Breathe (Colorado Mountain #4)(50)

But he wasn’t done enjoying variety and, at the time, she was very young, clearly inexperienced and would require time and care that he had every intention would lead to commitment so he held off on approaching Faye.

Too long it would turn out.

But hopefully not too late.

After Misty, the possible fruition of his relationships for obvious reasons was curtailed and although he had them, the women who took him to their bed knew there’d be an end. He enjoyed it, they enjoyed it but they both kept distant because both knew there was no future.

Before and during Misty, all of this had been regular.

Ironically, since Misty, he’d only had two women. One he’d dated and f**ked for a month and then ended it. He did this because she made it abundantly clear she was hoping for more and Chace was not in the headspace to give it to her. The underlying desperation he felt from her reminded him of his dead wife. It wasn’t calculating like Misty, it was just desperate and it didn’t settle so it eventually put him off. The other was a leftover from his time with Misty who opened her door and bed to him any time he made the call. It was sporadic. It was random. It wasn’t frequent. But it was regular.

The last time he made that call was three weeks before he saw Faye in Harker’s Wood.

That meant he’d not had a woman in six weeks.

This was a record.

This was also making the carefully controlled necking he’d been using to initiate Faye torture. Exquisite torture but torture nonetheless.

Their morning phone calls, something he f**king loved, was a form of exquisite torture too.

Luckily, when they were done, he was in bed, hard and could do something about it.

Which he always did.

Today would be the same.

Tonight, though, was the night.

Tonight after Faye finished work she was coming to his place for the first time and Chace was making her dinner.

She wasn’t leaving until Monday.

She didn’t know that and he was not about to freak her out and tell her to bring a toothbrush and an extra pair of panties.

Tomorrow morning, he’d leave her in his bed and go get them for her.

“Yes,” he answered her question.

He got silence then, “Pardon?”

“Got ‘im.”

More silence then, “Already?”

“Lenny Lemcock tries to stay on the wagon,” he started in answer. “He also frequently fails. When he fails, he needs to get so drunk he doesn’t remember anything for a month. This requires money. Money, since he doesn’t have a job and lives on Disability, he has to steal. Took one look at the house, knew it was Lenny seein’ as he leaves a mess as his signature. He also leaves prints. Didn’t even have to lift a print though to know it was him. He hangs in seven different establishments. I found him at the fourth, three sheets to the wind. He’s in the tank and unfortunately for Lenny, since this is about strike seven and although the guy is funny, can charm a snake and has proven that repeatedly by charming a variety of judges, the last time he appeared, he got the warning. No more second chances. He’s f**ked. He’ll dry out doin’ time and my callouts for burglaries will drop drastically.”

“Do you know everything about everyone in town?” she asked quietly, residual sleep and a hint of sweet wonder in her voice.

“Only the ones who do f**ked up shit.”

“And Outlaw Al,” she added.

“Al lives on a diet of canned meat cut by canned beans. His residence is a lean-to in an alley. His best friends are twenty-five feral cats and he can pack all of his belongings in a shopping cart and not one of them is something anyone in their right mind would want. All of that is f**ked up shit. Just not the annoying kind.”

He heard her quiet, musical laughter and, like he always did when he heard it, he savored it.

When he lost it, he ordered gently, “Right, baby, time for you to go back to sleep.”

“Okay, honey.”

He closed his eyes as that went through him.

He loved her calling him Chace.

But her calling him honey was something else. Something pure. Something magical. Like the first snow of the season falling at night. You wake up to it, make coffee, wrap up in a jacket and scarf over your pajamas, tug on thick socks and sit outside on your porch, drinking coffee that makes your insides warm but seeing your breath puff out in front of you, the air coming out clean and going in cleaner.

It was a little common miracle but even common, that made it no less miraculous.

The first time she’d done it, it felt like he’d been touched by the hand of an angel and he hadn’t gotten over feeling that every time she’d done it since.

He opened his eyes and asked, “You got the directions to my place?”

“Yeah,” she replied softly and that went through him too. “I think I’ll be there around quarter to seven.”

“All right, honey.”

“You sure I can’t bring anything?”

“Just you.”

“Okay, Chace.”

That went through him too, always.

“Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

“Later, baby.”

“’Bye, Chace.”

He disconnected, tossed his cell on his nightstand and rolled to his back, his eyes going to the ceiling.