Title: Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows
Author: Kimberly21570
Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children
Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca
Disclaimers and other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia, Emma, and Sam Spencer, Natalia and Rafe Rivera, Doris and Ashlee Wolfe, James Spaulding, Daisy, and Frank Cooper, and Jamanda Weeks are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Lena Kundera, Bianca Montgomery, and Kendall Hart Slater belong to ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The original characters of Jennifer, Tracy, Jacob and Dylan Jackson-Morgan and their extended family, Detective Sargent Langston Malloy, her parents, Carrigan (Carrie) McKenna Malloy and Lorcán Malloy, and her brothers Quinn and Pearce, Attorney Danika Kováč, and her parents Alaina (Laney) and Daněk Kováč, Judge Bennett Thomas, and Jake, Jacqueline, and Preston Morgan are the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, or any other entity. The dialogue, settings, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.
Many thanks to my friend and favorite FFW, WickedWanda926 for the edit on this one. I owe you bunches!
Rating: This section of Chapter 14 is rated R for colorful language and sexual references.
As promised to skyes, here is the product of Santa's elves' hard work. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate.
I hope y'all continue to enjoy!
Kimberly
Confessions Lead to Strange Bedfellows
Copyright May 2009
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything. 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. 6 But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. 7 That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. 8 Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do."
— James 1:2-8, the Bible, New International Version (NIV)
"God promises a safe landing, not a calm passage. If God brings you to it, He will bring you through it."
— Unknown
Chapter 14.26 – Trials and Tribulations:
Friday, June 19, 2009… Morgan Financial Corporate Offices—7:15 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"Pour you another?" Frank's eyes held a slight gleam as he tipped his own glass toward the financier. He was still nursing the same drink Morgan had poured him nearly a half-hour earlier, while stealthily working forming a bond with the man to gain his trust. It had been an easy connection to establish, given the target of their mutual disgust: Olivia Spencer.
Morgan had downed at least three more stiff ones in the same period of time, all the while ranting and raving, plotting ways to get even with "that bitch and her business partner"—without breaking any laws, of course. Because he was innocent—all of those charges the night before had been fabricated, he swore. He was drunk, but he was no fool. Frank was a cop—one who didn't belong to the Boss. Really what he was doing was attempting to get information out of the hapless detective. What he didn't realize was that Frank was doing the exact same thing to him, while also scoping out the opportunity to get that gun away from him.
For every criticism or complaint Morgan uttered about Olivia, Frank matched him, and then upped the game. A part of him—the part that had once loved Olivia—felt guilty for the things he was saying, because deep down inside, he knew they weren't true. But the part of him that still felt betrayed found this unlikely allegiance soothing to his battered ego.
Drawing in another long drag of his umpteenth cigar for the day, Morgan leaned back in his chair, absently scratching his crotch. "Well, I suppose we ought to toast our alliance, don't you, Chief Cooper?" His now ashen face held a satisfied smirk.
Frank smiled and nodded. "Yes, I suppose we should." With that, he rose from his seat and lifted Morgan's tumbler from the table, taking his own glass along with him. It would look better if he appeared to be refreshing his own drink as well; though he had no intention of drinking another drop of it.
He took his time, as he poured another generous tumbler full of the amber liquid. And then he set the decanter down on the bar, capping it tightly. Tilting the glass in his hand, he gently swirled the contents, his watch intently focused on Morgan in the beveled mirrors that flanked the wet bar. Finally, he lifted his own glass in his free hand and turned toward the old man with his own look of satisfaction.
Handing the glass to Morgan, Frank lifted his own in a toast. "Here's to making that bitch pay."
Morgan's dark eyes glinted with the anticipation of sweet revenge. "Hear! Hear!"
And then they drank.
Friday, June 19, 2009… the Farmhouse of Love—7:45 p.m. Central Daylight Time
Breaking away from the group that was still gathered around the table, Doris excused herself from the lively conversation, and wandered into the kitchen in search of a fresh cup of coffee. She felt comfortable in the farmhouse now, having shared dinner with Olivia and Natalia on a number of occasions.
Never in her life would she have believed it possible to be so at ease, especially around someone as devout as Natalia. But she had come to see Natalia for who she really was—someone who deeply loved her God, but didn't think that made her better than everyone else. Natalia readily acknowledged her own flaws, and rather than excusing them, she took responsibility for the consequences. And always, no matter what someone else had done in their past, Natalia accepted them for who they were. Doris supposed that was what a real Christian was supposed to be like, but she didn't know, because she'd never met one of those before. Natalia was different, and despite her initial apprehension, Doris had quickly developed a deep sense of respect for the younger woman.
Curiosity piqued, Olivia followed closely behind Doris, mumbling something to their other guests about checking the beans.
Truth was, she was on a mission. She had been watching the Mayor all evening, contemplating her. Something was different, but she couldn't quite put a finger on it… yet.
A slightly skittish smile played across Natalia's lips as she wondered what they were up to this time. She'd seen the looks that passed between the two of them during dinner, and Olivia's face had held a perplexed expression on more than one occasion. Something was up, but she hadn't a clue as to what. And so she simply shook her head, and turned her attention back to their guests.
Everyone seemed to be having a lovely time, including Rafe, who sat at the far end of the row of tables between Ashlee and Daisy, with his cousin James just one seat farther to the left. Doris had been sitting next to Ashlee, with Lena and Bianca immediately to her right, and Jen and Tracy directly across from her, with Dani just to their right, directly across from Ashlee. The dinner was full of great food, laughter, and lively conversation; and Natalia couldn't have asked for more.
Olivia had taken the seat at the far end of the tables, nearest to the back door, so that she could retrieve whatever their guests needed from the kitchen. Natalia missed sitting near her, but she appreciated Olivia's thoughtfulness when insisting that Natalia had already done enough, and that she would happily serve their guests for the remainder of the evening.
Even in his moments of self-centeredness, Olivia's concern for his mother had not been lost on Rafe. He watched her intently throughout the meal, as she moved in and out of the house, leaving her own dinner to cool, without a single complaint. He still hated the fact that Olivia Spencer was sharing his mother's bed. Probably always would, in his estimation. But he could no longer deny Olivia's obvious affection for her.
In the kitchen, Olivia leaned a hip against the counter. Propping her opposite foot up on the toe of her sneaker, and crossing her arms in a facetiously casual pose, she observed Doris with a critical eye. "Something's different," she declared. "What's going on with you?"
Doris tried to look oblivious, as she reached for the coffee. "I'm not sure what you're talking about," she denied. She poured a cup of the steaming liquid, and returned to carafe to the warmer.
"N-n-n-n-no…" Olivia wagged a finger in front of her. "There's definitely something different about you." She considered the Mayor for a bit longer, taking in the way she carried herself—with even more cockiness than usual—and the way her complexion shone, even in the harsh kitchen lighting. And then her eyes lit up. "That's it!"
"What's it?" Doris hoped she looked as bored as she tried to sound.
Leaning in closer, Olivia forced Doris to lock into her gaze. Deep ocean green met brilliant blue skies. "You're having sex," she covertly accused.
"What?" Doris rolled her eyes dramatically. Her insides trembled.
"And from the looks of you," Olivia said, eyeing the Mayor up and down. "It's really good sex."
"You're out of your mind." Skillfully, Doris skirted an outright denial. She was, after all, an adept politician.
"No…" Olivia shook her head. "You have a glow," she said, waving a determined finger at Doris. "I know that glow. You're having sex," she asserted, in a tone that brooked no argument. "So spill. Who is she? Are you fucking the teenager again?"
"She's not a teenager, Olivia," Doris retorted dryly. "And no, I am not fucking Jamanda."
"Then who is she?"
"No one," Doris evaded.
"Ah, so you admit there is someone!"
Olivia was better at this than Doris had thought. Clearly, the woman missed her calling as a prosecuting attorney. Mentally, she sighed. "Please, leave this alone," she said, her voice pleading. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, an act of protectiveness.
Her nervousness only served as reinforcement, causing Olivia to pursue the matter further. "No way," she said insistently. "I spilled about my feelings for Natalia. Now it's your turn. Who is she?"
Falling silent, Doris contemplated.
When an answer wasn't forthcoming, Olivia prodded her again. "Well?"
Doris made a face at her in response. "Oh, all right," she huffed as she huddled closer to the hotelier. She knew she shouldn't say a word, but Olivia was a bulldog when it came to getting what she wanted. "It's Bennett Thomas," she whispered clandestinely.
Olivia's eyes widened in surprise. "You're fucking the judge?" she exclaimed loud enough to be heard through the open back door and out into the yard.
Blue eyes widened with fear. "Would you keep it down," Doris said through clenched teeth. "The whole damned county will hear you."
Ignoring the reprimand, Olivia arched an inquisitive eyebrow, and increased the pressure, though playfully so. "How good was it?"
"Scale of one to ten?" Doris said, setting the bar. "It's always well over a hundred." She sounded as satisfied as she looked.
An eyebrow arched. "Always?" Olivia queried.
Fuck, Doris cursed internally.
"Just exactly how long has this been going on?" Olivia pursued, her tone teasing.
Swallowing hard, Doris fought to calm her jittery insides. "Only for the last twenty-two years, or so," she answered nonchalantly.
Olivia's jaw dropped. "What!" she exclaimed. It wasn't an inquiry. "How the hell am I just hearing about this?"
"How well do you think it would've played, the Mayor fucking a married family court Justice?" Doris asked rhetorically.
Nodding, Olivia silently conceded Doris's point. "Is this why you avoided the courtroom the other day?"
A solitary nod marked the Mayor's response.
"Twenty-two years." Olivia sounded contemplative as repeated Doris's own words. She couldn't even imagine having a relationship that lasted that long. It had never seemed a possibility—until Natalia. She studied the Mayor curiously. "Really?"
Doris shrugged. "Give or take."
"Tell me more," Olivia demanded. Her tone was quiet, but insistent.
A sly grin teased at the corners of Doris's mouth. "We met in law school," she shared, feeling a little more comfortable with her disclosure. Olivia was going to find out at some point anyway. Everyone would. "Lived together for three years."
"What happened?" Olivia's tone turned from curiosity to concern. "Is she still married?"
Doris smiled ruefully. "That's a story that requires alcohol," she said. "Lots and lots of alcohol."
Olivia laughed, but the hint of pain in Doris's tone wasn't lost on her. "Ladies night out, perhaps?"
"Perhaps," Doris agreed with that trademark smirk.
Friday, June 19, 2009… Morgan Financial Corporate Offices—8:00 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"What the hell are you doing here?" Preston muttered upon the appearance of yet another unwelcomed intruder in his boardroom. He had finally gotten rid of that pesky detective by agreeing to give up the gun until he was sober. And now here she was.
Having waited until the police left before entering the building, she had been surprised to not see him leaving with them; though, she had no idea as to why. His attorneys had done an outstanding job of getting him arraigned quickly after the nightmare the night prior, and he wasn't set to see a judge again until the prosecuting attorney set a trial date. She wondered only briefly what they had wanted with him today, but she knew better than to ask.
Instead, she went about fulfilling her mission.
Friday, June 19, 2009… Springfield Police Department—8:00 p.m. Central Daylight Time
Thankful that old man Morgan had finally agreed to give up the gun—after procuring a promise that the Chief of Detectives would help him exact a far more lethal form of revenge upon Olivia and her cohorts, Frank Cooper dropped down into his rickety office chair with a heavy sigh. He wasn't one for lying to folks, but sometimes the ends justified the means. This, in his estimation, was one of those times. He didn't want any real harm to come to Olivia, of course. He was angry, and hurt, not vengeful. But his real focus was Natalia and their unborn baby girl. If anything ever happened to either one of them…
No, he couldn't even bring himself to think about it.
Instead, he chose to focus on happier things, like planning the nursery he was putting together at his house for those nights when his new baby girl would come to visit. And then there was the upcoming Fourth of July holiday, starting with Springfield's annual Independence Day Parade. He was Grand Marshall this year, and he was looking forward to it. Pathetic, how little it took to engage him these days, he thought. But he didn't allow the thought to linger long, lest he end up at the bar again instead of going home. He didn't need any more nights like Rafe Rivera having to cart his ass home—or worse, having his Pop come to get him.
"Jenkins!" he barked, calling for one of the officers who had accompanied him to the Morgan Financial building.
"Yes, Sir," the young patrolman replied, as he ducked his head into Frank's office.
"I need you to prepare the report on tonight's call," Frank instructed. "Bring it to me when you're finished. I'll add my part to the end." And he would. He would put the part about talking Morgan out of the gun. But the parts about sharing a few drinks and conspiring to exact revenge, well, those would just be mysteriously forgotten.
"You got it, Chief," Jenkins replied smartly, though he was anything but pleased with having been handed this particular task. Completely inevitable, reports were the bane of every cop's existence, and he hated them even more than most. But he would do as he was told. And with that, he turned on his heel, heading toward his desk in the squad room, leaving Frank to contemplate just exactly what he would say in his portion of the report, to adequately cover the period of time he was in that conference room.
Friday, June 19, 2009… the Farmhouse of Love—8:30 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"Dinner was fabulous, Ma," Rafe declared, as he pushed back from the table. He patted his protruding stomach, making him look almost like his mother when she patted her baby belly. "Man, am I stuffed. Thank you."
Noises of agreement resounded all around the table, and Natalia beamed at the unanimous response from her guests. "You're welcome," she said graciously to all of them. "Bianca deserves equal credit. She was a huge help this afternoon," she freely acknowledged.
Glancing at her wife, Bianca grinned. "It wasn't too many years ago I would've been more of a hindrance in the kitchen than a help," she confessed. She couldn't help but laugh to herself at the memory of Lena coming home from work to find her in a heap on the kitchen floor, sobbing over having ruined yet another dinner. They ate a lot of takeout before Kendall finally managed to teach her how to cook.
A soft chuckle fell from Lena's lips, and she patted Bianca's thigh. "You've definitely come a long way since those early days, Sweetheart," she said with affection.
"At least you've finally managed to learn," Jen piped in from across the table. "Tracy still does all the cooking at our house." She grinned at her fiancée. "If not for her, the boys would probably resemble little macaroni noodles by now, from having eaten mac-and-cheese out of the box seven nights a week."
Everyone laughed, and Tracy affectionately squeezed Jen's arm. "Lucky for them, their mama knows how to make real mac-and-cheese."
Jen smiled and kissed her. "She even makes the noodles from scratch," she bragged.
Rafe, who still sat nearby, was surprised that the show of affection didn't bother him. That was cause for wonder, but he pushed it aside. He wasn't ready to deal with it. Not yet, anyway.
A round of "Oohs" and "Ahhs" erupted around the table, making Jen and Tracy laugh. "We'll have to have you all over for dinner some night," Tracy offered. "Until then, Natalia, Bianca, this meal was truly spectacular. Thank you again."
Bianca nodded as Natalia said, "You're welcome. We're just so glad you could both join us tonight."
"No one more so we are," Jen declared, earning an enthusiastic nod from Tracy.
"You have no idea," Tracy agreed. Leaning over, she brushed another light kiss against Jen's lips.
While pleased with the outcome of her case, Dani couldn't help the slight hint of envy she felt as she watched the two of them together. She and Langston had once shared such tender affection. She missed those moments with her, and she knew she had only herself to blame. She had destroyed everything they had shared with one fatal decision. But despite the outcome, she also knew she had done the right thing, and she wouldn't second guess it. Not for anything.
"And thank you again for all your help," Tracy was saying, as she glanced from Dani, to Olivia, then Natalia, and finally Ashlee and Doris. "This wouldn't have ended as quickly or as easily as it did, without you."
"We're just glad to have you back with us," Olivia said with fondness, as she gently squeezed Natalia's shoulders from behind. She had just come back from another trip into the kitchen, this time to retrieve cake plates, ice cream, and utensils.
Reaching up, Natalia brushed her fingers across Olivia's hand, which still rested on her shoulder. "So what do you all say, should we call the kids back up here for some cake and ice cream?"
The sounds of agreement around the table were once again unanimous.
Ten minutes later, having gathered the kids around, they all sang "Happy Birthday" to Rafe. And then Natalia began cutting and plating pieces of the homemade cake. She handed them to Olivia for a generous scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.
Rafe was still beaming as he took the first bites. He raved to Natalia about how delicious his cake was, and she smiled fondly at him in return. And as he ate, he found that it fazed him a little less to see Natalia lean toward Olivia, sharing a kiss with her, as she passed her another plate.
Friday, June 19, 2009… Preston and Jacqueline Morgan's Residence—9:00 p.m. Central Daylight Time
Just after sunset, Jacqueline Morgan navigated the familiar right-hand turn, pulling up to the security kiosk. She tapped the button on the door handle, lowering the window, and reaching out she punched the code to gain entry. Huge black iron gates immediately lurched and began to swing inward, opening to welcome her. She passed through and paused momentarily to ensure that the infrared sensors just inside the gate had registered her clearance, triggering the gate to close behind her.
As she watched it close in her rearview mirror, she thought briefly how much she wished she could lock that gate permanently—to keep him out. But she wouldn't have to worry about that much longer—would she? Her silent musing brought a faint smile to her lips and a sparkle to her dark eyes. She felt almost giddy at the prospect of his inevitable fate, and not the least bit guilty about it.
Tossing thoughts of him aside, she relished in the warmth of the summer evening, and vowed to enjoy the final moments of her outing. The nearly a half-mile drive from the entrance was accented by the huge, stately oaks that lined its edges, and she wondered after them as she slowly passed them by. They had been barely more than saplings when planted nearly forty years ago, and now they towered over the drive, providing both shelter from the harsh snow and ice of winter, and shade from the blistering sun in the summer.
In addition to the oaks, the house was shielded on all sides by groves of sprawling sycamores. She remembered with fondness how much Jake had loved climbing in those trees. He even had a treehouse in one of the larger trees out behind the house near the lake. Oh, how she had wished her grandsons could've played there in that place where their daddy had spent so many of his childhood afternoons. But Preston's way of making that happen was wrong; and she despised him for what he had done to her daughter-in-law and their grandsons.
Releasing a soft sigh, she turned the wheel to maneuver the cumbersome SUV around to the back, pulling into the far bay of the four-car garage at the northeastern corner of the home she had shared with her husband for nearly thirty years—a trophy he had constructed in celebration of making it rich. She didn't drive the vehicle often, much preferring the coziness of her little red convertible to the lumbering mass of the SUV; but the objective of her mission seemed to call for something a little… not red corvette.
Once inside the spacious garage, she pushed the button to close the bay door, and immediately it began to descend behind her. She cut the engine then, and deftly pulled the key from the ignition, tossing it into her Lana Marks original. Pushing the lone button concealed beneath the panel to the left of her steering wheel, she popped the latch on the rear hatch, and quickly closed the panel again. And then, opening the driver's side door, she climbed down from her perch.
Gathering her purse and a few random items from the front seat, she slammed the door behind her, and took the few steps toward the back of the SUV, where she retrieved a few of the bags she had deposited there earlier in the day. The rest would just have to wait until later, she thought, as she struggled to balance what she already had in her hands. She had other things to get done before the evening was through, and she didn't want to waste any more time than she already had. Life was far too short for that.
Friday, June 19, 2009… Gwen Matthews' Residence—9:30 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"Dinner was wonderful," Langston complimented as she settled into Gwen's sofa. The welcoming comfort of the overstuffed fabric felt like an embrace. They had spent a lovely two hours talking about music, art, and books, and comparing notes on favorite bands, artists, authors and fictional characters. And now they were settling in for the second half of their evening together. "Thank you."
Returning Langston's wine glass after refilling it, Gwen sat down beside her. Close enough for casual contact, but not too close to be awkward or uncomfortable. "You're welcome. It was my grandmother's recipe," she said of the Beef Wellington with herb-roasted potatoes and vegetables. It was a traditional English recipe, from a traditional English Lady. "She taught me everything I know about cooking."
"Well, she was obviously a stellar instructor," Langston commented.
Gwen's cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink. She hoped the slight flush she was feeling from the wine was enough to cover it up. "Thank you."
Sensing Gwen's embarrassment, Langston took a sip of her wine, and then tipped the glass, drawing Gwen's attention to it. "I hope the wine was okay," she said. "When you told me what you were making, I thought it would complement the dinner better than the beer I promised."
A soft smile percolated on Gwen's lips. "It was perfect. Thank you."
"Good." Delivered on a sigh of relief, Langston relaxed a little more. "I wouldn't want you to think I'm just some unsophisticated, beer-guzzling butch," she laughed.
"Oh, I would never think that," Gwen replied with a teasing smirk. First of all, she wouldn't exactly characterize Langston as butch. She was firm and muscled, but she was all woman, from what Gwen could see. But if that was how Langston saw herself, she wouldn't argue. Instead, she focused her attention elsewhere. "I've seen your taste in beer, remember?"
Langston laughed. "Yes, I suppose you have."
Tucking a bare foot up beneath her, Gwen regarded the enigmatic detective with an open curiosity. "What else do you like, Detective Malloy?" she prodded in a voice more sultry than intended.
At the surprised expression on Langston's face, Gwen flushed again, realizing how that must have sounded. She quickly recovered, clarifying, "I mean, tell me something about yourself—other than that you're a beer aficionado, and you have great taste in wine, music, and books."
They had talked often over the past three years, shared dinner more times than they could count, but Langston was always careful about what she revealed when it came to her personal life, and especially her past. From the moment they met, Gwen had wanted to know what made this dynamic woman tick. Now seemed like the perfect opportunity.
"What, you don't approve of my taste in art?" Langston said teasingly, indicating the omission of that particular interest.
"Very funny, Detective," Gwen said drolly.
The warmth of Gwen's smile softened Langston's innate guard, making it only moderately impenetrable. "What would you like to know?" she asked, still a bit uncomfortable with revealing much about herself. She was grateful for the cloak of the wine glass.
"I don't really know," Gwen shrugged. "Anything… everything. You never talk about yourself."
"There really isn't much to say," Langston said sheepishly. "I work so much, I rarely have time for anything else."
It was the truth. Many a night, Langston could be found sitting alone in the squad room, pouring over her open cases with only the light of the stark desk lamp that hovered haphazardly above her desk, as her guide. She'd lost count of the times Chief Cooper had come strolling through at well after midnight, insisting that she go home.
"Oh. Yeah, yeah, sure thing, Chief. I'm wrapping things up right now. Five more minutes, I'm outta here," she would say. But neither of them believed it. Frank would simply shake his head, and tell her goodnight, before making his way out the door.
More often than not, he would find her there when he returned in the morning. Despite the change of clothing, he was certain she'd never left. But he said nothing. What good would it do anyway?
On her part, she knew going home would be a waste of time. Day and night, her body hummed with restless energy, and no matter how tired she was, sleep evaded her. On those rare occasions when exhaustion finally overtook, and sleep would claim her, she awoke more restless and exhausted than she'd been when she crashed. So eventually, she just stopped bothering. She'd lived like that for the better part of her first two years in Springfield, and only recently had things begun to improve in any significant way.
And then Dani had shown up two days ago, taking her completely off-guard. She hadn't slept soundly since.
"And why is that?" Gwen asked, drawing Langston back with the sound of her voice.
Distraction turned to contemplation, and Langston purposefully avoided Gwen's questioning gaze. "Makes life less complicated," she answered honestly.
Gwen regarded the detective carefully. Some woman must've really done a real number on you, Langston Malloy, she thought. But she didn't dare voice it. That kind of comment could scare the detective off. What a fool she was…
"What about you?"
Navigated on a deliberate turn, Langston's question drew Gwen from her thoughts. "What about me, what?" she asked, sounding a bit confused.
"What's your excuse for working so much?"
Nodding, Gwen's lips adopted a smile of acknowledgment. "My staff is stretched to the limit. We have enough open cases to staff another entire office. But given the budget constraints we're under due to the recession, that's never going to happen," she answered forthrightly. "Someone has to pick up the slack so that the kids don't pay the price."
A smile of deep appreciation formed on Langston's lips. "I really admire that about you," she said softly.
Gwen blushed at the compliment, and lowered her gaze. "Most of these kids have already seen six dimensions of hell, Langston." Her voice was tinged with sadness. "They deserve better than to have us subject them to even more."
She hadn't thought it possible, but somehow, Langston found herself liking Gwen Matthews even more. "Is that why you were so willing to loosen the rules when it came to the Jackson case?" she asked.
"Partly, yes," Gwen admitted.
"And the rest?" Langston prodded.
"Honestly?"
"Yes."
"I've been doing this job for a long time, Langston, and I have yet to meet a child being raised by gay or lesbian parents, who was abused or neglected," Gwen answered. "I'm not saying it never happens. Never is a strong word. But I'm a good judge of character, and those women seemed genuinely shocked by the allegations. Guilty people are usually defensive. I didn't read that from either of them."
"Neither did I," Langston readily agreed.
They were quiet for a few moments, and then Gwen released a slow sigh. "Why are we talking about work?" she asked in a teasing tone. "I thought you wanted to keep things on a personal level tonight."
Langston laughed. "I did," she admitted. "But in my defense, you did ask me why I work so much."
A soft laugh joined Langston's own. "Guilty as charged," Gwen admitted. "I guess it's just natural for us to talk about work," she reasoned. "But don't think it escaped me that you shifted the focus to me."
"Force of habit," Langston defended lightly.
"I can understand that," Gwen granted. "I find it hard to talk about myself sometimes too."
"Glad I'm not the only one," Langston smiled, feeling relieved.
They fell silent for a moment, each of them contemplating.
"More wine?" Gwen offered, breaking the silence when she noticed Langston's nearly empty glass.
Glancing at the glass in her hand, Langston shook her head. "No, thanks," she said politely. "I still have to drive tonight. I probably shouldn't have had this one." She tipped the glass, drawing attention to it.
"I do have a guest room," Gwen noted, her tone warm and inviting. She swallowed hard, willing herself to say what was really on her mind. It took a moment, but she finally found her courage. "Or… we could make other arrangements."
Langston flushed at the unspoken invitation, and leaned in closer to Gwen, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "Are you trying to get me drunk, so you can have your way with me, Ms. Matthews?" she asked, with a hint of flirtation.
An eyebrow arched. "You're the one who brought the wine, Detective," she gently reminded, tiny flecks of gold dancing in her soft brown eyes.
"Ah, I suppose I did," Langston laughed, almost nervously.
It was Gwen's turn to move closer this time. "But I wouldn't mind having my way with you," she said with a boldness she didn't know she possessed.
Delivered on a sultry murmur, Gwen's comment evoked a wave of nervous excitement deep within their bellies. The entire evening seemed to have been building to this moment. Their gazes locked, shimmering with anticipation.
Lightly, the fingers of Langston's right hand tangled in the soft auburn locks at the base of Gwen's neck, her thumb lightly caressing the soft skin. And then she leaned forward, brushing her mouth against Gwen's lips, reveling in the soft gasp she garnered in return. It was all the encouragement she needed to continue.
She lingered on Gwen's mouth, her tongue slowly tracing the outline of perfect, pouty lips. And then she drew the lower one into her mouth, suckling lightly. Gwen moaned in response, and Langston gently coaxed with her tongue, seeking entrance into the warmth of Gwen's mouth.
Willingly, Gwen opened to her, as her own fingers tangled in Langston's short, dark locks. Langston's tongue was so smooth, so warm, as it explored the deep recesses of Gwen's mouth, and fleetingly, Gwen wondered how it would feel in other places. Her entire body was humming with arousal, and she had to force her thoughts back to the kiss. Jesus, this woman could kiss!
"I've wanted to do this all night," Langston whispered when she finally came up for air.
"I've wanted you to do this for years," Gwen confessed on a sigh, as Langston's soft, warm mouth feathered light kisses along Gwen's neck.
Gwen's skin was so soft, so warm, and Langston wanted to lose herself in the light, floral scent of her. And then she wondered briefly what the hell she was doing. Her entire world had turned upside down the moment she set eyes on Dani two days prior, and now, here she was, not only on a date with Gwen, but kissing her! She liked Gwen. So much. But…
Another soft groan fell from Gwen's lips, unbidden, at the intimacy of the contact. She hoped it would never stop. She arched a brow, her soft brown eyes twinkling with mirth, even as she reveled in the warmth of Langston's mouth against her skin.
Delivered on a sultry murmur, Gwen's comment caught Langston completely off-guard, frightening her just enough to draw her back from her endeavors. Suddenly self-conscious, she moved back, and gently slipped her fingers from Gwen's hair, allowing her hand to drop back into her lap.
Moving increasingly closer, Gwen settled a hand on Langston's inner thigh. It was warm, and Langston's body responded to the touch. Not that the touch was inordinately intimate, but no one had touched her with any intimacy whatsoever… since Dani.
The expression in Langston's piercing blue eyes spoke of pain and confusion, and the slightest hint of a warning. Gwen heeded that warning, choosing not to ask what had just happened.
"I… uh, I'm sorry," Langston whispered once she found her focus again.
"No need," Gwen assured. Lightly, she brushed her fingertips against Langston's cheek. "Everything okay?"
Langston smiled into those soft, trusting brown eyes. "Yes."
"Good," Gwen said with satisfaction. "Maybe we can get back to the personal," she suggested lightly, as she leaned forward, kissing Langston again.
"Sounds good," Langston agreed, determined to remain present-centered, and entirely focused upon the beautiful woman who was kissing her so tenderly.
When finally, Gwen pulled back from their kiss, a little dizzy and slightly dazed, she leaned casually against Langston's side. "Have I distracted you enough now that you'll share some of your secrets with me?" she asked, only partially teasing.
Despite herself, Langston smiled. Gwen was charming and adorable. "What would you like to know?"
An almost triumphant smile graced Gwen's lips. "Tell me about your family," she prompted.
Taken aback for a moment, Langston's heart lurched at the inquiry. Suddenly her throat was dry, and she felt the pounding of her pulse in her ears. You sure don't ease into things, do you? she thought fleetingly.
Then, tossing the errant thought aside, she conjured a slight smile. "Well, I'm the youngest of the Malloy clan," she shared. "I have two older brothers, no sisters. I think my father was disappointed I wasn't another son."
"I take it you're not close to your father," Gwen presumed.
Langston barked out a sharp laugh. "My father and I… don't see eye to eye on much of anything," she stated bluntly. "Never have."
"What about your mom?" Gwen queried.
A fleeting smile touched Langston's lips. "I've always been very close to my mother," she said, her voice taking on an affectionate tone. "And my brother, Quinn," she commented in an attempt to move the conversation to safer ground. "He's the younger of my two brothers," she added as an afterthought.
"Not so much your older brother, huh?"
"No, not so much," Langston answered without further comment. Pearce was far too much like her father, and they had little common ground. But Quinn… Oh, her sweet, protective Quinn, she mused in a rare moment of tender reflection. Like her, his hair was dark like midnight, and his eyes were bright, like a clear Montana sky. And he had the cutest dimple in his chin. He was witty and charming, and so damned rascally at times. But he was never hurtful. Not like her father and Pearce. Her self-appointed guardian, Quinn was always looking out for her growing up. He was the first person she ever told about her attraction to girls, and about her relationship with Dani. Even after they were grown, he continued watching out for her—sometimes in ways she still didn't even realize.
"Why Springfield?" Gwen asked, attempting to sound nonchalant, as she broke through Langston's thoughts again.
"What?" Once again, Gwen's question caught Langston totally off-guard. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn't seem to keep her mind from drifting. She hoped it didn't look that obvious.
"You had close family and a thriving career in Chicago," Gwen pointed out. "So why move to Springfield?"
Langston considered the question for a moment, and then shrugged her shoulder. "I guess… I just needed a change," she answered vaguely.
"Of scenery, or… company?" Gwen ventured gently.
A wry smile played on Langston's lips. Gwen was quite perceptive. "A little of both, I suppose," she answered pensively. "Circumstances and relationships changed rather quickly, and I just… needed to get away."
"You've never struck me as the sort of person to run from something difficult," Gwen observed.
"I wasn't running, exactly," Langston said without hint of defensiveness. "There just wasn't anything there for me anymore," she shared. And then her voice turned to a strangled whisper, "Everything I truly cared about was gone."
The pain in Langston's voice was palpable, and Gwen reached out, gently taking the detective's strong hand into her own. Their fingers entwined. "Where did it go, Langston?"
"It died," Langston said with a quiet, yet undeniably caustic laugh. "And I buried it, right along with the person I loved most in this world."
Gwen's heart filled with empathy for the woman she was quickly realizing she was just now getting to know. Moving as close as space would allow, she placed a gentle hand on Langston's arm. "I can't imagine what that must be like, Langston," she whispered.
The warmth of Gwen's hand against her skin felt like a balm to Langston's heart. Not so intimate as the kisses they had shared, or the touch on her thigh, but comforting in a way she hadn't felt since…
She simply couldn't go there. Not in front of Gwen. Not in front of anyone. "I'm grateful that you don't," she said quietly.
Searching for a graceful exit from this particular conversation, Langston found that she was grateful for the chiming of the vintage Grandfather clock that stood watch over the room from its post in the far corner. Clearly hand-carved of rich, solid oak, it was ornate in its intricacy, yet somehow held an air of simplicity; as if it had pulled from the pages of Country Living. Langston found herself drawn to its charms. Lightly, she suggested that they catch the ten o'clock news. "I'm rarely home to catch it," she said, by way of excuse.
Despite the casualness of Langston's tone, it was like watching a concrete wall descend from above, severing the tentative connection they were building, and firmly blocking any possibility of further communication. If she hadn't known any better, Gwen would have sworn she heard the locking of a deadbolt.
Admittedly disappointed, she leaned forward, grabbing the remote from the antique coffee table in front of them. "Do you have a preference?" she asked conversationally. You could tell a lot about a person by the news channel they preferred, and she prayed she wouldn't hear mention of Faux News.
"WSPR, if you don't mind," Langston answered casually, her tone once again friendly rather than tense. She had immediately regretted having shut Gwen out the way she did.
Thankful for the quick recovery, Gwen easily acquiesced, flipping to the familiar channel. It was her preferred station, as well. Tossing the remote aside, she settled in next to Langston, enjoying the easy comfort of her companionship once again.
They caught the lead anchor, a balding man in a sharp, charcoal gray suit, whose angular jaw and sincere blue eyes invoked the confidences of his audience, in the midst of introducing the top story—and Langston realized too late what a mistake it had been to suggest anything news-related.
Behind the anchor, the newsreel broadcast the story: the downfall of a man many believed too powerful to even touch, let alone destroy. And yet here he was, his empire crumbling around him.
"Lorcán Malloy, notorious kingpin of the Irish mafia, was arrested late last night outside his North Shore estate, along with several key members of the organization, including his oldest son, Pearce," the anchor reported.
She saw his face on the screen, his jaw clenched in barely restrained fury, as police officers in full riot gear led him in handcuffs down that familiar walkway. Even through the cloak of night, she could see the brightly colored chrysanthemums she and her mother had planted not so many years ago. They bloomed anew each spring—brilliantly showing off their vibrant reds, their deeply burnt oranges, their brilliant yellows, and their rich purples. The purples were her favorites. Nothing had changed—not the surroundings, nor him. And more clearly than she could see the vivid colors, she could see the pent-up rage rippling through his muscles as he was so unceremoniously ushered toward the waiting squad car. Instinctively, her own muscles clenched.
"The same sting operation that resulted in these arrests also resulted in the arrests of several of Illinois's top State officials, as well as…"
The anchor's voice droned on in the background, detailing not only the story as they knew it, thus far, but also providing commentary as to the ultimate repercussions. But Langston heard none of it. Instead, she found herself caught somewhere between reality and a living nightmare.
Glimpses of the past, snapshots of him, flashed through her mind like a slideshow on fast forward, the images changing so rapidly she could barely contain them. Her breath caught, and her face turned ashen, her entire body trembling.
"Langston?" Gwen called to her, as she reached out again, gently touching her arm.
But the sound of Gwen's voice, the sensation of her touch, didn't even register, so lost was Langston in the swell of memories. Nothing about him had changed in the years since she'd left, except that his anger seemed to seethe from far deeper in the bowels of his cold, dark soul. She bristled as she contemplated what he might be capable of doing to those who had contributed to his downfall. Lord, have mercy on their souls—and on the souls of anyone who loved them.
"Hey—," Gwen nudged gently. The light sheen of perspiration on Langston's brow wasn't lost on her, nor was the tremor in her hands, or the quivering of her lower lip as she fought for air. "Are you okay?"
"What? Yes," Langston finally replied, her answer automatic, as she fought to regain her composure. She was angry with herself for having lost control in the first place. Emotional reactions evoked questions from others, and questions were to be avoided at all costs. "I just… I, um…" Fuck!
She felt herself being drawn into strong, comforting arms, and too shaken to resist, she acquiesced. It wasn't easy for her to accept comfort, to show what she considered to be weakness. She hadn't allowed anyone to comfort her since…
Forcing the memory away, she compelled herself to relax into Gwen's arms. It had been so long since anyone had held her, and Gwen's body felt soft and warm against her own. Finally, she allowed herself to cry—a deep, sobbing cry that had been building in her depths since the moment she set eyes on Dani two days ago. It shook her entire frame as Gwen held her, whispering to her, words that were gentle, soothing, as fingertips lightly threaded through her hair.
"How much of this has to do with why you left Chicago?" Gwen finally found the courage to ask, once Langston's tears began to subside.
Langston grew quiet, contemplative. How much could she afford to admit? And how much should she deny? "You figured out I'm one of those Malloys," she finally said, emphasizing exactly which ones. It wasn't a question. She'd breathed a deep sigh of relief as the ordeal of the night previous had finally drawn to a close. And now, here it was again, threatening to intrude upon her evening with Gwen. She wished, more than anything, that it wouldn't.
"It wasn't all that difficult, once the story broke," Gwen replied. "Chicago may be a huge city, but in some respects, it's a very small town."
Peering up at Gwen through tearstained eyes, Langston said, her tone adamant, "I'm nothing like them, Gwen; I swear. I'm not a dirty cop."
A slight smile flickered on Gwen's lips, as she gently tucked locks of dark hair behind Langston's ear. "I know that, Sweetheart. I know," she said soothingly. Lightly her fingertips slid along Langston's cheek, brushing beneath her chin where they lingered, the slightest pinpoint of pressure.
Langston responded with the ghost of a smile.
Their gazes locked, Gwen gently tipped Langston's chin, drawing her close. Langston went willingly, a soft moan escaping as supple lips skated against her mouth, once, twice, and then again, each time, a tender caress. And then she allowed herself to be pulled back into Gwen's comforting embrace.
Gwen's lips brushed Langston's temple as she pulled her close, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, her voice a quiet invitation. "Or would you rather just let it be for now?"
It felt safe and warm, lying against Gwen's reclining form; the tips of Gwen's fingers raking through her hair, gently massaging the nape of her neck. For the first time in her life, she actually wanted to talk about it with someone who wasn't a part of the life she left behind. She knew she could trust Gwen implicitly. But she also knew that telling her could put her life in danger. And that was something she just couldn't do. "I want to tell you, Gwen. I really do," she said sincerely. "But it's safer for you if I don't."
"And what about you?" Gwen countered. "Are you just supposed to carry the weight all on your own?"
"I have people I can talk to," Langston replied without thinking. "People who come from that world, who already know the score."
"People like that attorney?" Gwen ventured, already knowing the answer.
"What attorney?" Langston feigned ignorance.
"The one who took the Jackson case," Gwen reminded unnecessarily. "Kováč was her name, wasn't it?"
"She wasn't here because of me," Langston said, barely skirting the truth. "She came as a favor to Jackson's fiancée. Apparently, she knew Jennifer Morgan's late husband."
"Ah," Gwen said, dropping the subject of Danika Kováč. It wasn't lost on her that Langston hadn't actually answered her question; but for the moment, she was more interested in focusing on the fact that Langston was in her arms. "Lucky for them," she said sincerely, as her fingertips gently stroked Langston's lower back.
"Yes, lucky," Langston agreed, her body responding to the light caress. She turned just slightly, one leg slipping over Gwen's thigh. "We're talking about work again," she said with a soft laugh.
Amused, Gwen chuckled. "Force of habit, I guess," she commented. "Let's find something else to talk about."
"I have a better idea," Langston declared, her tone low and sultry, as she moved to straddle Gwen's thighs.
Gwen's pulse jumped, her heart pounding in her chest. She gulped. "Oh, yeah? What's that?" she asked, hoping she didn't sound as nervous as she felt.
"Why don't we just not talk at all," Langston suggested, even as she questioned what the hell she was doing. And then she tossed the warning thoughts aside. She desperately needed a distraction from all that was happening.
Her pulse hammering even harder, Gwen bit her bottom lip, as Langston leaned over her, those thick black locks falling forward, framing her beautiful face. "That sounds like a plan," she murmured, just as Langston's mouth met her own.
Lightly, Langston brushed her mouth against Gwen's, drawing a soft moan from her lips. She smiled, and nipped gently, before lingering over the plumpness of the lip Gwen had bitten just moments prior. Time and again, their mouths met, their kisses deepening with each caress.
Finally, Gwen's tongue skated across Langston's lower lip, begging entrance, as her fingers tightened in Langston's hair. Langston opened to her, welcoming the increasing intimacy of the kiss, even as their bodies melded together, Langston stretching out atop Gwen on the sofa.
They lingered together—neither of them knowing how long—hands caressing as they kissed. When Gwen pulled Langston's tight black t-shirt from her jeans, slipping her hands beneath, Langston groaned into her mouth. And when Gwen's fingertips found those high, firm breasts, playfully tweaking tight nipples, Langston's hips jerked and she instinctively ground her center against Gwen's.
"This just in…" the news anchor said, his deep baritone voice filled with urgency as he broke into the first half hour of the late-night show that followed the local news broadcast. "Daněk Kováč, another Chicagoland crime boss who was taken into custody last night, along with several key members of the Kováč family, has managed to escape police custody…"
The sound of his name, the knowledge of his escape, yanked Langston back to reality. Oh, my God… Dani! Gazing down at Gwen, her breath caught in her chest. Gwen's skin was flushed, and her light brown eyes were dark with arousal, her chest rising and falling in sharp pants. Seriously, Langston, what the fuck are you doing?
"Gwen, I…"
Quickly, Langston sat upright, though she still straddled Gwen's thighs.
Gwen sat upright, as well. Instinctively, her fingertips weaved into Langston's hair, clasping lightly behind Langston's neck. "What's wrong?" she asked, sounding both confused and hurt.
"Nothing," Langston lied.
"You do know that I want to, don't you?" Gwen asked gently.
"I know," Langston acknowledged. "And I do too. But I… I can't," she said insistently.
"You can't… or you won't?" Gwen asked gently. She wasn't angry, just concerned.
"I…" Langston hesitated. "I'm not ready for this. Not yet."
Nodding, Gwen swallowed her disappointment. "I understand, and I can respect that," she said softly. And then she released a slow sigh. She still didn't know Langston's whole story, or anything about the woman who had so obviously hurt her, but she could still empathize with having been hurt and not being ready to move on. "That doesn't mean you have to go right now, does it?"
Langston rewarded her with a soft, slow smile. "As much as I'd love to say no, I just can't, Gwen. And I'm so sorry," she admitted, almost sadly. "I should go, before I further complicate things."
Gwen's touch was gentle when she grasped Langston's forearm. "It doesn't have to be complicated, Langston," she said softly. "I'm willing to wait until you're ready."
The expression on Langston's face was one of pain and longing. Longing for what, she didn't know. She was so confused she couldn't even think clearly anymore. "What if I never get there?"
"Then you'll still have me as a friend," Gwen said sincerely.
The slightest hint of a smile flickered at the corners of Langston's mouth. "Thank you, Gwen," she said softly. She leaned over, brushing a tender kiss against Gwen's lips. "You can't possibly know what that means to me."
She said goodnight to Gwen then, and shrugging her way into her worn leather jacket, made her way out the door into the warm June evening. Glancing up into the night sky, she fixed her gaze on the moon and stars, wondering at their seemingly peaceful existence—and praying that her own hard-won peaceful existence wasn't about to erupt into a war zone.
Friday, June 19, 2009… the Farmhouse of Love—9:30 p.m. Central Daylight Time
As night fell softly across the horizon, the group's conversation continued by the softly flickering gas-light glow of the antiqued black post lanterns that lined the edges of the patio, illuminating the area, adding to the natural ambiance of the old farmhouse.
"So what's the story with you and that hot detective?" Ashlee blurted out, posing the question to which everyone who had seen them together wanted an answer, but were afraid to ask.
Leave it to Ashlee, Olivia thought, amused.
"What detective?" Dani asked, feigning ignorance.
"The one with the smoldering blue eyes, and the body that won't quit," Ashlee reminded unnecessarily. "Langston Malloy."
The expression on Rafe's face was one of surprise, but he said nothing.
At the same moment, Doris arched an eyebrow at her daughter's description of the detective. "Since when do you notice hot females with bodies that won't quit?" she asked, only half joking.
"I'm straight, Mom, not dead," Ashlee said, waggishly.
Everyone laughed.
"Should I worry about her turning you?" Doris teased.
"She was enough to turn me," Dani said quietly. She hoped the warm yellowish-orange glow of the lamp lights was enough to hide the flushing of her skin as the memories suffused her.
"Langston Malloy is enough to turn just about anyone," Ashlee declared.
"Can't say that I disagree," Jen commented, earning her a look of surprise from Tracy.
"Oh, really?" Tracy queried, her tone teasing.
"I'm sorry, Honey, but she's hot," Jen said sheepishly.
Tracy certainly couldn't argue. Reaching over, she patted Jen's thigh. And then she took Jen's left hand into her own, and lifting it to her lips, she lightly kissed the diamond ring that now resided there. "Well, as long as you're still going to marry me, I don't suppose I care who else you think is hot," she stated firmly.
Jen leaned in, brushing a kiss against Tracy's lips. "I can't wait to be your wife," she said softly. "And nothing in this world could keep me from my promise to marry you."
"That's good to know," Tracy beamed. And then she turned her attention back to Dani. "So… tell us about the hot detective."
"Yes, do tell," Bianca interjected, her interests piqued. "I'm beginning to feel left out, not having met this gorgeous creature," she said teasingly.
Lena just shook her head and grinned. "Should I be concerned about our wedding vows?"
Bianca laughed. "Never, my love," she declared, pressing a kiss to Lena's lips.
An onslaught of emotions had plagued Dani as she watched Jen and Tracy, and then Lena and Bianca interact with one another. The happy couples reminded her of moments lost with Langston. They had been so in love, so happy. And then it was all gone, vanished like a vapor of cool air on a warm summer night. She swallowed hard around the lump in her throat, her heart aching all the way down to the depths of her soul. And then she said simply, "Langston Malloy is my wife…"
TBC in Chapter 14.27…