Author: J. A. Armstrong
Category: LGBT
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JA Armstrong
Text © Copyright 2018 Bumbling Bard Creations
All Rights Reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced without permission.
ISBN-13: 978-0692056325
ISBN-10: 0692056327
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER ONE
The warmth of the bed and the body pressed against her invited Fallon to stay right where she was. Nearly a lifetime of living in Whiskey Springs, Vermont had never helped Fallon to adapt to the freezing winter temperatures. She savored the last few moments of her cozy cocoon made of blankets and flesh. She inhaled a long breath and let it go, extricated herself from a tangle of arms and legs, and went in search of the clothes she’d shed hours ago.
“You’re leaving?”
Fallon stepped into her jeans and zipped them up. “Probably a good idea,” she replied evenly. She felt more than heard the woman in the bed shift to look at her.
“Now? Where do you need to be?”
“I don’t need to be anywhere. That doesn’t mean I should be here.”
“Come back to bed, Fallon.”
Fallon slipped on her bra and turned to regard the woman behind her. She’d known Andi Maguire since childhood. This arrangement was a new evolution in their relationship. Relationship? This was hardly a relationship. It was an arrangement. Fallon had spent her teenage years fantasizing about the woman lying in the bed. She never expected to find herself in Andi Maguire’s arms. In those days, Andi was Andi Sherman, a tall, blonde goddess destined for movie stardom; that’s what Fallon had imagined late at night when she would close her eyes and pretend that it was Andi’s hand touching her and not her own. How many people ever got to realize their teenage fantasy? Fallon guessed few. She preferred an arrangement to a relationship.
Andi propped herself up on an elbow and let her eyes roam over Fallon’s form appreciatively. “He won’t be home until tomorrow.”
Fallon nodded. But he will be home. She pulled a worn woolen sweater over her head and smiled at the older woman. Dean would shit his pants. Her older brother had pined over Andi Sherman throughout high school. The thought brought Fallon a degree of inappropriate satisfaction. Dean and Andi were six years older than her. She’d always felt she needed to compete with the legacy of her older brother. He seemed to accomplish every goal he set; every goal except conquering the likes of one Andi Sherman.
“What are you grinning about?” Andi asked.
“Just remembering something?”
“Oh?”
Fallon chuckled. She remembered plenty about the hours they had just shared. Parts of her body recalled it more vividly than others. She dropped down on the bed beside Andi and kissed her softly.
“Stay,” Andi requested.
“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Fallon said.
“Why not? It’s cold out there.”
Andi sat up and let the blanket fall away from her. Fallon sucked in an uneasy breath. It would be easy to fall back into Andi’s arms, to disappear for a few more hours in the sounds and scents that still lingered in her senses.
Tempting. Fallon kissed Andi one last time. “I need to get to work.”
Andi knew that was a lie. Murphy’s Law would hardly be busy at three o’clock on a Tuesday. The small, local pub was Fallon’s pride and joy. Andi sometimes thought that Fallon loved the place more than she would ever love a human being. Arguing was pointless. Fallon was resigned to leaving. Andi’s most creative seduction was unlikely to change Fallon’s mind once she’d set it to something.
“I’ll see you later tonight,” Fallon said, knowing that Andi would wander into the pub and order her signature margarita, heavy on the tequila and salt, light on the syrup.
“Maybe I’ll surprise you and stay home.”
Fallon’s eyes twinkled. Andi’s husband, Dr. Jake Maguire was out of town. Her kids were away at college. There was no way that Andi would stay home. “See you later.” Fallon winked and left the bedroom.
***
“You’ve lost your mind.”
Riley took a deep breath, willing herself not to throttle her older sister where she stood. She didn’t doubt that Mary meant well. Mary always meant well. That didn’t change the fact that for some reason, Mary seemed to think Riley was still a child. Riley hardly thought that a widow with a two-year-old son qualified as a child, no matter what her age on paper. She was capable of making decisions for her life without the constant input of an annoying older sister.
“Mary, please.”
“Why there?”
Riley sighed. “Why not?”
“Whiskey Springs? Come on, Riley. What the hell are you going to do in Whiskey Springs, Vermont? Make cheese?”
Riley was tempted to smack her forehead. Cheese? She could work from anywhere. Anywhere was about to be a little town called Whiskey Springs. Robert had left her everything. That included the cabin his parents had converted to a year-round home before their passing. She needed a change, and not only a change of scenery. Riley wanted a fresh start—new beginnings.
“Do I need to remind you that you hate the country and you hate the cold?” Mary said.
Riley laughed. “I don’t hate the country. The cold I could do without.”
Mary stared at her sister in disbelief. No one should become a widow before the age of thirty. She had to admit; she was impressed with Riley’s strength. Underneath Riley’s calm exterior, Mary was sure grief and uncertainty lingered. Why Riley would decide to move three-thousand miles across the country was beyond Mary’s comprehension—away from the support of family members and the familiarity of home.
“Mary,” Riley sat down beside her sister. “This is what I need. If you can’t understand that, at least respect it.”
“What about Owen? He’s two, don’t you think…”
“I think that we need a change. I need the change.”
“How are you going to handle being a single mom without help?”
Riley was reaching the end of her patience. She loved Mary. She appreciated all the support her sister had given her since Robert’s accident. It was time she took control of her life. Robert had been gone over a year. At first, Riley wasn’t sure she would survive the pain. Owen had just turned five-months-old. Life was following the course she had mapped out. She was making a living as a freelance editor and writing in her free-time, not that dealing with a baby gave her much free-time. Riley had been happy. At twenty-eight, she had been building the life she and Robert had daydreamed about since their sophomore year of college. Then it all went to hell. One drunk driver later, the present was shattered and the future had been made uncertain. She had survived. She had no choice. She had Owen. If there was one thing Riley remained grateful for it was her son. She would never be able to explain to her family that this place, the place she had envisioned making her future needed to be put in the past.
“I’ll be okay,” Riley replied calmly.
“You’ll be alone.”
Riley smiled and covered her sister’s hand with hers. “Maybe that’s what I need.”
Mary sighed. “You can always come home. Don’t forget that.”
Riley nodded. I’m not sure where home is. She kissed Mary’s cheek. “I need to get ready.”
Mary watched as her little sister left the room. Of all places—Whiskey Springs?
***
Fallon chuckled as she filled tw
o frosty mugs with beer from the tap. It never got old. She loved her job. Her mother had thought she was crazy when she quit her job in New York City and moved back to Whiskey Springs to purchase the rundown pub. She’d had her fill of the city. She’d made more money than any twenty-five-year-old had the right to. She’d landed a job at one of the largest mutual fund companies in the city after college—a job that Fallon hardly thought she was qualified to hold. She’d always had a head for numbers. She also possessed a feel for people. Her father had encouraged her to learn about the stock market in high school, and her parents had invested well for their children. Fallon had started applying her father’s lessons the moment she turned eighteen, and she had made sound decisions. Three years in the city had been enough for her. She preferred the slow pace of Whiskey Springs to the bustle of Wall Street. Many of her friends had lectured her. She was giving up the golden goose. Fallon had a bright future in The Big Apple. That wasn’t the future Fallon wanted. She went home. She left the city on the day before her twenty-sixth birthday and had not regretted it once.
Fallon remembered The Middle Ground as the little pub that sat on the outskirts of Whiskey Springs as a vibrant place where locals conversed and complained. Times were different then. Her father often took her to the pub after a day filled with fishing or sledding. He would stand at the bar and sip whiskey while she chose songs on the old jukebox in the corner. The pub had closed during her senior year of high school and had fallen into disrepair. Her father always said that everyone needed a place to unwind, to sip a strong drink, and to cast their troubles away. She loved to listen to his stories. He had found a home away from home at The Middle Ground. After his death, Fallon felt aimless. Something nagged at her. She’d close her eyes and see that jukebox, and she could swear she would hear her father’s laughter a few feet away. The air at the bar was always thick with smoke, and Fallon recalled the fine layer of dust that always seemed to line the top of the fireplace mantle. The atmosphere at The Middle Ground was infinitely more appealing than some swank New York City gastropub or nightclub. And, the company? The stories told in Whiskey Springs held her interest more than the posturing she’d endured on nights out with her friends in the city. It was time to go home. That’s what she did.
Fallon spent a year refurbishing the space. Everything that could go wrong seemed to go wrong. There were plumbing issues, an electrical fire threatened the entire project, and a small band of women from town had petitioned the zoning committee to deny Fallon’s permits. Somehow, she’d managed to pull it off. Murphy’s Law was born. That had been twelve years ago. Fallon had seen many of the same faces every day for the last twelve years. She knew their dreams; she’d poured away their troubles, and laughed softly at the gossip machine that churned wildly—if not accurately. Murphy’s Law was home, so much so that she had purchased the lot of land behind the pub and built her home on it. She passed the beer mugs across the bar to a pair of familiar faces.
“Andi’s here again,” Dale Madigan commented.
Fallon caught Andi’s gaze as she walked through the door and moved to hang up her coat.
“You know, Marge says she’s been seeing that shady lawyer over there in Jericho,” Pete McCann said.
“Roy Johnson?” Dale asked. “You think she’s finally gonna to deep six Maguire?”
“Nah, Marge thinks she’s gotten herself a boyfriend. You know Maguire. He ain’t been faithful a day in his life.” He shrugged. “Like Marge says, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
Fallon snickered. That gander’s not looking for a goose.
“What are you chuckling about there, Foster?” Dale asked. “You don’t think Andi’s good for an affair?”
Fallon kept her thought to herself. Oh, she’s good for an affair. She wouldn’t touch Roy Johnson with your dick, Dale. She shrugged. “Not my business.”
“Yeah, but you know everyone’s business.” Pete held up his glass.
“Only what you fools think is your business about everyone’s business,” Fallon quipped.
Fallon sometimes wondered why movies always depicted women as the town gossips. They could be. The guys who sat at her bar were every bit as nosy and chatty as any woman she’d ever met, and they were far more likely to give away their secrets than any woman she’d ever served a drink. Pete and Dale were two of her regulars. Secretly, she’d deemed them Daryl and Daryl and sometimes wondered when Bob Newhart was going to make his cameo at Murphy’s Law.
Andi made her way to the bar and offered Dale and Pete a smile. “Boys.”
“Andi,” Dale greeted her. “How are the boys?”
“Too busy to call their mother,” she replied lightly.
Andi had two sons in college. Dave was eighteen and had started at The University of Connecticut that fall. Jacob Jr. was twenty and attended The University of Florida. They had been home for the holidays, but she had barely heard from either in weeks. She missed them. Andi also was grateful that her sons were independent and seemed to enjoy their college experience. She had cut hers short when she met their father.
Fallon had already started making Andi’s drink.
“How do you know she wants that?” Pete asked Fallon. “Maybe she’d like to try something different.”
Andi and Fallon’s eyes locked. Andi’s brow raised slightly and her eyes sparkled with mischief. Fallon felt her knees go weak. It wasn’t love. Lust? It was lust in spades. She did care for Andi. Their affair had begun right after the Fourth of July. Over the months, they had become more than lovers; they were close friends—friends with some extremely enticing benefits. She supposed that she should feel some modicum of guilt. After all, Andi was a married woman. She didn’t feel an iota of guilt. Jake Maguire’s exploits were as well-known in Whiskey Springs as Steven Spielberg was in Hollywood. He’d been running around on Andi since before they’d married. Of course, Andi hadn’t discovered that until long after her second son was born. Fallon often thought that Andi should leave the surgeon. Jake Maguire was a nice enough man. And, she had to admit that his affection for Andi was evident, as was hers for him. She’d asked Andi once why she didn’t divorce Jake Maguire. Andi was an attractive woman. She could easily land a husband who would be faithful.
Fallon’s finger traced a circle around Andi’s breast. “Why don’t you just leave him?”
Andi sighed. How could she explain this to Fallon? She loved being in Fallon’s arms. She loved the way Fallon made her feel. Some part of her loved Fallon. Jake Maguire was who he was. She’d fallen in love with him twenty-six years ago and she’d loved him ever since. “I love him.”
“Then why?”
“Why are we sleeping together?” Andi asked.
Fallon nodded.
Andi smiled, that bright yet solemn smile that always melted Fallon’s resolve. “I need this,” she confessed. “It’s too hard—being alone when I know he’s not.”
Andi’s fingertip traced Fallon’s lips. Fallon was beautiful. Fallon was sweet and sincere. It would be easy to fall in love with her. Sometimes, Andi thought that she should walk away from their affair. Fallon deserved more. Fallon wasn’t in love with her. Andi knew that. Fallon did care for her. She cared for Fallon. She missed Fallon when life forced them to be apart for too long. Who was she kidding? A week without Fallon’s touch was torturous. Fallon touched some deep, secret part of Andi; the place where unbridled desire burned. She was free in this place. For years, she had wondered why Jake felt the need to stray. They enjoyed what Andi believed was a healthy sex life. It was gratifying. It was not adventurous. Being with Fallon in some strange way opened Andi to a new understanding. Sex with Jake was tender. It was communicative. He rocked her gently. With Fallon, Andi was rocked to her core. It wasn’t the allure of their secret that made their lovemaking amazing. There was no danger to her marriage. Andi suspected that Jake knew about the affair. Her attraction to women was not a secret. After twenty-six years of marriage, few things were easy to hide. She w
as aware of his mistresses. He was aware of hers. They would meet in the middle.
“And,” Andi continued. She looked in Fallon’s bright blue eyes. “I love being with you. It’s something for me, Fallon. It’s just for me. It’s never been to even the score. It’s never been to prove anything. It’s just for me. There are parts of me you will never touch, even if part of me wants you to.”
Fallon smiled. Andi was referring to falling in love.
“But,” Andi went on. “You touch parts of me that I will never let him see. Not because I don’t trust him. It’s not who we are together. It never has been.”
“He was your first,” Fallon guessed.
Andi smiled.
Fallon leaned in and kissed Andi softly. Her fingers drifted sensually over Andi’s breast, brushing faintly across a hardening nipple. She watched as Andi’s eyes closed, anticipating where Fallon’s fingers would travel next.
Fallon felt her face flush with the memory. Somehow, she’d managed to mix Andi’s margarita on auto-pilot. When Fallon came back to the present, she noticed that Andi’s eyebrow had raised a degree higher. She could almost hear the laughter Andi suppressed. Andi may not have known the specific memory Fallon had drifted into; she knew it was about her.
Andi accepted her glass.
“I have no idea how you do it,” Pete said to Fallon.
“What’s that?” Fallon asked.
“Know what everyone wants before they ask for it,” he said.
Andi licked some salt from the rim of her glass, and looked at Fallon over the top of it.
Fallon’s mouth went dry. Jesus Christ, Andi, are you trying to kill me? She cleared her throat. “I have a good memory.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Andi said.
Fallon’s eyes opened a little wider.
Andi grinned. “It’s not a skill,” she said. “You have a feel for people.”
Tingles went up and down Fallon’s spine. Andi could make her wet with a few words. She is; she’s trying to kill me. Taking a lover who was just that—a lover was thrilling in ways that Fallon had never experienced before Andi. She’d had girlfriends. She’d had one-night stands. What she shared with Andi was different. It was about more than release, but it was not about commitment. Fallon could sleep with anyone she chose at any time. And, she had on a few occasions. Those interludes had been enjoyable. Enjoyable was not exhilarating; it was, well, enjoyable. Taking a lover was titillating. The experience conjured anticipation and it allowed for exploration. She had learned how to touch Andi, how she wanted Andi to touch her, something no one-night stand could compete with. Fallon wondered what she would do if she ever met Ms. Right. Deep down, she knew that one day her time with Andi would come to an end. It would be a loss. It would hurt. It would end. For now, Fallon was resolved to savor their time together. She loved Andi’s blatant flirtation that the boys never seemed to pick up on. It amused her and it aroused her.