Sly Bullhorn Brodsky Read online

  “You’re dating her?”

  “Of course not! She’s married and I’m…I’m dating you.”

  “Don’t let me hold you back.” Sam’s tone was cold enough to freeze meat.

  “Don’t be like that. She called me. She had nowhere to go. It’s Thanksgiving, Samantha. Since I’m not welcome at Devon’s tomorrow, I thought this’d be better than nothing.”

  “And was it?” She had her hand on her hip.

  He shifted his weight. “Better than you? Never.”

  “I told you you’re welcome tomorrow. If you don’t come, everyone will wonder…”

  “Fuck everyone. Will you miss me if I don’t show?” He stepped closer.

  Samantha gazed at her hands then the floor. “Don’t ask me that.”

  “Why not?” He pulled her chin up until their eyes met.

  “Of course, I’ll miss you,” she whispered, tears forming. “But it seems you have someone else on your mind.”

  “I don’t. I couldn’t turn my back on her. I’d think you, of all people, would understand that.” He dropped his hand.

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you’re a compassionate woman. How could I tell her to jump in the lake on Thanksgiving? Think about it.” He took a breath. He was stretched all the way out, completely vulnerable. “I bet if she’d called you, you’d have invited her tomorrow.”

  Samantha took and held a breath as she looked at him. “I might, actually.”

  “See! There you go. I just did what you’d do. What any person with any feeling at all would do. There’s nothing going on between Tiffany and me.”

  “Not because she doesn’t want it.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest.

  Bull glanced down then up again. The truth, asshole. Tell her the truth. “Damn it! You’re right. She does want more. But it takes two, as the saying goes. And I’m not playing. I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone but you.”

  Samantha’s eyes watered again. She stole a peek at her watch. “It’s late. I’ve got a ton to do tomorrow. I’m going home.”

  “Good idea.”

  ****

  Samantha packed up. Bull opened the door when she was ready. As each went to their own vehicle, neither was aware that a man in an old car parked across the street had been watching.

  Slumped down, Clyde Belden cursed himself silly, slamming his hand into the steering wheel. The idea had been so perfect.

  “There’s always tomorrow night, little lady. Wife…you’ll be coming come. And I’ll teach you to run away again.”

  He snuffled into a handkerchief and lit up a cigarette. It was his last. Once Tiffany came back, she’d get another job, and he could continue to smoke. In the meantime, this one would have to hold him. He turned on the motor, blasted the heat, and took two more drags before carefully snuffing it and leaving it in the ashtray to be finished at a later date. Then, he threw the car in gear and hurried home, where his take-out turkey dinner from the diner would serve as his holiday meal.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Since there was so much to do before the feast the next day at four, Samantha had decided to camp out in her brother’s guest room. Then, she could get an early start, right in her bathrobe. She packed fleece pants and a sweater, because Devon kept the house ice cold. Sam hoped Stormy would have some influence on the temperature. She tossed in a flannel nightgown and a lightweight robe.

  She chewed her lip as she gazed at a dark red dress. It was her traditional Thanksgiving garb. A knit with a low neckline, the garment made her feel special, beautiful, when she wore it. In case Sly comes. She folded it neatly and slipped it on top.

  Her mind was bombarded with questions as she drove over to Devon’s. Does Sly love me? Is he going to get back with Tiffany? Does he mean it about not having a wedding? Am I worrying about that a bit early? Uh, yeah. I am. But do I want to give that up? Just because he’s afraid I’ll back out? Should I back out? Should I stop seeing him? No way. Do I love him enough to marry him? It’s too soon to know. Not for sure. But he’s so wonderful. I miss him.

  She sighed as she came to a halt at a red light. A salacious leer from the driver in the car next to her reminded her she hadn’t locked the car doors. One click and she was safe. There are crazy men everywhere. Her mind lingered on Clyde Belgen for a moment, making her body shiver. She pitied Tiffany, being married to such a hostile guy. When the light changed, she pulled away quickly, speeding a bit to get to her destination with no trouble. Turning in to the driveway of her brother’s house, she stopped.

  After putting the car in park, she sat at the wheel, taking deep breaths. She had been devastated to see Bull walk in with Tiffany. She hadn’t expected it, and the shock had almost knocked her off her feet. Her insides were raw and emotion ripped at her guts as she thought about the man she loved with another woman. Sam knew Tiffany wanted him back. The young woman had told her point blank.

  Could she face her brother and Stormy, as if nothing had happened? They’d expect her to be happy and smiling. The Kings had won, they were going to have a fabulous feast with Kings’ teammates and families. How could she go in there on the verge of tears and not explain?

  The sound of her brother doing an “I told you so” rang in her ears. She didn’t want to hear it and didn’t want to tell him anything. Yet, she desperately wanted to cry on Stormy’s shoulder. Her friend would understand and not judge. Unlike Devon, who still played the protective brother. Right now, he was the last thing she needed.

  She got out and closed the door quietly. Peering around the front of the house, she saw they were in the living room. Checking her watch, she noted it was ten. They’d be going up to bed soon. Then, she could sneak in and have until morning to calm down and get her story straight.

  It didn’t matter what she said. If Bull didn’t show up, if there was an empty place at the table, she’d have some explaining to do. Not only to Devon and Stormy, but to Bull’s best friend, Trunk. The humiliation of it, having to expose her personal life to everyone, gnawed at her innards, making her queasy.

  The light switching off in the living room caught her attention. She smiled. Have to applaud my brother’s horniness this once. Samantha eased the trunk up and grabbed her bag. Closing it quietly was difficult. When she slammed it lightly, she caught her breath. She turned her gaze to the bedroom window. The light didn’t go on. No one appeared.

  The door to the basement was in the garage, which was open. She tiptoed over, moving as soundlessly as possible. She managed to turn the knob without making any noise. But the hinges on the door creaked. When Brodie, Devon and Stormy’s pug, began to bark wildly, Sam hissed and shut her eyes. She heard the scurrying of little, clawed feet. A prayer escaped her lips that her brother would ignore the dog and go back to making love to his fiancée.

  But her body went on high alert when she heard a voice. “Hold it right there.” And stood facing her brother, holding a gun.

  ****

  “Don’t shoot, Devon. It’s me,” Samantha said, her hands trembling.

  “Sam? What’re you doing here?” He lowered the gun. Stormy stood behind him, chewing her lip.

  “Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. I’ve got a lot of prep work to do.”

  “Technically today’s Thanksgiving, but okay. I get it.” He stepped back and let the women take the steps first.

  “Your timing stinks,” he muttered, heading upstairs, but did an about face. “And why were you sneaking into the house? Why didn’t you use the front door? You’ve got a key.”

  He rested the gun in a pocket of his robe. The bare legs of Stormy and Devon indicated Samantha had been right about what they were doing. She tried to find the words, but they stuck in her throat. Instead, she simply burst into tears.

  Stormy hugged her friend and led her into the kitchen.

  “It’s got something to do with that dickwad, Brodsky, doesn’t it?”

  “Shhh,” Stormy said, bringing her finger to her lips.

  “I
knew you’d say something like that,” Sam squeaked out.

  “Then, why did you…?” But Stormy grabbed his arm and pulled him away. “What?”

  “She’s upset. Let it alone. Just sit down and listen.”

  He scowled at her, but followed her wishes.

  “Coffee or tea?” Stormy asked.

  “Nothing for me,” Sam said.

  Devon agreed, so Stormy sat across from her friend with a sympathetic expression. “Okay, tell us everything.”

  “Yeah. Then, I’m gonna blow Brodsky’s head off.”

  “Put the gun away.” Stormy shot him an angry glance. He pushed to his feet and left, toting the firearm. When he returned, Samantha had dried her eyes and was sipping water.

  “Okay, sis. Spill it. What did that asshole do?”

  “No ‘I told you so’s?”

  “Nope.” He leaned over, kissed her forehead, and squeezed her hand.

  Confident she could continue uninterrupted, Samantha began her story. When she was finished, she washed the glass and put it away.

  “I hate to admit it, but you gotta give the guy credit for not turning his back on that idiot Tiffany.”

  “I agree,” Stormy put in.

  Her brother’s attitude was not what she’d expected.

  Samantha moved to the living room and stood by the picture window, looking at the moon. Devon and Stormy joined her.

  “So, you’re taking his side?” Sam asked Dev.

  “You can’t be serious? Of course not. But he has a point. And you’ve got to applaud him for standing up for what’s right. How would you feel if he abandoned her?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, if he was willing to toss her to the wolves, wouldn’t you wonder if you could count on him, if the chips were down? Wouldn’t you think he was kinda cold?”

  “I suppose. You have a point.”

  “I always do, don’t I?” He grinned.

  Sam put her hands on her hips. “Why do you have to be right and annoying at the same time?”

  Stormy snaked her arms around Devon’s waist. “Everything will look different in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”

  “Don’t have to ask me twice.” He snickered.

  Samantha laughed despite herself and trailed them upstairs. After entering the guest room, she cursed her brother for his policy about saving heat at night. She shivered as she pulled out her nightgown and turned down the bedclothes.

  She changed and climbed under the covers. The room was chilly. I wish Sly was here. He’d warm it up. Then, she giggled at the double entendre. She hopped out of bed, pulled down the extra fleece throw on the shelf in the closet, and spread it over the mattress. Then, she slid in again, hugging her knees to her chest, and huddling under the blankets.

  Sly’s large body heated up any bed, as well as her body. When she closed her eyes, her mind turned back to their last night together. She relived their lovemaking as warmth suffused her. If she concentrated, she could feel him against her skin. She fell asleep dreaming of the big man with the soft touch.

  In the morning, Samantha awoke at seven, later than planned. She hadn’t realized how exhausted she was from all the drama in her life. She was refreshed, renewed. As she dressed, she vowed not to give up on Sly Brodsky and never give him back to Tiffany. She’d go down swinging rather than lose him from her life. The smell of fresh coffee lured her downstairs.

  Stormy was already in the kitchen, sitting in Devon’s lap, kissing him. Samantha cleared her throat, but her brother didn’t let go.

  “Uh, could you save that for upstairs, please?”

  “I’ll make out in my house with my fiancée whenever I want. Don’t look if it bothers you.”

  “I think she’s missing someone,” Stormy said.

  “Oh, Christ. You make out with Brodsky? Don’t tell me that before I eat breakfast.” He made fake retching noises.

  “Nice.” Sam shook her head.

  Devon laughed. “If you end up with him, there will be no end of jokes. All at his expense.”

  “He’s bigger than you. I’d be careful,” Sam put in.

  Stormy chuckled. “How about coffee, breakfast, and then we tackle that huge list?”

  The trio set to work. Devon made eggs and toast, while the women took out the turkey and the ingredients for stuffing. They worked for hours preparing food. Devon got the dishes down and opened up the table.

  At eleven, Verna and Hank arrived.

  “Put me to work, girls,” the older woman said, rolling up her sleeves.

  “Come on, Hank, I’ve got a list of stuff we need from the store.” The two men left.

  The aroma of roasting turkey and stuffing slowly permeated the air. The day had turned bitter cold, with an icy wind. When the two returned from shopping, Devon expressed his gratitude at not having to play in the current weather. “Yesterday was a lot warmer,” he said, as he hauled in cases of beer and jugs of apple cider.

  “Smells good in here, gals,” Hank put in.

  Stormy and Samantha exchanged looks at his use of the word “gals” and smiled. He came up behind Verna, placing his hands on her shoulders. He bent to kiss her neck. She moved out of his grasp.

  “I don’t think you should be doing that when Buddy’s here,” Devon said.

  “Me neither,” added Verna.

  “Aw, come on. He’s not that much of a prude, is he?” Hank wondered.

  “Buddy? A prude?” Devon burst out laughing. “But she’s his mother, and that’s totally different.”

  “I suppose.” Hank paced.

  “Find him a job, girls,” Verna whispered.

  “Hank, how are you at cutting up celery?”

  “I’m pretty good with a knife. What do you need?”

  The five worked together, chatting and laughing while they prepared the massive meal for their friends. Samantha’s heart lightened. Her body tingled at the thought that she’d be seeing Sly soon. At one o’clock, Hank opened a bottle of Cabernet and poured for the ladies. He and Devon cracked open the beer.

  ****

  At four, the table was set, and the food prepared. Everyone was dressed. Sam was the last in the bathroom. She slipped the red dress over her head, admiring the image smiling back at her from the mirror. The excitement of the celebration had invaded her veins, and happiness bubbled through her. She brushed her glossy, dark hair, applied light makeup, slipped on her pumps, and joined the others.

  The doorbell began ringing. The Montgomerys were the first to arrive. Lauren was seated on the sofa and given a big glass of cider. Hank and Griff were in charge of entertaining Chip. No sooner had they gotten settled, than Buddy and Emmy arrived.

  Behind them came Trunk Mahoney, and his wife, Mary. The room grew hushed when she walked in. Some of the guests had never met her before. She was a small woman, with short, dark hair. She wore black, corduroy slacks and a beige sweater. Trunk was dressed the same, but all in blue. He introduced her around. She hung back, shy at first.

  Finally, everything was ready. Verna called people to the table.

  Samantha almost stopped her, but Stormy took her aside. “Maybe he got delayed? Fell asleep or something. We’ve got to eat, or everything will be ruined.”

  “He’s coming. I just know he’s coming,” Sam said, unable to hide the tremble in her voice.

  Stormy squeezed her shoulder.

  Devon sauntered over. “Something must have come up. I’m sure you’ll hear from him. We’ll save some food.”

  Sam’s eyes watered as she nodded to her brother.

  He took her in his arms and gave her a hug. “It’s gonna be okay, sis. You’ll see.”

  Grateful for his support instead of his nagging or triumph, she took a deep breath and joined the others. Everyone took their seats. Griff fastened his son into a high chair they had brought from home. The little boy was worn out enough to be happy to sit and eat. Lauren sat on one side of him and Griff on the other. She placed a couple of carrots stick
s on the tray, and he took them.

  Stormy, Verna, and Samantha took turns bringing out platter after casserole after serving dish of food. They knew that feeding the football team was a big job.

  The table groaned under the weight of two platters of turkey, carved expertly by Hank Montgomery. Then, there were two casseroles filled with stuffing, one with mashed potatoes, and one for sweet potatoes with marshmallows. A squash and cheese casserole joined a dish of Brussel sprouts. They had three kinds of cranberry—homemade relish with orange, whole berry, and jellied. A green salad with Caesar dressing rounded out the meal.

  The food filled the table and the sideboard. Devon said a prayer of Thanksgiving before they began to eat. Samantha had been looking forward to the food, but when she glanced at the empty place where Sly was to have been, her appetite went south. Still, she tasted everything and ate, regardless of her emotional state.

  Wine was poured and beer consumed by the six-pack. The room was quiet, with only the sound of chewing and ‘ah’s from happy eaters. Sam watched Buddy eye Hank Montgomery, who sat next to Verna.

  “So, Verna and Hank, you’re both going to be grandparents, eh?” Devon asked.

  “Yeah. My mom’s gonna be a grandma. But Hank’s not going to be my kid’s grandfather.”

  The pleasant sound of knives and forks coming together stopped. All eyes rose to Buddy.

  “That’s right, Buddy. We’ll both have new babies, but with different children,” Hank said.

  The tension eased for a moment.

  “You’re never gonna marry my mom, Hank. I hope you realize that.”

  Emmy grabbed his arm. “Buddy!”

  “Son, please. That’s my business, not yours,” Verna said.

  “What affects you, affects me.”