongue, Bridgette moved away and rubbed her thumb over Deborah's mole.

“That was very nice, Sharon.” Bridgette bit down lightly on Deborah's lip, and with one last peck, stepped back.

Deborah blinked and flexed her hands that had found their way over Bridgette's chest. She was cupping both breasts and palming her aroused nipples. She dropped her hands in her lap and exhaled deeply as Bridgette pulled on her earlobe.

“Feeling better?” Bridgette asked.

The door swung open and a group of chatty teen girls came rushing in.

Deborah stood, and almost fell back in the chair from her dizziness. Bridgette wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled away the damp towel resting on her shoulders. Deborah let Bridgette take her out of the bathroom.

When they got outside, Deborah found she could breathe easier. With Bridgette's arm still around her, they walked over to a bench. As Bridgette sat down, Deborah did the same, and when Bridgette rested her arm around her shoulders, Deborah placed the side of her head against Bridgette's.

Deborah closed her eyes as Bridgette lightly played with the nape of her neck where her hair didn't touch. She would've loved Bridgette to run her fingers through her once long locks, but that would never be. Just as anything long term between them would never work.

She still had to mourn the death of her other relationship first. Shouldn't she?

“You're thinking too hard,” Bridgette said and gave Deborah a kiss on her cheek.

“My Mom used to say that to me when I was a kid. I tend to go over things in my head to the point where I can't think of anything else.”

“Like the kiss we shared in the bathroom just now?” Bridgette dropped her hand on Deborah's lap and gently poked the ridges of her knuckles.

“That, among a few other things,” Deborah said and jumped when a loud boom went off somewhere behind them.

“It looks like they're getting ready for the fireworks. Do you want to go find my parents and sit with them?” Bridgette asked and clasped her hand around Deborah's limp ones.

Deborah linked her fingers with Bridgette's and looked at all the people in the distance sitting in lawn chairs or on blankets as they listened to the band still playing. “I think I'd rather go home. I'm not up for being around a lot of people right now.”

Bridgette gave her an understanding nod and stood, still holding her hand. “The fireworks aren't set to go off for another half-hour, around nine thirty. We can see them perfectly from my backyard. Why don't we go back and watch them from there? That is, if you're not too tired or don't want to be around me.”

Deborah stood up from the bench upon hearing the hurt tone in Bridgett's voice. She dropped her hands on Bridgette's shoulders. “Now who's the one worrying? I don't want the night to end. I don't want to be here, but do want to be with you.”

When Bridgette gave her a sunny smile, Deborah grabbed her hand in hers again and started walking back home.

* * * *

“Rotquel, heel!” Bridgette ordered her excited dog as she rested her paws on Deborah's legs in welcome. Deborah patted Rotquel and gave her a loose hug. Finally, when Rotquel seemed pleased, she backed away and walked over to her doggy bed, where she started chewing on a ratty knotted rope.

“Want something to drink?” Bridgette asked as she rubbed her hand down Deborah's arm.

“I'd love some of your homemade lemonade,” Deborah said.

“Two lemonades coming right up.” Bridgette tugged on a piece Deborah's hair and went into the kitchen.

Deborah watched the way Bridgette's ass looked in her denim skirt as she walked away. When Bridgette was out of sight, she crossed her arms over her chest as she took in the room. A few loud booms went off outside and she flinched, shaking her head at her skittishness.

“Look at this music collection.” Deborah whistled through her teeth as she went over to the tall bookcase filled with CDs. Tilting her head to the side, she inspecting the cases, surprised to see most of the music was from the seventies and eighties.

“What type of music do you listen to?” Bridgette asked as she came up beside her and handed her a glass.

Deborah took a sip and took out a CD case to look over the songs from a band she never heard of. “I used to listen to Top 40 music and some pop country.”

“You used to? You don't anymore?” Bridgette asked as she looked over the rim of her glass at her in skepticism.

“The people I was recently friends with had more selective tastes, like opera and classical music,” Deborah said, hoping Bridgette would change the topic.

“Seriously? I don't think I know anyone who listens to that type of music.” Bridgette made a face and shivered.

Deborah snorted. “I feel exactly the way you do.” She looked back down at the case she held. “The Bay City Rollers?” She snuck a peek at Bridgette, who watched her closely.

“You have to know the Bay City Rollers! They're my favorite band from the seventies. Their biggest hit, Saturday Night, is such a fun song to sing and dance to.”

Deborah shrugged. “Sorry, never heard of them. Or the song.”

Bridgette took the case from her and turned on the stereo, sliding the disk in. “You're going to be in for a real treat, then.” She fiddled with a few buttons and soon peppy rocklike music came on.

Bridgette swayed to the music and snapped her fingers as the phrase ”Saturday night” kept repeating. “Gonna keep on dancin’ to the rock and roll. On Saturday night…Saturday night. Dancin’ to the rhythm in our heart and soul. On Saturday night…Saturday night. I just can't wait, I got a date.”

Bridgette's off-tune singing made Deborah hug her waist and giggle as Bridgette twirled around the room. Rotquel lifted her head from her dozing, yawning widely, then lying back down, as if this was an everyday occurrence and nothing spectacular.

Deborah sat on the arm of the couch and tapped her fingers on her knee along with the beat as Bridgette sang. If she was brave enough, she'd join Bridgette, perhaps wrap her arms around her close.

Bridgette made the decision for her when she came over with her arms extended and grabbed her. “Come, join me.”

“I can't dance,” Deborah said over the music as Bridgette moved around her in circles.

“Come on! Let yourself go!” Bridgette practically yelled and reached for her hand.

Deborah gave in and soon she swayed with Bridgette, singing the chorus of “It's Saturday night.”

“I'm going to get dizzy,” Deborah said as Bridgette twirled her around in a circle.

Bridgette laughed, and they turned around the room until Deborah backed into a wide burgundy chaise longue, her arms flaying out as she tripped. Her ass landed on the chaise and she lay back as Bridgette fell on top of her.

She lost control and began laughing to the point where her sides ached. Bridgette joined in with her as the song faded and silence filled the room.

“That was great fun,” Deborah said through her titters and placed her hands on the top of Bridgette's back. She bit her lip when Bridgette rubbed against her and her legs opened on their own.

“Wasn't it?” Bridgette pulled back the hair falling around her face and when she lifted up on her hands, her nose bumped Deborah's chin.

Deborah tried to catch her breath, but it was a lost cause as Bridgette traced her finger across her cheek and mouth. She shivered and gulped when her nipples tightened and her pussy dampened.

“Are you cold?” Bridgette asked as she dropped soft kisses across Deborah's face.

“No-no…your touch makes me…”

“Want you like I want you?” Bridgette asked softly and pressed her mouth against hers.

Deborah gasped and grabbed hold of Bridgette by her head, loving how her springy curls wrapped around her fingers. She couldn't wait to find if they were just as curly over her cunt that she longed to lick and suck as Bridgette was doing to her mouth.

Her head tipped back as Bridgette mouth left hers and kissed along her collarbone and lower—tugging down the straps of her dress and peppering kisses across her shoulder. Deborah arched up as Bridgette pushed her knee between her legs and dug into her pussy. She sighed, wanting Bridgette's mouth on her breasts.

“What do you want, honey?” Bridgette asked as her hand went under her dress and cupped her between her legs.

“Oh!” Deborah squeaked and rolled her head to the side. Whimpers escaped her mouth as Bridgette caressed her through her wet panties.

“Your mouth on my breasts.”

“You got it,” Bridgette replied in a throaty whisper and her hand curved around Deborah's bodice. Deborah removed her hands from Bridgette's head and wiggled as the top of her dress loosened.

The cool air from the vent overhead met her heated flesh and her nipples became even more pointed.

“Wow, Sharon, you have amazing-looking tits,” Bridgette said in longing and circled one.

“My nipples are too large and always aroused.” Deborah swallowed, tears forming in her eyes from the pleasure Bridgette gave her.

A moan left Bridgette's mouth and her tongue came out and lapped over Deborah's left nipple. Deborah couldn't turn away as Bridgette licked her.

“I want you to come hard for me,” Bridgette said and swallowed her nipple whole as her fingers reached inside her panties and lightly scratched her pussy.

“Yes. Me too.” Deborah sobbed as Bridgette sucked down hard, her teeth biting once, making a trickle of her desire cover Bridgette's fingers.

“I want some of that.” Bridgette released her nipple and gave Deborah a deep, wet kiss, only to move down and lift up the hem of her skirt.

Deborah plucked her nipples with her fingers and tilted her head back as Bridgette removed her panties. Bridgette's bouncy curls brushed the inside of her legs. When a tongue came out and licked a line from the inside of her knee to the edge of her pussy, she yelped.

“Oh Bridge, eat me now,” Deborah lifted her leg to land on Bridgette's shoulder. She hooked her ankle around to pull her in.

“That's it…let go, my special girl…” Bridgette whispered and latched her mouth over her core.

Deborah's whole body stiffened upon hearing Bridgette speak. Her inner muscles clenched around the tongue and fingers that had given her such pleasure a moment ago now frightened her.

Yes, that's it, my special girl. My bad girl needs to be punished…

Genevieve's voice echoed in her ears and she sat up as Bridgette's finger moved in between her ass and near her rosette.

“No!” Deborah screamed and scrambled off the chaise, hitting Bridgette in the side of the head. She fell off to the side and crawled back; the loud sounds of barking and a woman's voice calling her name all became one.

“Don't touch me. Leave me alone,” Deborah sobbed and covered her head with her arms.

All Deborah heard was her panting in her ears. Then a second later, loud booms came from somewhere outside and she cried out. On trembling legs she climbed to her feet and backed away.

“Sharon, dear, calm down.” Bridgette took a step toward her.

“Don't call me that!” Deborah snarled and pulled hard on her own hair, wanting to feel the pain to drown out the aching in between her legs and chest.

“You're scaring me. Did I hurt you?” Bridgette asked carefully and held out an arm as Rotquel made her way over to her side.

“Yes, you did. You-you tried to rape me.” Deborah shook her head and wiped the tears away from her face. She was cold and scared by what Bridgette wanted to do to her. She'd touch her like Genevieve did, invading that part of her body with her fingers, mouth, and some sort of instrument that always made her feel dirty afterward.

Bridgette's face went pale and she looked stunned. “I-I would

never—”

“Yes, you would. She did! Gen never cared what I wanted and when I told her no, she'd laugh and tie me up and used—” Deborah cut herself off and covered her mouth. She shook her head again and turned, grabbing her bag and running over to the front door and out the house as Bridgette yelled out her name.

Deborah never looked back, and with shaking hands she unlocked the door to her house. As soon as she went in, she engaged the locks and ran upstairs. She hit the upper landing and went right into the bathroom, slamming the door.

Turning on the shower to full blast, she slid down to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and sobbing loudly. The dark room lit up as the fireworks went off and when they ended, she shook and cried until the water ran cold. Only then did Deborah turn off the shower and, soaking wet, climbed into her bed with the covers over her, regardless of the heat of the night.

Chapter Fifteen

The aria from Tosca played softly as Genevieve sat behind her desk, rolling the gold belly chain through her fingers. She stared at the well-dressed, detached man sitting across from her as he drank his coffee. He gave her the same penetrating look she was giving him. She had to respect him for that alone. Not many dared to look her in right in the eye, not even her faithless, rebellious wife—whom she'd soon have again.

Her hand tightened around the chain, Deborah's wedding band digging into her palm. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Berlinoz. May I call you Hector?”

“If you'd like, Mrs. Murnay.” Berlinoz tipped his head and placed his cup down on the desk in front of him.

“I can't place your last name. What are your people?” Genevieve asked as she sat forward.

“French,” Berlinoz replied and folded his hands over his crossed knee.

Genevieve lifted an eyebrow. Berlinoz cleared his throat, clearly waiting for her to continue. She found the man fascinating, one who wouldn't crack under pressure from the predatory aura surrounding him.

She smiled widely and slid over a folder with various documents inside. “You come highly recommended from a colleague of mine. I've heard your success rate is amazing at retrieving stolen property.”

Berlinoz took the file and opened it. “And what property would you like me to find for you?”

“My wife. You may have heard she died. That's incorrect. She ran away and I want you to find her and bring her back to me,” Genevieve said in a deadly calm voice, much the opposite of what she was feeling inside.

Berlinoz raised an eyebrow and gave her a sharp look. “When I retrieve your missing wife, then what? What are your plans for her?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but I want Deborah back. I need to know she's safe and find out why she left me.” Genevieve twisted the chain tighter while keeping a congenial smile on her face.

“Do you have any idea where your wife may have gone?” Berlinoz asked as he held up a picture of Deborah from their wedding day.

Genevieve swallowed the annoying lump forming in her throat. “I believe she has gone to a town called Woodberry Creek. There are only two of these towns in the United States. One in Georgia, the other in Pennsylvania. She's most likely hiding out in the one in Pennsylvania. Her mother grew up there and she may be going by the name Sharon Wade or Wade Sharon, perhaps even her maiden name, Whilby. Also Deborah looks very different from when that picture was taken. She has cut her hair, darkening it to black and wearing facial makeup and living as a man or an unkempt woman. Deborah has a brown beauty mark in the upper right-hand corner of her mouth.” Genevieve pointed to the spot on her face. “She's destroyed everything I made her become,” she muttered, thoroughly disgusted Deborah would cut her long, beautiful hair that Genevieve loved feeling over her face or in between her thighs when Deborah went down on her.

Berlinoz flipped through the papers in front of him, skimming as he nodded. “I expect half of my payment before I leave here today and the second half when I locate your wife.”

“I anticipated that.” Genevieve opened her desk drawer and pulled out a bulky envelope, placing it on the desk.

He took the envelope and tapped it lightly against his palm. “Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

“Such as what? Why Deborah would run away from me?” Genevieve curled her lip.

Berlinoz held up his palms. “I'm not a couples’ therapist or a psychiatrist. Whatever issues you have in your married life are none of my business. I just want to make certain I'm not walking into something where I have to be forceful when it comes to your wife. It can get messy that way.”

“All I want for now is for you to find out where Deborah is and how she's faring. I just want Deborah to return to me as soon as possible.” Genevieve sat back in her chair and tapped her mouth with her fingers. “When you tell me what you know, it's a good chance I'll go to Deborah and try to reason with her.”

“Only talk, Mrs. Murnay?” Berlinoz lifted his brow and put the envelope in his suit coat pocket. “In my experience most people don't just want to talk with those who have…shall we say, screwed them over in some way. They tend to act without thinking. Then the consequences can turn deadly.”

“Mr. Berlinoz.” Genevieve pressed her palms on top of her desk as she leaned over. The man viewed her cleavage for a beat, then looked back up at her face. She gave him a relaxed smile. “Your past clients may have overreacted in ways that may have concerned you, but I can promise you I'm very level headed and don't want to harm one hair on Deborah's head. My ultimate goal is to work things out with her. Deborah has run away before. She tends to be flighty and unstable at times. She's the type who needs a strong hand to keep her in line. Plus, I want to help her get through her mother's death.”

“Strong hand? Oh yes, Mrs. Murnay, I know exactly what you mean. My father had the same opinion when it came to disciplining me and my brothers.” Berlinoz tugged down the hem of his suit jacket as he got up from his chair. “I'll be in touch. Don't be surprised if you hear good news from me in less than a week.”

Genevieve held out her hand for Berlinoz to shake. He didn't and walked out her office without a backward glance.

What an odd man. Genevieve cracked her head from side to side and rolled her shoulders where all the tension over the past few weeks had built up. She could barely sleep or eat, and Deborah was to blame for all of it.

Soon she would see Deborah again, and when she did, her disobedient wife would wish she'd drowned in the river after Genevieve got through with her.

* * * *

Rotquel glanced up from her spot on the patio as Bridgette tapped her pencil loudly over her paper. She'd been strung tight over the last week and thought drawing the shed in the backyard would relax her. She couldn't concentrate, which had become the norm since Sharon ran out of her house in tears.

“I really screwed up and I don't know how,” Bridgette muttered as she threw a ball into the yard. Rotquel jumped up and went after it, returning with the ball in her mouth and dropping it at Bridgette's feet.

“Good girl,” Bridgette complimented Rotquel, who wagged her tail and let out a deep woof. She smiled as Rotquel ran after a squirrel.

Her cell phone beeped. A text message from Bryan popped up, asking her to meet him for lunch. She sighed, not answering him right away. She wasn't in the mood for company unless it was Sharon.

Sharon, the nervous and very frightened woman Bridgette couldn't stop thinking about. Now that she had her taste on her tongue, she wanted more, but didn't know how to go about doing it since Sharon had run away from her with fear and loathing in her eyes.

Something was off with Sharon and had been since the moment she met her. After thinking about the woman nonstop, Bridgette had come to some conclusions about her new neighbor.

Sharon wasn't comfortable around large groups of people, preferred to be alone, and jumped every time someone touched her. A few times, even when they'd kissed, Sharon trembled, not necessarily in passion but almost in fear or in anxiety—as if she expected Bridgette to hurt her.

Someone must have damaged Sharon very badly, to the point where she jumped at shadows. The signs were all there. Sharon had been a victim of abuse, either rape or molestation, at the hands of someone she'd trusted.

Knowing her touch dredged up those nightmarish memories for Sharon sickened her incredibly. Maybe that was why Sharon had moved to Woodberry Creek, to escape whoever had done it to her. Perhaps a marriage gone sour? The tan line on her left ring finger led Bridgette to believe Sharon's husband, or perhaps her wife, was the culprit.

Bridgette dropped her drawing pad on the table and stood. She whistled to Rotquel, who came running, and they went back inside. As she walked inside the kitchen, she spotted the pad she had used to slide a note under Sharon's front door, apologizing for what had happened on Saturday night. Six days later she still hadn't heard from her, even after knocking multiple times on Sharon's front door.

Bridgette couldn't stand it when people were upset with her, even if it was her fault. Yet another one of her quirks in a long list of ones she always wanted to work on but never did.

Pacing the kitchen, she came to a decision. She wouldn't allow Sharon to hide and ignore her. Bridgette was a woman of action and refused to let Sharon walk out of her life.

Bridgette slapped her hands together with a new plan and smiled. She pulled back her shoulders, fluffed her hair, and stomped out into the living room and over to the front door. She'd walk across the street and pound on Sharon's door until she opened it.

Right at that moment, a figure dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt and wearing a blue baseball cap, pulling a rolling suitcase and holding a bag, walked down the front steps of Sharon's house.

“What the hell?” Bridgette asked herself.

Bridgette moved to the side so she wasn't seen through the window. Rotquel sat beside her, wagging her tail, ready to climb up on the window sill when Bridgette shushed her. For once Rotquel listened.

“Why is Sharon dressed like that?” Bridgette asked under her breath and shared a look with Rotquel, who tilted her head to the side and whimpered softly.

Sharon glanced up and down the street, tipped her head down, and walked away. Bridgette didn't know what was going on and why Sharon was dressed like a boy and with those bags, but she planned to find out. She had a funny feeling Sharon might be leaving town.

Quickly grabbing her house keys and pulling on her sunglasses, she locked her front door and followed Sharon at a distance as she made her way toward the center of town.

* * * *

Sweat poured down Deborah's back from the sun as she read through the train schedule brochures. Her hair was plastered to her head and her legs felt like insects were running all over them from being encased in her denim jeans. Soon she would be on a nice air-conditioned train to—

To where? That was the big question at the moment.

Looking up from her reading, Deborah leaned back against the brick wall of the station. She could go inside where it was cool as she decided on her next destination, or head over to the Internet café one last time. Maybe then she'd also give her mother a call before she disappeared.

Sighing, she hiked her bag up higher around her shoulder and pulled her suitcase along. Beads of sweat dripped down the sides of her face and she kicked a stone, wishing she was in her kitchen with the overhead fan twirling above her head as she got ready to paint the room.

But that would never happen. She ruined everything by freaking out on Bridgette.

Sweet, amazingly kind, and innocent Bridgette, who just wanted to give her pleasure.

Deborah's eyes went blurry and she turned her face to wipe it against her shoulder as she walked, passing people without saying hello. No one said anything to her in return. To them she was a stranger again, not worthy of their regard.

A refreshing breeze brushed over her face as she went inside the café. Other than the servers behind the counter, no one sat at tables or ordered coffee drinks. Deborah scanned the drink menu as the bell above the door jingled. She barely gave any notice until she spotted flaming red hair and that slight citrus smell she associated with Bridgette.

When a soft body pushed up against her back, she closed her eyes and inhaled slowly to stop her now-racing heart.

“Hello, Sharon. Or is that even your real name?” Bridgette asked softly, an undertone of irritation coloring her voice.

Deborah pulled off her hat and faced an incensed Bridgette.

The moment of truth had arrived.

* * * *

The iced coffee soothed her dry mouth and throat. She and Bridgette sat on a bench in the park under a group of trees that shaded them from the sun and the late morning heat.

“I sure do love hazelnut coffee.” Bridgette slipped the straw into her mouth and sipped.

Deborah remained silent as she drank, noticing the short distance between them as Bridgette sat too far away, near the corner of the bench as she faced front.

Placing her plastic cup in between her legs, Deborah flicked her straw. “I'm sorry for the way I reacted Saturday night when we…were at your house.”

“You shouldn't be the one apologizing. I should. I never meant to force you or make you do something—”

“No. It's not that at all.” Deborah looked at Bridgette. “I'm to blame. I…I had a flashback that made me act the way I did.” Deborah placed her hand on Bridgette's arm, and when Bridgette didn't push her hand away, she relaxed.

“Were you raped?” Bridgette asked bluntly.

Deborah flinched from the question. She cleared her throat, taking another sip of her drink. “I'm not sure if you would call it rape. My wife used to—”

“Your wife?” Bridgette interrupted, clearly troubled by the reaction on her face.

Deborah wiped her palms over her cheeks. She grimaced when they came away damp with her sweat, and she smeared them on her jeans. “It's probably best if I start from the beginning.”

When Bridgette nodded for her to continue, she shifted in her seat and leaned her elbows on her knees. She'd treat this as if she was telling a story about another person and not herself. That was the only way she'd be able to get through it.

“You're right about my name. It's not Sharon. My real name is Deborah. The reason I'm going by a fake name is that I've run away from my wife. I had no choice after four years of being abused by her.”

“Where do you come from…Deb-Deborah?” Bridgette stumbled over her name.

“Nevada, three hours outside Las Vegas,” Deborah responded and glanced at Bridgette. She sat on the bench with her one leg on the seat. She moved in closer and her knee brushed against the side of Deborah's leg.

“When you mean abuse, do you mean physical, or more the sexual kind?” Bridgette asked softly.

“A combination of both. My wife was into kinky things, such as using toys and bondage. Most of the times I was tied up or played the victim. My wife didn't like to lose control, so I always took on the role of the submissive while she was dominant. While we were dating, our lovemaking was typical, but then when we got married, things change. My wife wanted to push the envelope. She also grew jealous and possessive. A few times…” Deborah covered her trembling mouth. “More than a few times I've been on the end of her rage, and I had my share of bruises and cuts.”

“Oh, Deborah.” Bridgette rested her hand on top of Debora's folded ones. “How did you hook up with this horrible woman, and why did you stay with her after so many years of abuse?”

Deborah snorted. “I started working for Gen—that's my wife—by taking care of her terminally ill mother. I'd just finished nursing school. I was hired as a personal nurse through an agency.” Deborah smiled softly in memory of the first time she met Genevieve. “Gen was this older, classy, and stunning woman and I was awed by her. She reminded me of those actresses from old-time Hollywood movies. There I was, some young kid with barely any experience working for a very rich family. It should have come as no surprise when Gen became interested in me personally, I fell for her. Three months after I started working for her, we had an affair. I fell in love with her soon after.”

“Sounds like a fairytale come to life,” Bridgette said sarcastically and Deborah laughed.

“More like a deranged fairy tale toward the end.” Deborah swallowed and continued. “We kept things quiet since I was her mother's caregiver. Then six months later, her mother passed away. Afterward, Gen asked me to marry her. I thought I had found the love of my life. The first couple months of my marriage were wonderful, but then it started to go downhill. Gen cut me off from my old friends, saying they were using me to get to her. She became suspicious whenever I went out and didn't tell her. Then she started accusing me of cheating on her with other women.” Deborah swallowed nervously. “That's when it got really bad. The fights between us, or rather the ‘arguments,’ as Gen preferred to call them, became heated to the point where Gen would hit and scratch me.”

“Oh Deborah…” Bridgette rested her palm on her face. Deborah rubbed her cheek against it.

“I-I've seen married couples get physical before,” Deborah said. “My parents had an unstable relationship. My father had a temper and took it out on my mother. When I was ten, they got a divorce, and a few years later he died. I don't have fond memories of him,” she admitted, her voice shaking.

“They say the cycle can continue with children who come from an abusive home,” Bridgette said softly.

Deborah placed her hand over Bridgette's and gave her a sad smile. “I'm a perfect example of that, it seems.”

“What made you finally leave?”

“This isn't the first time I left Gen. A little more than two years into our marriage, I'd had enough. We had a big blowup that ended with me getting a sprained wrist and a fat lip. While Gen was away on a business trip, I left and moved in with my mother. Around that time may mother started to grow ill. I thought I could take care of her and get a nursing job again. Silly me didn't think of the lengths Gen would go to get me back. I couldn't get a job at any of the local hospitals or doctor's offices. Plus, wherever I was, Gen would be. She pleaded, begging me to come back. I almost folded a few times. But then my mother became very sick and was admitted into the hospital. She needed to be someplace where she could be monitored closely. My mother's savings weren't enough, and I didn't have any money either. I had no other options and when Gen offered to pay my mother's bills and for her care, I went back to her. Things were fine for a while, but then it started up again. I couldn't leave this time. She started threatening my—my mother.” Deborah hugged herself as she walked over to the tree and rested the side of her face against it.

When Bridgette came up from behind and wrapped her arms around her, resting her cheek against her back, Deborah released a shaky sigh.

“The second time I left, which was a few weeks ago, Gen had accused me of having an affair with the pool girl. She was so angry,” Deborah whispered and sniffed as tears fell down her cheeks. “We had just celebrated our four-year wedding anniversary the night before. As I lay on the floor, bruised and crying, it finally hit me I couldn't live like that any longer. My mother doesn't have much longer to live. So, after a year of saving money and selling jewelry and secretly planning in case I had to leave, along with the help of Gen's servants, whom I trusted, I pretended to kill myself and traveled hundreds of miles across the country. Now here I am, ready to hop on another train and disappear again.”

“Please don't leave me.” Bridgette sounded miserable.

Deborah turned around, wiping her tears. Bridgette was crying as well. Deborah smiled and thumbed away Bridgette's tears falling down her cheeks.

“I have to. I don't trust myself. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, afraid Gen will be there. If she finds out I'm alive, she'll want me dead.”

“She'll have to get through me first,” Bridgette announced and wrapped her arms around Deborah's neck and kissed her. Startled, Deborah landed back against the rough bark of the tree as she held Bridgette, wanting to stay like this forever and never let her go.

When Bridgette stopped the kiss, she cupped Deborah's face, her eyes bright. “You're no longer alone. You have me now. My family can protect you.” A frown marred Bridgette's face. “Unless you think I'm like your wife—”

“No!” Deborah said loudly and squeezed Bridgette's shoulders. “You're the complete opposite of my wife. From the moment I met her, she was too dominant and needy. At first I found that exciting about her. Gen claimed me as one of her possessions, and look where it got me. With you it's the complete opposite. We're equals.”

“Equals. I like the sound of that.” Bridgette nodded, looking pleased. When she lifted her face up toward her, Deborah gave her another kiss.

Deborah wanted to continue kissing under the big elm tree with the branches and leaves that covered them from prying eyes. She longed to forget everything and just be with Bridgette, regardless of the danger. If Gen ever found out she was with someone else—

“You're thinking too hard,” Bridgette said against her mouth. She moved her face down and against Deborah's throat.

Running her fingers through Bridgette's curls, she curved an arm around her waist. “I can't help it. I'll never be able to rest my mind, knowing Gen is out there, suspecting I may have deceived her.”

“Instead of running away to places unknown, where you'll have to start over again and constantly look over your shoulder, why don't you wait a few days more? I can talk with Bryan and my father for advice on your situation without telling them who you are. If they're aware a dangerous person maybe heading here to do one of our own harm, they'll take care of it.”

“One of their own?” Deborah asked uncertain.

Bridgette's lips tilted up and she took both of Deborah's hands in hers. “Yes, you're one of us, part of the community. I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe,” Bridgette added, her voice growing hard.

Deborah wished she had half of Bridgette's strength and the belief that everything would turn out all right. She didn't, but kept that to herself. Instead, she'd do what Bridgette requested and enjoy the time they had together.

If only she could get over the feeling she was being watched.

Bridgette swiped a finger down Deborah's nose, where it was damp with sweat. “You know what? I think we should get out of this heat. You must be frying and I'm ready to wilt. How about we go back to my house where I can make you lunch and we can talk about our next move?”

“Our next move?” Deborah asked and wiped her face. She grimaced as her hands came away wet. “I must smell rank. Maybe a shower first, then food?”

Bridgette hopped lightly on her feet, her curls bobbing. Deborah would never get tired of seeing them. She reached out to wrap a curl around her finger. Bridgette kissed her softly on her chin, and as Deborah went to give her a kiss on her mouth, she moved back.

“Shower first, Miss Sweaty. Food, planning, then more kissing.” Bridgette's eyes twinkled.

Deborah finally relaxed her shoulders; they'd been knotted for days. “Let's go home,” she said, and when they grabbed her bags and walked in the direction toward their street, she couldn't help but feel a pair of eyes watching her—even though she didn't notice anyone lurking around. She did her best to shrug away that feeling until they both were close enough to hear a familiar dog barking and to see the house that gave her a sense of belonging.

Chapter Sixteen

Deborah took a shower while Bridgette went back over to her house to check on Rotquel. After washing the grime and sweat away, she combed her hair and put on a different pair of underwear, khaki shorts, bra, and a loose-fitting pink tank top. She walked downstairs when she heard a knock on the front door and after looking through the peephole, she opened it. Bridgette stood on her porch holding two brown paper bags.

“I was just going to come over,” Deborah replied and almost fumbled the bags as Bridgette passed them over to her.

“I thought we could eat here instead.” Bridgette walked in, gave Deborah a quick kiss on the mouth, and tugged on the hem of her shirt. “Pink really looks good on you.”

Swallowing a laugh, Deborah closed her front door. “I'd always like the color pink, but my wife hated it…sorry, you must be sick of hearing me talk about her.”

Bridgette patted Deborah's cheek. “Unless you don't want to talk about her, I don't care. Remember, I'm here for you, to listen to what you have to say.”

Deborah walked into the kitchen and put the bags on the table. She was still somewhat unnerved by the way Bridgette acted so calm about everything she'd told her. “You're too good to be true. Another woman would run far away from all the baggage I have.”

“By now you should know I'm not like other women, Deb. Is it all right if I call you that?” Bridgette asked as she pulled out the various food items they'd have for lunch.

“I don't mind.” Deborah responded, and as she walked past Bridgette to go over the refrigerator, she stopped and gave Bridgette's cheek a soft caress with her knuckles. “And I do see you're not like other women, at least the ones I know. Thanks…for being my friend.”

“You'd better think of me as a friend.” Bridgette said and began setting the table.

Deborah almost kissed her, but opened the refrigerator instead, closing her eyes and allowing the cool, crisp air to rush over her face. When she glanced down at her chest, she softly cursed upon seeing her nipples where hard. It wasn't from the refrigerator but something else—most likely the look of desire in Bridgette's eyes. Deborah had noticed it the moment she walked in the house: a look she couldn't get enough of and wanted to see as she lay on top of her, naked and spent from their lovemaking.

* * * *

They ate and talked about her situation. When their sandwiches and chips were devoured, their conversation led to simpler things, such as when Deborah would begin painting the rooms in her house.

“I was going to start my painting project, but then I decided to leave town.” Deborah pushed back the bangs that had fallen over her forehead. “I want to do the kitchen, then the bathroom. I'm also thinking my bedroom, but I'm not sure now if the color will work.”

Bridgette tapped her fingers on top of the table. Deborah found this habit—her quirk—cute. She almost grabbed hold of Bridgette's hand, but held back. She was so confused about what she felt for Bridgette. The one thing they still needed to discuss was the night she'd accused Bridgette of rape. At one point they'd have to talk about it, to clear the air.

“Would you like a second opinion? I can check out your bedroom and tell you if the paint is the right color,” Bridgette offered as she stood.

“Sure. I'd appreciate your opinion.” Deborah led the way.

As they reached the landing, a loud sound of thunder erupted around them. Deborah flinched and glanced back at Bridgette. “I hate these sudden summer storms.”

“I don't mind them. I think they're sexy.” Bridgette replied and rubbed Deborah's arm as they went into her bedroom.

“You're sure you don't want to check on Rotquel? Don't dogs get upset by thunder and lightning?” Deborah walked over to the open window and watched the trees and power lines sway from the blustery wind. A flash of lightning appeared overhead and the greenish-gray clouds in the sky churned. A few drops of rain came down, and when Bridgette stood next to her, it started to pour.

“Rotquel will be okay. She usually naps this time of day.” Bridgette bounced on her feet. “I love this…wildness.”

“A storm like this makes you want to be wild?” Deborah lightly joked and rested her cheek against the window pane as the rain soaked the ground. It slashed down sideways and hit her in the face, cooling her off even more.

Bridgette's arms came around her and she rested her chin against her upper arm. “Yes, it does. I always had a fantasy of making love outside in the rain.”

Me too. Deborah turned her face down to Bridgette, who looked up at her. “What other naughty fantasies do you have, Ridge?” Deborah twisted one of her bouncy curls around her fingers.

“You and I making love in your bed over there, feeling your body on top of mine as I make you come,” Bridgette whispered and placed her lips over Deborah's.

The soft pull of Bridgette's mouth against hers made her nipples tighten even more and her inner thighs throb. How could she want Bridgette this way when she had so many issues to still work out?

She broke the kiss and moved away until she sat down on the bed. She looked down at her hands and shook her head in despair. “Bridgette, I-I'm broken inside. The night we were together and almost made love should prove to you no good can come of us being together. What if—”

“Shh.” Bridgette placed the pad of her finger over Deborah's mouth and knelt down in front of her.

“I can't help but want you, to be with you. And it looks like you want the same thing,” she said and moved in closer to cup Deborah's face.

Deborah twisted her head away. “You don't understand. I don't want you to think I'm using you as a rebound. My feelings for Gen are still here.” Deborah covered her heart. “I have so much to work through before I can jump head first into another relationship.”

Bridgette nodded and rested her palms up on Deborah's knees. Deborah placed her palms on top of hers and wiped her cheek against her shoulder were a tear had escaped her eye.

“I want to help you get over whatever you need to get through.”

“With sex?” Deborah joked and jumped when another boom of thunder went off.

“Why not?” Bridgette asked and moved her face in close until their noses brushed. “Kissing and touching can be the best medicine.”

“That's a line if I ever heard one.” Deborah lifted an eyebrow and leaned back on her elbows.

“Better than talking about paint and a woman who never deserved you to begin with.”

Deborah opened her mouth to argue when Bridgette pushed her down and straddled her. She went still as Bridgette licked her lips. Before her eyes, Bridgette pulled off her own tank top. She wore no bra since her top had a built-in one. Deborah's mouth started to water. Bridgette's nipples were large and full, a dark cherry shade that had her longing to lick and roll with her fingers.

“Oops, sorry.” Bridgette climbed off of her and lay on her side. Deborah moaned from her loss.

“Why'd you get off of me?” Deborah asked and turned, facing Bridgette, bringing her hands under her chin so she wouldn't grab hold of Bridgette's breasts.

“I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable since you told me you were always the bottom and never the top.” Bridgette lay on her back and lifted her arms over her head. “I'm offering myself to you, for you to do whatever you want to me.”

“This is your form of therapy?” Deborah asked, dumbstruck, and lifted up on her elbow.

“Yes.” Bridgette linked her fingers together and arched her back. “And if you want to tie me up, go ahead.”

“Um.” Deborah sat up and wiped her face with her palms. Her hands shook and her mouth was dry.

“Deb?” Bridgette asked, and when her hand touched Deborah's knee, Deborah released a groan and rolled over to cover Bridgette's body.

She ate away at Bridgette's lips, licking and nipping as Bridgette chuckled. Deborah lost herself in the kiss, rubbing her hips against Bridgette's, longing to feel their naked bodies against one another.

“I need you so badly,” Deborah said and moved her face down to lick Bridgette's throat.

“Take me, then. I'm yours,” Bridgette replied in a husky whisper and gasped as Deborah sucked down on her right nipple.

Deborah pinched and pulled on Bridgette's hard nips, her skin so soft and smooth. She unzipped Bridgette's shorts, sliding her hand over her mound, pleasantly surprised to not feel any underwear.

“You don't wear any panties or thongs?” Deborah asked as she moved her mouth around Bridgette's breast.

“No. Another quirk of mine.” Bridgette moaned, her hand landing on Deborah's head.

Deborah grabbed hold of Bridgette's hand. “Wrap your hands around the headboard and don't move them. If you do, I'll tie them to it.”

“Make me,” Bridgette said, and put not only one, but both hands in Deborah's hair.

“Okay, you asked for it.” Deborah climbed off the bed and walked over to the dresser, where she found a white scarf. When she turned back to Bridgette, her eyes went wide. Bridgette had totally disrobed. Her legs were spread wide, where Deborah could see her pink, distended pussy covered by a light patch of red hair.

“You wax?” Deborah asked in wonder as she began pulling off her own clothes.

“A few days ago,” Bridgette said with a bit of sass in her voice and put her hand in between her legs. Her fingers spread apart her pussy lips and her thumb moved over her clit that Deborah couldn't wait to feel against her tongue.

“Now you're going to get it,” Deborah warned and straddled Bridgette much like Bridgette did to her only a moment ago. Deborah took Bridgette's wrists and rested them against the headboard. Bridgette tugged playfully against Deborah's hold, shrieking and crying—pretend fighting, as if Deborah was going to force her to do something she didn't want to do.

“You're a big bully, Deborah!” Bridgette said in a high-pitched voice.

Deborah silenced her by giving her a hard kiss.

Both kissed with passion, and when Bridgette's arms went lax, Deborah rested them back against the headboard and tied her arms around each end. She broke the kiss to check her knots.

“Not too tight?” she asked, released a moan when Bridgette lifted her face and latched onto her breast with her mouth.

“I take it that's a yes?” Deborah asked huskily and pressed down into Bridgette's mouth. Her inner core clenched from the tugging Bridgette's teeth on her sensitive flesh. She rubbed her pussy against Bridgette's already wet one, the need inside her growing to a feverish pitch.

Bridgette finished her sucking and lay back, out of breath. “Move your twat over my face where I can eat you out.”

“Such shocking language from a schoolteacher,” Deborah said in mock disgust and grabbed hold of Bridgette's face and kissed her.

Their tongues rolled around until both were panting for air. Deborah rocked back and forth as Bridgette's knees lifted up and cradled her hips.

“Deborah, let me taste you.” Bridgette begged and pulled on her bonds. Deborah waited for Bridgette to break them, but they never did.

“All right, Miss Impatient.” Deborah circled her fingers around the edges of Bridgette's nipples. Her own grew even more pointed for what she had planned in the next few minutes.

Bridgette's body trembled under her as Deborah turned, her ass facing Bridgette, much like she was ready to do the reverse cowgirl position. She bent down so her face hovered over Bridgette's pussy. She wiggled her hips until her ass cheek touched Bridgette's chin.

“Are you fine with this?” Deborah asked, looking over her shoulder at Bridgette.

“Yes.” Bridgette's tongue flicked out across one of her cheeks, Deborah bit down on her lips hard. She squirmed, moving in closer and spread her legs. When Bridgette's mouth covered her pussy, she sobbed and mouthed Bridgette's wet mound, sucking deeply.

It had been way too long since she'd tasted a women's pussy, and her come dripped as she grew excited. She licked over Bridgette's moist, fleshy lips. Deborah's face was drenched, her nose filling with Bridgette's come. She sniffed in deeply, almost climaxing from the juices flowing down her throat. Bridgette lapped away at her core and she grinded her cunt against Deborah's mouth slowly. Grunts and sighs came from behind her as she located Bridgette's clit with her finger and swirled over the hard button.

“Dear Lord in heaven and all the angels above!” Bridgette screeched against Deborah's ass and exhaled loudly. Deborah shivered and she stopped eating out Bridgette to catch her breath.

Her entire body went stiff when something wet and soft slipped inside her ass crack. She bit down on her lip and jumped from the slippery erotic intrusion. It had to be Bridgette's tongue rimming her ass.

“Oh Bridgette,” Deborah sighed and pulled her lover's legs farther apart to make her come. She reached in between Bridgette's legs and scraped her short nails over the inside of her thighs, enjoying the goose bumps rising over her skin. A drizzle of Bridgette's juices coated her fingers and she dipped her head back down to lick the fluid away.

When Bridgette's entire body stiffened and she cried out loudly, Deborah closed her eyes and allowed her release to overtake her. She panted against Bridgette's waxed, somewhat bristly puss and fell to the side and off of Bridgette so as not to crush her.

A crack of lightning lit up the room as Deborah wheezed loudly. She rolled onto her back, her legs and feet near Bridgette's face as Bridgette's chest rose up and down from her harsh breathing. Her eyes were closed and her face was damp with her sweat.

“Bridgette?” Deborah asked in a hush whisper and knelt beside her. She untied her arms and rubbed her muscles.

“Hm, that's nice.” Bridgette's eyes flickered open and she yawned loudly.

“You came.” Deborah didn't form it as a question.

“You did also.” Bridgette smacked her lips and grimaced.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Deborah said and sat, glancing down at her lap.

The bed shook as Bridgette climbed off. When a hand landed on her shoulder, she lifted her head. Bridgette's face was within kissing distance and she leaned forward, but Bridgette rested a finger over her lips.

“Hold that thought.” Bridgette ruffled her hair and left the room.

Deborah lay down and closed her eyes. She couldn't move even if she wanted to, and she lightly dozed as the rain and thunder went on around her. Her whole body hummed and she couldn't stop smiling as she licked her lips drying with Bridgette's release. When the bed dipped down, she turned on her back. Bridgette sat holding a glass of water.

“Here, drink this,” she offered.

Deborah took the glass and drank it down. She handed it over to Bridgette and rubbed her eyes. She could barely keep them open. This was a first for her. Sex usually made her tense and edgy. Or had when she was with—

“Feeling okay?” Bridgette brushed the hair away from her forehead and moved around until she was curved behind her.

“Yes. That was…amazing,” Deborah admitted in surprise and nestled down when Bridgette tucked her knees behind hers and rested her arm on her hip.

“I know it was. I'm good,” Bridgette said close to her ear. Deborah snorted and took Bridgette's hand in hers.

“Stay with me for a while?” Deborah asked and squeezed Bridgette's fingers.

“You can bet I will. I'm not going anywhere. I'll watch over you while you sleep, sweet Deborah.”

Deborah smiled softly and drifted away, feeling safe in Bridgette's protected embrace as her mouth rubbed gently over the nape of her neck.

* * * *

Bridgette waited until Deborah fell into a deep sleep before she got up from the bed. The storm had lessened to a drizzle and the room had become cool enough that she arranged the sheet over Deborah. Placing a soft kiss on her brow, Bridgette got dressed and went back over to her house. She checked in on Rotquel, who waited by the front door, and took her outside in the backyard to relieve herself while she grabbed her pencils and drawing pad. When Rotquel finished, and she gave her food in her bowl, she went back over to her Deborah.

Instead of joining her dozing lover in bed, she sat at the window seat next to the lamp she turned on, and watched Deborah, who slept on her side, facing her.

Bridgette was struck by how beautiful and peaceful Deborah looked in the muted darkness of the bedroom as the late afternoon fell into evening. The sheet had fallen around her hips where her breasts were on display, her nipples now flat and dormant, along with her feet peeking out. Bridgette would've pulled the sheet off Deborah, but didn't want to disturb her. She placed her drawing pad over her lap and starting tracing an outline that would eventually become a figure.

Bridgette lost herself in her drawing, and Deborah, who remained asleep until she moved on her stomach and hid her face into the pillow. She moaned and her leg twitched. Bridgette put the pad down at the exact same time Deborah cried out and sat up, shaking and covering her mouth.

“Deb, what is it?” Bridgette sat on the bed and pulled her into her arms.

Deborah hid her face in the crook of Bridgette's neck. She sniffed loudly and groaned. Bridgette cupped the back of her head and rocked her until Deborah came fully awake.

Finally Deborah lifted her head up but kept her arms around Bridgette's hips. She leaned back against the headboard and caressed the side of Deborah's face with her finger. Deborah grabbed hold of her hand and kissed the inside of her palm.

“I had a nightmare. It's the same one I have most nights, where some shadow comes out of nowhere and slashes my throat.” Deborah covered her own throat and her lips trembled. “The last thing I remember before I wake up crying is my head being cut off my body.”

“Maybe your fears are entering your dreams. Did you have these nightmares back in Nevada?” Bridgette asked.

Deborah pulled away and sat up. She combed her fingers through her hair. “Never. I barely dreamed at all. I usually passed out exhausted afterward.”

Bridgette stopped from laughing over the noticeable blush staining Deborah's cheeks. Sex never made her tired, but quite the opposite. A short sting in the middle of her chest made her grimace. Knowing Deborah's psycho wife had given her such pleasure to the point Deborah passed out made her less than happy—perhaps even jealous.

“I guess I'll have to try harder to make sure you're too tired from all the orgasms I give you that you won't be able to dream,” Bridgette said lightly and ignored the tightening in her chest. She took hold of Deborah's chin in a light grasp and kissed her. Deborah's lips moved slowly against her own. Bridgette lay on the bed and, still kissing Deborah, pulled her down next to her. Deborah broke the kiss and rested her cheek on her shoulder.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“A few hours,” Bridgette replied, kissing Deborah's forehead.

Deborah exhaled softly and laid her hand flat over Bridgette's breast. Bridgette's body started to respond to Deborah's seemingly innocent touch, when Deborah lifted her head and squinted her red-rimmed eyes.

“Is that your drawing pad next to the window?”

Bridgette nodded. “Yup. I couldn't sleep and went back over to my house to get my pad and pencils. I drew you while you slept.”

Deborah tilted her face down and hid under Bridgette's arm. “You drew me drooling and snoring?”

A loud laugh escaped Bridgette's mouth and she turned on her side. Deborah did the same and tangled their legs together.

“You looked so beautiful and peaceful sleeping.” Bridgette brushed her lips against Deborah's, only to keep them still for a moment, then letting go.

“You have a great way with words,” Deborah said and rubbed one of Bridgette's curls between her fingers.

Bridgette stared intently at Deborah's face. She wanted to tell Deborah how special she thought her to be, but held back, since she had issues with that description, thanks to her bitch of a wife.

“Now who's the one thinking too hard?” Deborah asked and swiped her finger down Bridgette's cheek.

“It looks like we both have a lot of things on our minds,” Bridgette said, not failing to notice the lines straining Deborah's forehead.

“I was thinking how when I was little and woke up scared in the middle of the night, my Mom would stay with me in my bed and lie next to me just as we're doing now.”

Bridgette lifted an eyebrow over Deborah's admission. “I remind you of your mother?”

Deborah covered her mouth with a hand and giggled. “Not at all. What I'm feeling for you is far from that.”

Bridgette gave Deborah's chest a quick glance. Her nipples grew hard before her eyes. And what are your feelings for me?

Before she leaned over to give Deborah a kiss that would lead to them both rolling around on the bed and getting sweaty, Deborah nibbled on her thumbnail and looked out the window. “I miss my Mom so much.”

“Why don't you give her a call to see how she's doing? I bet she'd love to hear your voice.”

“I-I don't think I can. I'm too scared to call her and find out if…” Deborah swallowed and shook her head. Her eyes grew bright with unshed tears. “It's not safe. I can't take the chance that the call may be traced.”

Bridgette thought Deborah was overreacting, but didn't speak up about it. She brushed a hand over Deborah's head. “What if we go out for a bite to eat? I know this great barbeque place two hours east of here if you don't mind the drive. There's bound to be a pay phone around. You can use one of those to make your call. Even if the call could be traced, it would lead back to there and nowhere near here. What do you say?”

The way Deborah chewed on her nail and remained quiet made Bridgette antsy. She sat up and tapped her fingers on her knee. Deborah dropped her hand away from her mouth.

“I'd need to take a shower first.”

“How about I join you?” Bridgette asked.

Deborah snickered and knelt on the bed, wrapping her arms around Bridgette's shoulders. “That sounds like an excellent plan. But first I have a small problem that needs to be taken care of.”

“And what would that be?” Bridgette asked as she cupped Deborah's breasts and rolled her thumbs over her aroused flesh.

“I need you to take care of my small problem regarding my nipples. I really can't be seen in public like this,” Deborah said with mock repulsion and drifted her mouth over Bridgette's.

Bridgette fell on top of Deborah and gladly welcomed her kisses. They spent the next hour or so kissing and touching until they took a shower that led them to washing one another thoroughly. By the time they got into Bridgette's car to take the two-hour drive to dinner, the rain had stopped and the sky had cleared.

When they reached their destination, Bridgette made sure Deborah ate, even though she kept shifting in her seat and bit her nails more than her food. When they finished their dinner and found a pay phone, Bridgette held Deborah close as she called her mother.

The night didn't end with happy tears on Deborah's end from hearing her mother's voice, but sobs of anguish and grief as she was told about her mother's passing away a few weeks ago.

Bridgette drove back with a silent and morose Deborah until they arrived back in Woodberry Creek, where Bridgette made Deborah spend the night in bed, holding and comforting her, much like Deborah's mother did when she was a child.

When Deborah fell to sleep with tears marking her pale cheeks, Bridgette promised she would do whatever she could to make certain Deborah was never hurt again by anyone, even if it meant putting her own life on the line.

Chapter Seventeen

The pictures fell from Genevieve's hands as she growled low in her throat. Berlinoz stood with his arms crossed, a blank look on his face as she dug her heel into the black-and-white pictures of her cheating, lying twat of a wife kissing another woman.

Red filled her vision and she cursed loudly, turning away and facing the swirling rapids of the river below her.

“How long ago were these pictures taken?” Genevieve asked, her voice cracking.

“Three days ago. Your wife was easy to locate since she was dressed in almost the exact same clothes she wore to her mother's care facility. She also had a suitcase and a bag with her, as if she was getting ready to leave town. But then she and the woman sat in the park, where they had a long discussion. Afterward, they embraced and kissed, as you can see in the pictures I took.”

“Fucking cunt,” Genevieve spat and turned back around. Berlinoz looked bored, but she noticed the strain around his mouth and how his eyes darted around. When she had told him over the phone to meet her near the river, ten miles down from where her car was found without Deborah's body, he'd sounded displeased. She expected him to question why she wanted to meet him here instead of her home. He didn't.

“On the positive side, your wife doesn't seem to be leaving anytime soon, now that she has a reason to stay,” Berlinoz said. Genevieve curled her lips, the bright red spots growing even larger in front of her eyes.

“Positive? What the fuck is wrong with you? My wife is screwing around with another woman, enjoying her new life without me! She's probably having a good laugh at my expense, tricking me the way she did.” Genevieve clenched her shaking fists in the air. “If that's not bad enough, my two most trusted servants have vanished as well. They helped her escape!”

Berlinoz scratched his nose and stepped away from his car. “I understand you're upset, but screaming and yelling will get you nowhere.”

“Oh, really?” Genevieve said as a bubble of hysteria rose from her throat. “You weren't made a fool of.” She grounded her heel into the pictures again. Leaning down, she picked up the one where Deborah and the short, stubby woman kissed passionately, and tore it into little pieces.

She would get her revenge and make Deborah pay. Before she was done with her, Deborah wouldn't be able to walk, let alone move, after Genevieve broke every bone in her body.

“I'm going to kill her and her slut,” Genevieve said out loud, lost in the haze of her anger.

“Mrs. Murnay, I recommend you take a few days to think things through before you do something you may regret. It would be a shame if you did do something rash. I'll be less than pleased if it comes back to me.”

Genevieve gave Berlinoz a haughty stare as he cracked his knuckles. If he thought he could control her by his subtle threat, he would be in for a surprise. She pushed back her hair and cracked her head from side to side, remembering to restrain herself. “Yes, you're correct. We wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen where you or I could end up in a precarious situation, now, wouldn't we?” Genevieve gave him a smile and sauntered over to him.

Berlinoz's stance pulsed with tension, his body rigid. Even when she swiped her finger down the front of his shirt, he didn't relax. She pouted and titled her chin up. “I've been all out of sorts from Deborah faking her death, my driver and housekeeper running away in the middle of the night and not having any time to relieve my frustrations, if you catch my meaning?”

When Berlinoz dropped his arms and shifted his legs apart, she played with the top of her breasts poking over her silk tan camisole and moved against him. His arousal brushed up against her stomach.

Ah! Not as immune as I first thought. This knowledge pleased her and she arched her back slightly to push out the breasts that were close to popping out of her tank. She'd worn the tight top on purpose, remembering Berlinoz's reaction the last time he noticed her abundant cleavage.

“Mrs. Murnay, you're not thinking correctly at this moment,” he said in a husky whisper and dug his fingers into her hips. “Aren't you a dyke?”

Genevieve hid her revulsion over his derogatory label and rested her palms over his chest. “I consider myself to be, but sometimes I like to have a different flavor. Since this may possibly be the last time I see you, why don't we have some fun together before we go our separate ways?” Genevieve moved her hand down in between them and cupped his cock. “It's been far too long since I had a dick inside me. What do you say? Think of it as an extra bonus for a job well done.”

Berlinoz's fingers squeezed her hips and pulled her flush against him. His mouth fell on hers and drew on her lips. Genevieve laughed and joined in on the heated yet sloppy kiss. He walked them back and around to the front of the car as he tugged down her cami and sucked on her breasts.

“I've wanted to mouth your tits since I first saw you. I can't wait to stick my dick in between them,” Berlinoz said crudely against her breast and lifted her up until she was spread flat on the hood of his car.

As Berlinoz went to unzip his pants, Genevieve sat up and tugged on his ears. “No fucking yet, big boy. I want you eating me out until I come all over the hood of your car.”

“Ah yeah, you lesbos love to have your cunt pecked on. I'm down with that,” Berlinoz said in a rasping voice and lifted up Genevieve's skirt. His eyes went wide upon noticing her in the buff and his tongue came out and licked over her waxed pussy.

She moaned loudly as he roughly pulled apart her legs and lifted them up to give him better access. His blunt nails dug into her hips, making red marks appear. She threw out her hand to grab her purse and brought it over her chest. Berlinoz gave no notice as he slurped her pussy and flicked her clit with his tongue.

“Hector,” Genevieve said in a strong voice.

When he glanced up, his mouth hung low as she quickly slammed the heel of her shoe into his shoulder, making him stumble back. Before he could gain his footing, she released all six rounds of her gun into him. He arched back as the bullets hit him, no shots echoing in the woods from the silencer on her gun. Disbelief and shock covered his face as he fell to the ground.

Genevieve sat up and pulled up her cami, tsking over the spots of blood on her legs. She tugged down her skirt, took off her shoes, and climbed off the car. Shaking her head, she walked away and went over to a shrub where a medium-sized bag lay hidden. She opened it and pulled on a pair of oversized workman boots and brown leather gloves. When she reached Berlinoz's body, she placed her hands on her hips.

“The reason I prefer women over men is because women don't think with their pussy as much as a man does with his dick. You were so predictable falling for my guise, asshole.” Genevieve hunched over to roll the body down into the river.

The entire process didn't take that long. She rubbed wax over the hood of the car with a towel to wipe away any of the prints she might have left behind. When she'd finished, she took her purse and the bag and made deep impressions in the ground with the boots Gilberto had left behind.

A fifteen-year-old white Pontiac Sunbird she'd bought at a used-car dealership was parked farther down the path. Simply by dressing as an older, matronly woman with graying hair in a bun and saying she had only retired and needed a car had been too easy. No one thought it odd; they were happy to have the sale. It had been so easy to get fake identification and don a disguise to fool people, much like her Deborah had done.

Ah yes, her lovely, deceitful Deborah, who in a day or two she would be reunited with. Genevieve smiled as she drove away, fantasizing how their precious reunion would go. Each fantasy ended with Deborah motionless on the floor at her feet, covered in blood.

Chapter Eighteen

Deborah lay on the couch, lightly petting Rotquel, who laid her head on the cushion next to her hip. Bridgette came around and sat on the coffee table in front of her, but she didn't acknowledge her.

“Deb, you've been lying here for hours, staring into space. You're starting to worry me.” Bridgette's finger brushed over her forehead and Deborah sighed, hiding her face into the pillow.

It still was so hard for her not to break down in tears, even a week after her mother's death. Most of the time she lay in bed staring out the window, or took naps. Bridgette had been a great support and spent most nights with her, making love late into the night and listening to her stories about her childhood.

She cried too many times to count as she told Bridgette about her marriage and the fear and confusion over the abuse she suffered. Bridgette held her, whispering soothing words in her ear and giving her kisses that ended up with them naked and making love. Not once did Bridgette recommend they use toys or any other instruments to heighten their experience together.

But the one kinky thing Deborah had enjoyed was tying Bridgette up. When she finally allowed Bridgette to do the same to her, she came so hard that she saw stars. And she never felt dirty or ashamed afterward.

Her lips tilted up as she remembered last night, when Bridgette made her climax by simply licking and sucking her breasts.

“I love when you smile,” Bridgette said and cupped her cheek.

Love. What they had was too new and too soon for Deborah to feel that way about her wonderful, generous lover with the red corkscrew curls. But it was very close to it.

Deborah sniffed and sat up. Rotquel released a soft bark and left the room. “I haven't had much to smile about lately.”

“You did just now. What were you thinking?” Bridgette asked as she sat down next to her and twined their fingers together.

“You,” Deborah said honestly. “And how wonderful you make me feel.”

Bridgette squeezed her hand. “I hope when you think of me you smile, or at least you're turned on.” She gazed at Deborah's chest.

Deborah pressed the back of her head against the couch and weakly chuckled. She closed her eyes, still tired, wondering if Bridgette would take a nap with her, when something brushed her cheek. She opened her eyes. Bridgette held up a bright yellow paper.

“What's this?” Deborah grabbed it and scanned the page. The information listed was for a carnival starting tonight and into the weekend with rides, food, and crafts. She glanced back at Bridgette in confusion.

“We should go.”

Deborah put the flier on Bridgette's lap and rubbed her hands over her face. “I'm not really up to it—”

“It would be good for you to get out and have some mindless fun.” Bridgette dropped her hand down on Deborah's knee. “From what you told me about your mother, she'd want you to go out and celebrate your life and not sit around, upset and depressed about her death.”

Deborah should've felt some sort of anger over Bridgette's statement, but she didn't. She'd come to expect Bridgette's outspokenness. She was right. Her mother would want her to live for herself and not drown in unfortunate memories. “Okay. When do you want to go?”

“Yes!” Bridgette pumped her fist and gave Deborah a loud, smacking kiss. Deborah turned her face toward Bridgette's mouth, suddenly needing her lips against her own when Bridgette stood and clapped her hands together.

“How about tonight? It's only a fifteen-minute drive. It will be my treat.” Bridgette wagged her eyebrows. “This will be our first official date.”

Deborah stood and winced as her back stung from the way she'd been lying. “What does one wear to a carnival?”

“You've got to be kidding me. You've never been to one?” Bridgette shook her head in surprise.

“Never,” Deborah replied simply.

Taking hold of Deborah's hands, Bridgette gave her a happy smile. “I'm a carnival pro. I'll help you pick out what to wear.”

Deborah gave Bridgette a kiss on her open mouth. After a few brushes of her lips against hers, Deborah fingered her curls. “It's become a habit whenever you come up to my bedroom, we always end up naked together in my bed.”

Bridgette tugged her as she walked over to her front door. “I can't help it. It's a new quirk of mine.”

“Another one? The, ‘I can't keep my hands off Deborah whenever we're in her bedroom’ quirk?”

Bridgette opened her door and peeked over her shoulder at her. “How about every time I see you in your bedroom I can't help myself but want to love you?”

Deborah's stomach jumped. Oh, wow.

“Let's get a move on. We have a busy night ahead of us. First we'll have a quickie, then shower, then go have some fun like a couple of teenagers,” Bridgette commanded, grabbing hold of Deborah's hand.

Deborah followed with a plan brewing in her head of having Bridgette wet and willing even before they made it up to her bedroom.

* * * *

“The lady is a winner!”

Bridgette loved the way Deborah covered her mouth and did a small hop as the man behind the booth handed her a plush green and purple butterfly.

“I can't believe I won. I've never won anything before,” Deborah said, holding her prize to her chest.

For the first time in days Deborah's eyes were full of life and the strain lines around her mouth had disappeared.

Bridgette thought she'd never looked as beautiful as she did at that exact moment. She almost blurted out her feelings for Deb, but instead pulled her in close and kissed her full on the lips.

Deborah gasped, and her hands flexed against her waist as she placed them there. Bridgette ended the kiss with a quick slide of her tongue inside Deborah's mouth: a promise of things to come, when they returned home.

When they finished their kiss, Deborah glanced around, dazed, as if she couldn't believe she'd kissed her in public. Bridgette put her hands in her denim shorts pockets and rocked back on her heels. No one around them gave disgruntled looks at their display of affection.

A flash of bright light went up in the sky and red and white sparks flew overhead. The crowd around them oohed and aahed. Deborah looked enthralled, and when she took Bridgette's hand without Bridgette being the first one to do so, Bridgette's chest tightened.

Thank God she trusts me now.

Bridgette watched Deborah's awestruck face as she viewed the fireworks. Before she could stare up at the display in the sky, she was jostled roughly from behind. Their hands broke apart and Bridgette turned to see who had rudely bumped into her.

“Sorry.” An older, severely dressed woman passed her, again pushing into her shoulder as she quickly rushed by.

Bridgette frowned and shook her head.

“What's wrong?” Deborah asked, completely oblivious to what had just happened.

“Nothing important.” Bridgette took hold of Deborah's hand again. “Hey, it's getting a bit too crowded and I think I've overdosed on enough funnel cake and frozen yogurt to last the summer. What do you say about going back home and relaxing?”

Deborah's lips twitched. “Want to relax in my bedroom with me?”

Bridgette laughed. “Didn't we do that already?”

“Let's do it again.” Deborah squeezed her hand.

“I'd rather relax with you in that big bathtub of yours.” Bridgette bumped her hip against Deborah's. “We can reenact one of the bathing scenes as Pauline and Juliet from Heavenly Creatures.”

“Heavenly what?” Deborah asked, wiggling her nose.

“Don't tell you haven't heard of Heavenly Creatures. That was one of the first movies Kate Winslet acted in.” Bridgette cocked her hip. “You do know who Kate Winslet is?”

Deborah rolled her eyes and jabbed her lightly with her elbow. “Yes. I know who she is.”

Bridgette linked her arm with Deborah's. “I'll give you the rundown of the movie on our drive back. I think Peter Jackson had a bathing fetish because of that movie.”

“Is he an actor in the movie?” Deborah asked.

“Oh Debs, you crack me up.” Bridgette chuckled, and as they reached her car, she backed Deborah against the passenger side door and ravished her mouth. Deborah moaned and joined in on the kiss, her hands going under Bridgette's top and caressing her back and lower until she cupped her ass cheeks. Surrounded by the bright lights of the carnival and the happy cries from the crowd, they made out, not caring if anyone came upon them and witnessed the affection for one another that had grown into something deeper and real.

* * * *

Deborah couldn't stop kissing Bridgette. It had to be the leftover sugar on Bridgette's lips from the funnel cake they shared earlier in the night. On the drive home they kissed at red lights and stop signs, finally parking in Bridgette's driveway, where they steamed up the windows, and not because of the humidity or the heat in the air. It was actually very pleasant, since the heat wave broke earlier in the week, and perfect for a bubble bath with the woman she couldn't get enough of.

“I have freesia-scented bubble bath and a bottle of champagne. Why don't you get the bath ready and I'll grab the bottle and be back before you know it?” Bridgette walked Deborah up to her front porch and they kissed some more. Deborah was ready to push her down in one of the rocking chairs in the corner and go down on her, but stopped herself.

“I'd like that,” Deborah said softly against Bridgette's cheek and gave her a hug. She hid her face in Bridgette's curls for a moment, inhaling her sweet floral scent.

“You left your butterfly in my car. I'll bring it over as well. It'll look right at home on your bed.” Bridgette winked and gave her another kiss.

Deborah finally released her and unlocked her door. “I'll keep the door unlocked. Hurry back.”

“You can bet on it. See you in a few minutes.” Bridgette winked and waved as she walked down the steps.

The screen door closed behind her and Deborah made certain the front door was slightly ajar for when Bridgette returned. Deborah hummed softly as she turned on a lamp to cast a soft glow in the living room, then ran up the steps to get ready for what would be an end to a wonderful night.

* * * *

Wearing her short pink pajama set, Deborah lit candles around the bathroom. She rubbed her hands together in excitement over sharing a bath with Bridgette. She'd never done such a thing with another woman and couldn't wait to make a new memory for herself that would have her smiling, not frowning. Pushing the door open to allow the breeze from the circular fan from her bedroom, she went over to her windows and opened them higher. The night was cool for mid-July, and the only sweat she and Bridgette would have on their skin would be from making passionate love together.

Deborah recognized Rotquel's barking from across the street. She viewed Bridgette's house, seeing the light on in the front of her house, as well as a light coming from inside. Soon Bridgette would be in her arms again, where she'd taste her lips and other luscious parts on her body that had her salivating.

Tapping her chin, she remembered the bottle of body lotion in the linen closet. Her nipples grew hard at the thought of giving Bridgette a nice intimate massage that would lead to a special type of happy ending for her.

Rotquel's barks trailed her as she walked out into the hallway. She must be really excited to see Bridgette. Shrugging, she went over to the closet just as the stairway down below went dark.

What the— Deborah groaned. The light must have burned out. Not wanting Bridgette to stumble around in the dark, she made her way over to the landing.

Grumbling under her breath that there was no light switch to turn on and give her light, she carefully walked down the stairs, wishing the moon was brighter so she wouldn't trip and fall and break her—

Un dì, felice, eterea, Mi balenaste innante, E da quel dì tremante, Vissi d'ignoto amor…

Deborah held the wall for support. Her stomach rolled as the opera played softly from somewhere inside. There was no way that could be possible, since she didn't have a stereo or a radio in the house. She backed up one step when she noticed the front door was fully closed and a shadow of a person stood in front of it.

Nonononono! Deborah whimpered, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she swallowed and stepped down. If she went back upstairs, she wouldn't be able to escape.

As she grew accustomed to the darkness and moved around the banister, a cocking sound met her ears. “If you move one more inch, I'll shoot you in the leg. I can promise you it won't be pleasant.”

Deborah almost fell to the floor upon hearing the voice that had haunted her, and dug her fingers into the wooden banister. The opera continued to play softly, then went off with a click, only to be replaced by live singing in English.

“Since that moment I loved you, loved and adored from afar. Hoping for love, love that fills the universe, Sorrow, sorrow, sorrow, sorrow…” Genevieve's voice finished signing the melody and Deborah blinked from the small light that appeared in front of her.

Genevieve held a lighter under her chin, casting a ghostlike glow around her face. Deborah's hands shook as she wrapped her arms around her waist and silent shudders overtook her body.

“You found me.” Deborah mouthed and tears fell down her cheeks as she took a step back.

“Stop moving!” Genevieve screeched and moved forward, holding the gun in one hand while keeping the lighter on with the other.

Deborah halted and took in deep breaths to calm herself. The air was suddenly thick and fear clogged her throat. She backed up against the wall near the steps as Genevieve closed the lighter and turned the lamp on. When she faced her again, Deborah covered her mouth in utter shock.

Genevieve's hair was pulled back in a tight bun and colored with gray. She also wore glasses and a large flowered dress. Her face was covered in heavy makeup. Deborah's stomach cramped again as she came to the realization that Genevieve wore a disguise.

“You were the woman who bumped into Bridgette at the carnival,” Deborah said. When Bridgette had been jostled, she'd turned away from the fireworks display a moment and caught sight of a matronly woman wearing a garish dress passing them. The same dress Genevieve wore now.

Genevieve chuckled and pulled off the wig and the glasses. She threw them over near a bag sitting next to the front door. “I can wear a disguise also, Wade.” Deborah's ears began to ring at the name of one of her aliases.

She shook her head to stop the sound and stiffened when Genevieve moved in closer. Deborah moved to the left and away from the wall. She lifted her hands up at Genevieve in supplication.

“I know you're furious with me, but I had to do it. I couldn't live with you anymore. I was afraid—”

“Afraid?” Genevieve's arm shook as she swung the gun back up at her. “You don't know what true fear is. But you will when I get through with you.”

Deborah closed her eyes for a short moment. She released a shaky breath. “You won't get away with killing me.”

Genevieve cackled. Deborah's eyes shot open. “Kill you? Oh no, my dearling. I'm not going to kill you right away. First I'm going to punish you for making me look like a fool. We're going on a little trip together, where we'll get reacquainted.”

Genevieve's lips lifted and Deborah licked her own as she noticed how raw and chapped they looked, as if Genevieve had been chewing on them.

“I'm not going anywhere with you. Go ahead and shoot me here because there's no way in hell I'm leaving with you, knowing you want to torture me.”

“My dearling has finally grown a set of balls!”

“Stop calling me that!” Deborah yelled.

“How dare you speak to me that way, you faithless, lying cunt?” Genevieve whispered and dug the barrel of the gun into the middle of Deborah's forehead. Deborah went still and something wet dripped down the inside of her legs.

Genevieve's smile grew soft as she took a step close. Deborah backed up until she was near the edge of the couch.

“Please don't—”

“Please don't,” Genevieve said in a squeaky voice and snorted. “That's what your lover said to me as I bashed her over the head with my gun.”

Deborah clenched her hands into tight fists. Bridgette!

“If you hurt Bridgette—”

“Shut the fuck up! I don't want to hear her name coming from your dishonest mouth, darling wife,” Genevieve growled and dug the gun further into her forehead.

Deborah bit her lip. She hoped to God Genevieve hadn't killed Bridgette in her rage. Maybe that was why Rotquel had been barking.

“Pay attention to me, twat!” Genevieve shouted, her arm trembling violently.

“Yes, Genevieve. I'm sorry,” Deborah said in the pacifying way she'd used most of the time during their marriage.

Genevieve seemed to calm down, but kept the gun against her forehead. “You will leave this house with me right now. If you even try to fight me, I'll shoot you. My gun has a silencer, so your neighbors won't run to your rescue. If you behave, perhaps I won't kill the chunky redhead.”

Deborah bit down so hard on her lip that it drew blood. “I'll do what you want. Just don't hurt anyone else.”

She flinched when Genevieve cupped her cheek. The gun lowered and sweat dripped down the side of Deborah's face as Genevieve held her in an embrace.

“I love you so much, but you betrayed me. Maybe I can forgive you after you're punished. Then we can go on before, perhaps to Europe and start a new life there,” Genevieve whispered in her ear.

Deborah nodded stiffly and moved her arm where she bumped the lamp on top of the side table.

Moving back, Genevieve cupped her face with both hands, the gun resting on her shoulder. She smiled at her with undisguised love, her eyes bright with tears. “Tell me you love me.”

The words came easily, the lies flowing from her lips. “I love you so very much, Genevieve.”

“That's my darling girl.” Genevieve grimaced as she fingered Deborah's hair. But then her face grew soft and she placed her lips against hers.

Deborah wrapped her hand around the top of the lamp and sighed against Genevieve's mouth. When Genevieve's tongue licked at the seam of her lips, she opened her mouth slightly. “I'm sorry, Gen.”

The moment Genevieve's tongue slipped in her mouth, Deborah bit down hard and lifted the lamp, sending it crashing down on Genevieve's back. She shoved her away and turned, sliding across the floor as she ran toward the kitchen. Genevieve's cry bellowed around her and she covered her head when a soft whistle went off and the plaster in the wall next to her exploded.

Deborah rushed past the kitchen table, and had just reached the counter when she was pulled back roughly by her hair. Her scalp burned as fingers dug into her head.

“Slut!” Genevieve shouted and smacked her cheek with the gun.

Deborah yelled and went down, going blind. Her cheek throbbed like a million needles jabbing into her face. She lay there stunned, her jaw going numb as she was pulled back up and shook hard.

Another slap came out of nowhere across her face and she whimpered, her legs folding underneath her as a band of fingers dug into her arms, nails scratching violently. She tried to struggle as hands tugged at her, pulling her up. The ringing in her ears increased and she almost vomited. A squeak left her mouth when she was roughly pushed against the refrigerator and Genevieve squeezed her throat.

“You'll pay for that, you bitch!” Genevieve shouted and clenched her hand tighter around her windpipe, cutting off her air.

Deborah swung her fists at Genevieve's face and chest, anything to get her to release her. Her heart pumped fast and a cold sweat covered her back. She could barely stay conscious as Genevieve strangled harder, her pointed nails cutting into her skin, killing her slowly—

A loud crash sounded and she was swung around, her back pressed up against Genevieve's front as the gun pushed against her temple.

“Drop the gun now!” a man's voice rang out from the entrance of the kitchen.

Deborah blinked rapidly, trying to bring her vision back into focus. The room had become blurry and dark.

“Fuck off! She's mine and no one is going to take her from me,” Genevieve screeched loudly and backed away.

Deborah's feet scraped across the kitchen floor as she was pulled toward the counter. The shrill sounds of sirens came from a distance, overriding the ringing in her ears.

“Put down the gun. Don't make me shoot you,” the voice ordered and Deborah reached out a hand, mouthing wordlessly for him to save her.

“You think I'm that stupid?” Genevieve said, and the gun against Deborah's temple dug in even more. “You'll shoot me and take Deborah away from me. She's mine!”

Deborah pulled at Genevieve's arm, dragging in deep breaths through her abused throat. She whimpered when Gen's hold grew tighter.

“Shush, dearling. Soon it will be all over and we'll be together forever.” Genevieve kissed her wetly on the cheek and cocked her gun.

“No,” Deborah bleated and coughed. New voices ordered Genevieve to release her and drop the gun.

I don't want to die! Deborah could barely stop the darkness as it rushed over her. No! Must stay awake!

Genevieve mumbled nonsense in her ear and began to cry. Deborah had lost her voice and could only whisper, begging Gen to release her. She continued crying softly, then the gun came around and tucked under her chin.

Deborah needed to do something quickly before Genevieve blew her head off. Her hand swung out and it landed against something hard. She searched around and found the carving knife she'd left to dry in the strainer. She was able to get a tight hold around it without Genevieve noticing.

“Together forever, even in death,” Genevieve hoarsely whispered, and when her arm came down to wrap around her waist, that was when Deborah struck.

Voices rang out as she twisted and pushed Genevieve away as hard as she could. Time seemed to slow down as Genevieve stumbled and aimed the gun. Deborah tried to go for Genevieve's stomach, but she couldn't get a good enough aim and slashed the knife against Genevieve's face, cutting into her flesh and dragging the knife sideways.

A loud screech left Genevieve's mouth as she clutched her throat. She still held the gun, and as Deborah dropped to the ground and crawled away, shots rang out. A body fell on top of her as she hid her face against the linoleum.

Then there was silence, until something heavy fell in front of her. Deborah lifted up and cried out as Genevieve lay quiet on her side, her eyes open but empty as she stared at nothing. Blood dripped down her face and front onto the kitchen floor.

“Genevieve!” Deborah cried out and tried to get to her knees when arms came around her.

“It's all right now. She'll never hurt you again.” The man's voice, a familiar one she had heard before, pulled her away as uniformed officers rushed into the room.

“She's dead,” Deborah sobbed, nearly hysterical as Bryan dragged her away.

“We need you to get checked out. You're bleeding and cut up,” he said calmly, and when she turned in his arms, away from her dead wife, she grabbed hold of him tightly, suddenly remembering Bridgette.

“Bridgette!” she called out.

Bryan kept an arm around her as he helped her outside. Bright red and blue lights and too many cars to count were parked in front of her house. People across the street watched. She glanced around for any sign of Bridgette.

“She's been taken to the hospital. You'll go there to get checked out and have your statement taken.”

“She's alive?” Deborah's knees shook and would have fallen if not for Bryan's hold.

Bryan's mouth went into a tight line. “She's alive, but with head trauma.”

“I want to see her,” Deborah said in a hoarse whisper. Her stomach cramped and her head pounded. She bent over, suddenly nauseated, the need to throw up too strong to ignore.

“You will. But first we need to take care of you,” Bryan said in a kinder voice.

As she was handed over to an EMT, Deborah vomited. And continued until she was too weak to stand. She soon ended up in the back of an ambulance, lying on a stretcher as a woman asked her questions and cleaned her cuts on her face and arms.

The sounds of the sirens and the ambulance moving helped her drift away, numb and broken, knowing she was the reason a woman was dead and another she'd come to care for could possibly be fighting for her own life.

Chapter Nineteen

The soft moan coming from the bed made Deborah sit up in her chair. She winced over the ache in her jaw and carefully stood.

“Bridgette?” She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, almost grabbing hold of Bridgette's hand, but instead placing her own in her lap.

The heart machine let off a few beeps as Bridgette shifted and opened her eyes. She blinked and licked her lips. “Water?” she requested in a croak.

Deborah limped over to the table and poured water from the plastic pitcher into a cup, then came back over to the bed. She kept an arm behind Bridgette's back as she helped her drink. Bridgette took a few sips, and when she was done she lay back down. Deborah looked away, trying to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks.

“Hey you.” Bridgette lightly hit her arm and rested her hand over Deborah's cold limp ones. “Why, your hands are so cold,” Bridgette said sadly and rubbed them.

Deborah removed her hands and sniffed. “I was so scared you were going to die…” she whispered and wiped under her eyes.

“Come here.” Bridgette tugged on Deborah's T-shirt and Deborah lay down on her side as she hid her face into the side of Bridgette's arm.

Bridgette's touch against her hair and cheek soothed her, and she glanced up, wincing at the bright white bandage around Bridgette's bright hair and the black-and-blues covering her face. “You must hate me.”

“Hate you? Why would you think such a thing?” Bridgette asked, giving her a small smile, but she flinched and touched her swollen lip with her finger.

“I'm the reason you're in the hospital,” Deborah said through her tears.

“Why would you think that? You didn't smack me around.” Wrinkles appeared on Bridgette's forehead. “I can't remember what happened.” She lifted up her arm where the IV poked out. “How long have I been out for?”

“Almost forty-eight hours. After I was taken care of, they let me sit in here until you woke up. All day long your friends and family have been coming in.” Deborah sat up as she thought back to seeing Bridgette's parents and being questioned by them. When she admitted everything and why Bridgette had been targeted, to say they were less than pleased with her was an understatement. Bryan barely looked at her even when he stayed with her when two detectives came to question her.

“Jesus, Deborah, if you look anything like I do, I don't even want to see a mirror for a month.”

Deborah let out a watery laugh and fingered her throat where the red handprints had yet to fade.

“I'm so, so sorry about what happened to you,” Deborah tugged on a hangnail on her thumb.

“Why are you apologizing? You weren't the one who beat me up,” Bridgette said and tried to sit up.

“No, stay down,” Deborah instructed and got up from the bed. She wrapped her arms around her waist and went back over to her chair. She couldn't be close to Bridgette without wanting to kiss her.

“Why are you all the way over there and why haven't you kissed me since I've woken up?” Bridgette turned to her side, facing her with a pout.

“Why would you want me to even touch you? I'm the reason my wife attacked you.”

“So, she's the one who bashed my head in,” Bridgette said more to herself. “But she went after you as well. Where is she now?”

“She's dead.” Deborah's lips trembled. “I think your brother shot her, or another officer did. She was able to get into the house through the front door I left unlocked for you. I was upstairs when I heard Rotquel barking very loudly as I was getting our bath ready. I noticed the light I left on downstairs went out. Thinking the bulb had burnt out, I went down and Gen was there waiting with a gun. She told me she had you hidden somewhere and if I didn't do what she wanted, she'd kill you. I thought…I was so stupid thinking she had time to hide you somewhere.” Deborah released a shaky sigh. “I fought her, actually threw a lamp at her head, and tried to run out of the house, but she caught me and started beating me until the police, your brother, crashed through the door and saved me.”

“All I remember was Rotquel making a lot of noise and I couldn't figure out why she was acting so strangely. Before I could get my house keys out, something hard hit me on the back of my head. I blacked out and woke up to bright lights and Mrs. Heckel over me.” Bridgette looked down at her red, scraped palms and Deborah swallowed uncomfortably.

“It's a good thing for Rotquel. If not for her insane barking and your nosy neighbor coming home at the right moment, we might have been lying in a cold room with sheets over our faces instead of being in here,” Deborah said.

“Even lying in this bed with the worst headache I've ever had, it's great to be alive.” Bridgette gave her a cheery smile and held out her hand.

Deborah purposely ignored Bridgette's reach and wiped her damp palms over her knees. “I can get the nurse to bring you some aspirin for your head, if you want.” She began to stand when Bridgette sat up.

“Stop moving around. You're in too much pain.” Deborah sat back, wanting so much to help Bridgette, to touch her. But if she did, she'd never let her go.

“There, that feels better.” Bridgette panted as she moved a pillow behind her back.

“I have to leave.” Deborah blurted out and finally stood. The sooner she did this, the better.

Bridgette frowned. “Oh? I guess you still have to talk to the police about what happened. Afterward, come back and we can hang out together. I'll be here all day and night,” she joked.

“Bridgette.” Deborah lifted her thumb to nibble on her nail. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped. “I won't be coming back. I already talked with the police after I was given a clean bill of health. I have to go back to Nevada and figure out Gen's funeral arrangements.”

“Why would you plan her funeral after all she put you through? I hope the dead bitch is rotting in hell.”

Deborah wrapped her arms around her waist and moved to the end of the bed. “She was my wife and I did love her, even after everything. She had no other family, only me. I have to go back to take care of the house, any debts, and possibly her company. I also have to see about my mother's arrangements as well.”

“I'm being selfish, aren't I?” Bridgette tapped her fingers over the blanket. Deborah wanted to place her own hand over those amazing digits of Bridgette's that made her feel safe and loved. “It's something I don't want to do, but I have to. I'm dreading going back and dealing with the talk and looks. I'm not sure when I'll be back here, if ever.”

The shocked look on Bridgette's face broke her heart. She bit down on her lip and cleared her throat.

“What does that mean for us? You're just going to walk out of here and forget what we have?” Bridgette asked in a wounded voice.

Deborah shrugged. “You've made my time in Woodberry Creek one I'll never forget. I can't promise you anything right now. I need time to figure things out. There's so much I have to do.”

“Deb, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. No one can force you to do anything ever again. You're finally free, with no controlling wife to tell you what to do. For once in your life, you're your own woman.”

“You say that, but you want me to do what you think is right. If I'm with you, I can't be free, as you just said.”

Bridgette exhaled loudly. “You're twisting my words. I want you to—”

“Did you just hear what you said? It's what you think is best. Gen used to say that exact same thing to me all the time. It was always what she wanted.”

“I can't believe you're comparing me to that psycho—”

“Bridgette!” Deborah said in a hoarse shout. Bridgette went silent and crossed her arms, turning her head away from her.

“I'm not saying it's over between us, just that we need a break.” Deborah walked around to the side of the bed and placed her palm lightly against Bridgette's cheek. Bridgette still wouldn't look at her as she stiffened with hurt. “There's so much I need to work through, and if I'm with you and ignore my life back in Nevada and everything that has happened, I'll be in a worse position than I'm already in. I've run away too many times and look where it got me. Look where it got you.”

Bridgette grabbed hold of her hand in a tight grip. “I know where it got me. It brought you into my life.” She rubbed her cheek against Deborah's palm.

Tears built up in Deborah's eyes from the sudden surge of love she had for Bridgette. She sobbed as she leaned down and gave Bridgette what was to be a gentle kiss. Bridgette sighed and pulled her down lower, her lips sucking and tongue swiping in deep strokes over her lips until Deborah opened her mouth and allowed Bridgette inside.

She swallowed Bridgette's passionate sounds with her kisses, her fingers brushing gently over Bridgette's face and neck, moving down to cup her breasts, wanting to press her back on the bed and keep kissing her until they both couldn't breathe.

When she dropped one knee on the bed and Bridgette tugged her down, a muscle in her side cramped and she gasped, breaking off the kiss. She backed away, staring at a very red-faced, out-of-breath Bridgette.

“Stay with me,” Bridgette pleaded and held out her hand. She wiped her bottom lip that had split and begun clotting with her blood.

Shaking her head, Deborah grabbed her bag and walked toward the door. Bridgette called out her name again and Deborah stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

“I'll call you when I'm back in Nevada so you know I'm safe. Then…I'll see what happens.”

“Deborah! Don't walk away from me. We're not done yet.”

Deborah opened the door and quickly looked back at Bridgette, who was reaching across the bed with both her arms out. Tears were falling down her cheeks. Deborah wiped away her own.

“What if I told you I loved you? Would that change things?” Bridgette asked.

Deborah covered her mouth and shook her head. “Gen told me she loved me all the time. Those words mean nothing to me,” she declared and stepped out into the hallway.

“I'm not her!” Bridgette shouted out.

Deep, wracking sobs flowed through Deborah's body as she rushed down the hall. When she turned the corner, Bridgette's parents and Bryan were talking with a doctor. Not wanting a confrontation, she turned the other way. Bryan glanced her way. She stopped and shook her head, backing away. He started to move toward her, but she twisted and ran, finding the staircase and flew down all four flights of stairs.

She reached the main level and went out into bright sunlight that burned her eyes. A few people she passed gave her strange looks, but she ignored them. She walked as fast as she could even with the ache in her side, not wanting to be caught by Bryan, who the moment he saw how upset Bridgette was would certainly place the blame on her.

Only when she found a taxi and was driven back to her house to start packing to catch a flight back to the life she'd left behind did the pain burning in her abused muscles subside.

The ache in her heart continued and her tears never let up, even after she arrived back at her old home, where she started to pick up the broken pieces of her life.

Chapter Twenty

The windshield wipers removed the yellow and brown leaves off her window, as well as the rain, as Bridgette drove back home from the vet. She glanced back at her dog, who lay flat on the backseat with her head on her paws. Rotquel let out a sharp whimper, then a soft bark with bleak eyes.

“I know baby, I'm feeling the same way,” Bridgette said over her shoulder at Rotquel, who snorted and wagged her tail in response.

The autumn had been a wet one. Bridgette couldn't remember the last time she'd seen blue skies. Probably the last day when she woke up in the hospital and Deborah had been sitting there.

Bridgette could barely ignore the burning in her chest. Almost three months later and she couldn't get past her depression and her loss of Deborah, who only called her once to tell her she'd arrived back home safe and was well.

Nevada wasn't her home. Her home was in Woodberry Creek and with Bridgette.

Far too many times she'd wanted to call Deborah back and beg her to return, to make a new home with her where she'd never be mistreated again.

But she gave Deborah the space she needed, to come to terms about herself her and her losses.

Rotquel pressed her nose against the window, barking loudly as she drove into her driveway. A shiver went up Bridgette's spine as she turned off her car.

Deborah was standing on her porch.

“Oh, boy,” Bridgette mumbled and took in a deep breath. Rotquel walked across the seat, wanting to get out.

Bridgette calmly got out of her car and opened the back door for Rotquel. Even before she could put a leash on her, Rotquel shot up the steps to Deborah.

Bridgette slid her hands in the pocket of her hoodie, soaking in Deborah's happy smile as she knelt before Rotquel and hugged her. She wore a long brown trenchcoat and dark blue jeans with black boots. Her hair had grown longer and was lighter, with blond and auburn highlights that brushed over her ears. Bridgette wanted to pull her fingers through the multi-colored strands and hide her face in the crook of Deborah's neck, breathing in her scent, this time not allowing Deborah to walk away from her.

She was becoming drenched from the rain. She locked up her car and climbed her front steps, rain falling down her face and making her normally unruly hair a frizzy mess.

“You look well,” she said as Deborah rose to her full height. Rotquel pranced in circles around her.

Deborah's smile grew. She looked relaxed and happy, as if the constant weight she carried on her shoulders had disappeared.

“I am. You look great also,” she replied.

Bridgette snorted. “I barely had time to brush my hair this morning. I woke up late for Rotquel's vet appointment. Plus the rain always does a number on my hair. Today I'm channeling the seventies with my ’fro.”

Deborah's shoulders jiggled from her silent laughter and Bridgette went still when Deborah tugged on one of her curls. “It makes sense since you love the music from that decade.”

Bridgette stepped around Deborah and unlocked her door. “Why don't you come in? I can put on coffee and give you a slice of the apple pie I baked last night.”

Rotquel rushed in the house and shook her body hard. Water fell to the floor and Bridgette rolled her eyes. When she glanced behind her, Deborah pulled the door shut and looked around the room.

“It just feels great to be back, although the weather was a shock, especially coming from the dry, sunny heat,” Deborah said and took off her coat.

Bridgette held the canister of coffee she grabbed from the freezer as she stared from Deborah's face to her chest that was enclosed in a white polo shirt. She hid her reaction over the way Deborah's nipples poked through the shirt.

“You're staring,” Deborah said softly.

“You need to invest in a new bra,” Bridgette volleyed back pertly and turned to put the coffee on as Deborah laughed behind her.

“I really do need more padded bras to hide my embarrassing condition.” Deborah sighed. “It's so great to see you again, Ridge.”

Bridgette pressed her palms down on the counter. “And whose fault is it that you haven't seen me in months?” She twisted around, facing Deborah who patted Rotquel's head. “Why did you only call me once? Just to say ‘hey, no need to worry about me now because I'm back where I belong’?”

“Bridgette,” Deborah whispered and walked over to her. Even when Deborah took hold of her hands, she didn't acknowledge her. Not until her chin was lifted and Deborah's mouth came down upon hers.

If she thinks she can come along and kiss me and everything will be all right, she has another…oh…more, please.

Bridgette moaned when Deborah's kiss turned more passionate, her lips moving across her own in a deep suction that had Bridgette growing damp. She couldn't deny herself and latched onto Deborah in a tight embrace until she pushed her hands under Deborah's shirt and pulled on the tight nipples she'd once spent hours worshipping.

Deborah broke the kiss and rested her forehead against hers, panting deeply as she continued to caress her breasts.

“I've missed you so much,” Deborah said in a heated plea.

Bridgette licked her lips, lifting up to kiss Deborah again when Deborah rubbed her thumb over her mouth.

“We need to talk first before we love one another.”

Bridgette's hands shook as she moved back and rubbed her hands through her hair. “Love?”

Deborah tilted her head and tugged down her shirt. “Yes-yes. I think so.”

You think so? Bridgette kept that question to herself and tapped her fingers over her hips. Deborah was right. They needed to talk and lay everything on the table, so to speak.

“Sit down, then. Would you like some pie?” Bridgette asked as she pulled the dish out of the refrigerator.

Deborah sat on a chair and folded her hands on her lap. “That would be great. How about some of your homemade lemonade?”

Bridgette put the pie on the table and went to get plates and forks. “Sorry, no lemonade. I only make it in the summer. But if you don't want coffee, I have iced tea.”

“Iced tea would be great,” Deborah responded.

After Bridgette served Deborah, she didn't eat or drink anything, just watched her eat. The way Deborah's tongue came out and licked away the juice from the crust almost made her excuse herself to go into the bathroom to masturbate. She could barely sit still with Deborah so near. But she held back. She wanted explanations from Deborah, and until she got them, she wouldn't receive any relief, or give any in return.

“You've gained more weight,” Bridgette said and quickly covered her mouth.

Deborah's eyes went wide and she put her fork down on the table.

Oh shit. “Deb, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. You look great and healthy, glowing, actually—”

“I no longer look like a grasshopper with an alien head?” Deborah asked in a wry voice and drank from her glass.

Bridgette's face grew warm and she chugged down her drink. “I wouldn't say that, but when I first met you…you did look too skinny, at least to me.”

Deborah glanced down at her lap. “Gen once called me an ugly-looking grasshopper during one of our fights. When I first met her I weighed more. She made go on a diet and start exercising. When I lost too much weight, she wasn't happy about that either.”

Bridgette's hands clenched, wishing she could strangle the dead woman, who destroyed Deborah's self-esteem and gave her years of misery that would likely stay with her forever. “Why don't you tell me what you've been up to since you've been gone?” Bridgette changed the subject.

Deborah grimaced. “The aftermath of Gen's death has been exhausting. The reporters were vicious and I had to hire extra security while I stayed at Gen's estate. Her lawyers have been very helpful with her assets and her will. She left everything to me,” she said softly.

“How much are you worth?” Bridgette asked bluntly.

“At least fifty million. Most of it is in stocks and bonds. But the cash I have available is really generous. I ended up getting it all: the properties, the cars, even stock in her company. But the board of directors wants to buy me out. I'm thinking of doing that. Also I'm going to donate the house in Peyote Springs to an organization that helps abused women.”

“That's very generous of you,” Bridgette said, not amazed by Deborah's generosity.

“What I have now is way too much. I want to help others stuck in abusive relationships and feel they can't get free.” Deborah folded her hands across her lap. “The two people who helped me and once worked for Gen are safe in Mexico. I asked them to come back to help me pack up things. Gilberto, the one who put his life on the line to help me escape, may come back. I wanted to give him more money as a thank you, but he refuses to accept anything more.”

“You're incredible, Deb,” Bridgette said and held out her hand across the table, silently urging Deborah to take hers.

“No, I'm not.” Deborah glanced up and shook her head. “I'm donating the house for my own selfish reasons. I can't live there with all the bad memories.”

Bridgette nodded in agreement. “That makes sense.” She flexed her fingers. Take my hand. “You're going to live somewhere else?”

“Yes. There's nothing left for me back in Nevada. It was so uncomfortable during Gen's funeral with the stares and the whispering. Then a few days after, the police came to me and said they found the body of a man in the river. He was a private detective known for locating missing people. They think Gen killed him, since he disappeared after he told his business associates he was meeting with her.”

“She was really deranged,” Bridgette said and winced. “I'm sorry for saying that.”

“It's okay,” Deborah said, then did what Bridgette had been waiting for. She linked their fingers together. Bridgette found she could breathe easier.

“Where are you thinking of moving?” she asked, hoping Deborah would say in Woodberry Creek.

“I'd like to move here since I know the area pretty well. The hospital in the next town over is in desperate need of nurses and they have a great staff of therapists who specialize in domestic abuse. I've already set up an appointment with one of the doctors there for next week.”

“That's great!” Bridgette exclaimed. She waited for Deborah to go on, but Deborah remained silent until she stood and put her hands in her pockets.

“Um, right now I'm staying in the motel near the train station. I would stay in my house I've rented here since I have three more months on the lease, but…it doesn't feel right to live there since Gen was killed inside. Would it be okay if I stayed with you until I found a new place to live?”

Bridgette forgot about her hurt and fear at Deborah walking away from her all those months ago. She jumped up and walked around the table. “Yes! You're more than welcome to stay with me,” she said excitedly.

Deborah looked right in her eyes for the first time since she had met her. When she dipped down to kiss her, Bridgette welcomed her by opening her mouth and sighing in relief.

Deborah pulled out the chair and sat back down with Bridgette on her lap. With hungry kisses, they tasted each other in frantic hunger, their hands all over one another until Rotquel nuzzled her way in between them. They broke apart, breathless and panting.

“Rotquel can't seem to get enough of you, either. She adores you like I do,” Bridgette said and laid her head against Deborah's shoulder.

“And I adore you both,” Deborah said softly and tilted her face toward hers. “I know we have so much to talk about and you're probably still upset at me—”

“Shush.” Bridgette placed the pad of her finger over Deborah's mouth. “All is forgotten. You've come back to me and are willing to trust what we have together and move on. That takes great strength.”

Deborah looked like she was going to argue, but only smiled. “Yes, it does.”

Bridgette exhaled softly, so very glad Deborah had begun to heal. She sat up and gave Deborah another needy kiss. When she broke apart, Deborah's eyes were glazed over. “What do you say we go upstairs and take the bath that was interrupted?”

“I'd love to, but first there's something else I've wanted to do with you since I walked through your door.” Deborah cupped the back of Bridgette's head and whispered in her ear.

A big smile spread over Bridgette's face and she moved off of Deborah's lap and pulled her into the living room.

As the rain continued to fall outside, two women, one petite with a head full of red curls, the other tall and slender with short hair, danced to the sounds of disco music. They twirled around the room with their arms around one another, laughing and singing as the dog that claimed them both as her mistresses barked and wagged her tail in delight.

When things became a bit too heated, they undressed one another and fell to the chaise longue to caress and love one another with their hands and mouth. Only then did they climb the stairs to take a bubble bath, where their passions for one another went late into the night.