After the Climb Read online

  “I’m not real comfortable with you takin’ any of the blame for this, baby,” he informed her.

  “There are a variety of incidences where men and women fuck up and do hurtful things for no reason at all. Things that are avoidable, and if they do them, they’re unforgiveable. This is not one of those cases. Trust me,” she gave him a careful smile, “your fuckup was really, really huge. And I have no crystal ball to see what would have become of us if you didn’t believe Corey. But something you said yesterday has stuck with me. We were too young for something that big. It was going to overwhelm us eventually. So, you know, wresting my rose-colored glasses from the gnarled, twisted, but deathly strong fingers of the hands of time and perching them back on my nose, what you did probably saved us so we could have whatever we’re going to have now.”

  “Wresting your rose-colored glasses from the hands of time?” he teased.

  She gave him a shake with her arms.

  He got serious and said, “I’ll take that view through those glasses, Genny. And we’ll take it from here.”

  “Good,” she stated firmly.

  Christ, he needed to kiss her.

  “But this does not let Corey off the hook,” she declared.

  Obviously, he did not kiss her.

  “Baby—”

  “If you’re going to petition for my forgiveness of him, forget it, Bowie.”

  “No way in fuck I’d ever do that.”

  She stared up at him.

  “And that’s not totally about what he did to me and you. It’s about what he kept doing to you all these years. Knowin’ the lie he told and how it affected you and bein’ close enough to you, your kids call him Uncle Corey. Which, by the way, makes me wanna throw something every time I hear Chloe say it.”

  Motherly concern washed into her face and she asked, “Do you talk about him a lot?”

  “No. Mostly she bosses me while alternately feeding me and hiding the fact she’s spoiling my animals so this house will never be the same if she’s not in it, which I know is her goal. Chloe Pierce will never leave a place the same as it was before she arrived there. It’s a singular gift. And Tuck is gonna hate me forever when I make it clear the counters are again off-limits.”

  She jostled him happily and set her chin on his chest, her eyes shining.

  She was proud of her girl, as terrorizing as she was.

  And he loved that.

  “Gage is gonna have a massive crush on her,” he muttered.

  “How old is he?”

  “Nineteen going on eleven.”

  She started giggling.

  “And your older boy? Sullivan? How old is he?” she asked.

  “He’s twenty-one, and those hands of time you wrested your glasses from?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Those were his.”

  She giggled harder at that, so much, he felt it against his body.

  Now was a better time to kiss her.

  And he was going to do that.

  God, Christ, tasting Genny again.

  He couldn’t fucking wait.

  He started to drop his head.

  Her laughing eyes grew wider then got serious right quick.

  She was coming up on her toes…

  “Well, hell.”

  They both froze.

  “Harvey! I told you!”

  Genny leaned to the side to look beyond him.

  Duncan didn’t have to look.

  But he did anyway, holding her close and twisting his head to look over his shoulder.

  Harvey and Beth were standing beyond the railing at the back corner of the porch.

  “You didn’t answer your doorbell,” Harvey accused Duncan’s way.

  “Yeah, because he’s necking with his girl on his back porch, you big dork!” Beth snapped, smacking her husband’s arm and it looked like she did it hard.

  “Woman! How was I supposed to know? Yesterday, she’d barely look at him.”

  “Omigod!” Beth turned and homed in on Genny. “He lives with four women and he still has no clue.”

  “I know about the three-day shampoo regimen,” Harvey clipped.

  “Well bravo for you,” she shot back.

  “You two wanna stop yellin’ at each other long enough for me to make you both a cup of coffee, and Beth, I don’t know, maybe before that, introduce you to Genny?” Duncan asked.

  “We absolutely, one hundred percent, and I could not stress this more, do not want a cup of coffee,” Beth decreed. “No offense, Genny.”

  “I could use some joe,” Harvey said.

  Before Beth’s head could explode, Duncan threw out a compromise.

  “How ’bout I fill a couple travel mugs for you.”

  “We’re leaving,” Beth decreed. And to Genny, “Genny, so nice to not quite but still meet you. I wish I could tell you we weren’t these lunatics, but we totally are. Do with that what you will. If you take Bowie from us, we’ll understand. God granted us more time with him than we deserved anyway.”

  “Speak for yourself, wife,” Harvey bit out. And to Genny, “I am not a lunatic. You saw yourself yesterday, doll. I’m your average, everyday best friend to a man who shitty life circumstances tore from the arms of the love of his life and he needed my special guidance to get them back. Therefore, I’m taking total responsibility for this.”

  Harvey finished, jabbing his finger toward Duncan and Genny.

  It didn’t last long upraised.

  Beth grabbed his wrist, yanked it down and started tugging it.

  “You’ll come over for dinner. Soon, a couple of days, I’ll make something in the air fryer,” Beth called as she moved, hauling Harvey with her.

  “You and that air fryer,” Harvey groused.

  “You didn’t complain about that air fryer when I was pulling homemade jalapeño poppers out of it. You were too busy shoving them in your gob.”

  They heard this even though Beth and Harvey had disappeared from sight.

  “You were wrong.”

  At these words, Duncan looked down at Genny.

  “She’s scary,” she decreed.

  He burst out laughing.

  She gave him a squeeze while he was doing it.

  And even though he looked down at her and saw her smiling up at him happily, he stopped doing it.

  Bent his head.

  And took her mouth.

  Genny gave him instant access.

  So he took it.

  She tasted warm and smooth and decadent.

  Different and all the same.

  But as ever, intoxicating.

  And addicting.

  He angled his head for more. She pulled her arms from around him to wind them around his neck and pushed up on her toes to give it.

  She pressed deep.

  He pulled her deeper.

  But when his cock started stirring, he ended it, kissing her jaw, the downy skin in front of her ear, then resting his cheek against the side of her head and just holding her close.

  “Okay, so, um…it seems we have no problems getting the hang of that again,” she mumbled.

  He smiled at his stables. “Nope.”

  “Are you going to introduce me to your horses?’

  “Yup.”

  “And your chickens?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Your dogs are about to break through the glass.”

  “We’ll bring them with.”

  “Just so you know, I checked, and you were correct. My building has not had a sanitation emergency.”

  “I figured.”

  “Bowie?”

  “Right here.”

  “Sam phoned Mary. She wants to sit down and talk.”

  Fuck.

  Chapter Ten

  The Fire

  Imogen

  I stood, watching Duncan crouched before his gigantic fireplace in his great room, building a fire.

  And I did it admitting I was a mess.

  Because we’d scaled the mountain that was the h
eartache of our end.

  But I’d come to realize what lay ahead was not a downward climb into a sunshine covered, lush, verdant valley of the promise of halcyon days.

  It was another range of mountains we had to traverse.

  Perhaps not as high.

  But they were there.

  Earlier, on the porch, after my announcement about Samantha, Duncan had freed his dogs while declaring, “I get it’s gonna be on your mind, but how ’bout we make the rest of today a Corey’s-bullshit free zone? We got plenty of time to worry about it tomorrow.”

  And having lived Corey’s bullshit for what amounted to most of my life, I’d fallen on that suggestion like a woman overboard falls on a lifeboat.

  Once I did, Duncan took me to visit his horses.

  He then took me to see his very large, sophisticated, and protected “because of the kai-oats” chicken coop that offered a big area for them to range. A coop where he told me he housed thirty-five chickens “and me or Bettina collect the eggs, but it’s Bettina who takes them to the shelter so they can make use of them.”

  After that, he took me to the surprisingly big patch of tilled, now fallow (since it was autumn) land where, “Me and Sul dink around. Use the horse dung. The chicken guano. A mixture of both. Household and land refuse we compost, shit like that, literally, to see what works the best. We had the same at the old house, and Dora keeps it for him, ’cause Sully’s into it.”

  “And Gage?”

  A grin and, “Not so much.”

  We then walked to the lake and he gave me a sense of how much was his land, and he did this with Killer curled in his arm (who was far from a killer, she was a snuggle puss), the other arm outstretched to point to landmarks of what was his.

  Throughout all this, Shasta and Rocco were darting about, and it was cool to see how Rocco kept up with Shasta with absolutely no difficulty, even if he had one less leg.

  However, Duncan warned me, “He gets tired quicker. He goes full-out with a quarter less capacity to carry the load. We keep our eyes on that.”

  And then my head was full of thoughts of how sweet it was he knew his dogs so well and took care of them.

  Then he guided me back inside and gave me a proper tour of the house.

  I already knew that my first assessment of it was perhaps unkind, but not incorrect.

  Every inch of it, and there were a great number of them, with massive rooms and wide hallways (which also evidenced the overall theme, men tended to like to spread out and stake their claim), was decidedly masculine.

  But it was in a way that was attractive, interesting, but most of all warm and inviting.

  And the master, which Chloe did not show me (she’d only showed me her fantastic space upstairs), was a revelation.

  A massive room with a big bed facing a huge arched window that started at the floor and provided an unobstructed view of the lake. That wall was covered in stone, the rest in rough wood planks. A comfy seating area sat before it. Two huge, well designed, walk-in closets, side by side, his and hers, even if there wasn’t a “her.” And I thought Duncan was smart to do that for resale value or if he left it to one of his boys, who would eventually have a partner.

  There was also a not small, but not ostentatious terrace off to one side, and rounding out the interior, a fireplace on the wall next to the bed.

  All this was incredible.

  But the master bath was insane.

  Three-side windowed shower smack in the middle of the room with the fourth wall made of stone. Floors an interesting mix of river rock and slate, the rock fashioned to make it look like a river was guiding you to the door of the shower. Rough-hewn planks on the walls, the same as the bedroom.

  Amazing lighting, including what I considered the pièce de résistance, but a surprising one for Duncan to choose. A large, circular, free-standing soaking tub nestled under a window. So you could soak and look out at that view. The tub had a tri-globe falling chandelier in the corner next to it that wasn’t exactly feminine, but it was gorgeous.

  When we toured the master space, I knew I wanted to lie in that bed with a cup of tea and a book so I could look up at the view occasionally, and I wanted to soak in that tub and just take in that view.

  And it was not lost on me that Duncan was not hiding he was keen to see my reaction to his home, but it came especially when he showed me his room.

  Therefore, it was then it hit me his room should be one part of the verdant valley of the life we could be living.

  But there was a hell of a mountain range still to climb.

  He finished with the fire and came to me, and another sudden sense of awkwardness stole over me.

  I knew this man biblically.

  We’d been the best of friends and we’d been the best of lovers.

  This was not taking anything from Tom.

  I’d had two lovers, outside of Duncan and my ex-husband, and they had not been fun (which shared why there were only two).

  Tom, as with everything he did, was about skill and results. There was passion, there was love, there was intimacy and affection, and there was an abundance of all of that, and sometimes even fun, and all of it worked on me greatly.

  With Duncan, however, it was just hunger.

  Corey had exaggerated in what he’d said in his letter. Out of necessity, considering we needed to sleep, and work, and eat, and talk, and share our life worries and annoyances and just share, we’d come up for air.

  But Corey had not been far off base.

  In the fourteen months we were together, outside that time I had a terrible cold, but through the time Duncan had thrown out his shoulder (we’d just compensated), morning and night (and if it was the weekend, we often spent it in bed), we were making love.

  Without fail.

  We couldn’t get enough of each other.

  I’d thought it would calm down.

  It never did.

  Not until the day he left.

  I’d let only one guy go there in between Duncan in high school, and him again a few years later. I’d only had one man between him and Tom.

  And no one since Tom.

  And now, it was like I was fifteen again and had no idea what to do.

  Which was one mountain we had to climb.

  However, it had been a long time since it was Duncan who was that man who had my interest, and I’d forgotten.

  But as he assessed me as he came my way, I remembered.

  And then he demonstrated.

  He could read me.

  And he always knew what to do.

  In this instance, he took my hand and shifted, so when he fell, he fell on his back to the couch and I went with him.

  He then arranged us so I was on my side, back to the couch, front mostly on him, one of his legs stretched out on the couch, his boot on his other foot on the floor. He had an arm around me, and he did not hesitate to bring the other hand up to take control of a hank of my hair, move it forward, twist it around his fingers, and allow it to fall down my front.

  “I dye it now,” I whispered.

  His eyes went from my hair to mine. “I do not care.”

  I dropped my forehead to his shoulder.

  “Baby, who you are, I could not escape it. I watched you grow from who you were to the woman you are now. You are not frozen in time for me. And you cannot be unaware that you’re still as gorgeous as you ever were.”

  I could deny that.

  My career as it was essentially ending at age forty-five made that very apparent to me.

  And I was one of the very few lucky ones.

  I lifted my head.

  “Duncan—”

  “You know, we got shit to face with Sam and us catching up and our kids getting in the mix and you in Phoenix, me here, and the fact one photo of us on social media means we got a hashtag and some crazy mashup of a name. Do not focus on shit that is not an issue. I was attracted to you when you were fourteen and I was attracted to you when you were twenty-four and I’
m a little shocked with the way I’ve been with you that you’d even doubt how attracted I am to you now.”

  He was making sense and I was being an idiot.

  And there was a great deal of relief that I was not the only one who was aware that our vista was not without challenges.

  “We need to tackle all of that,” I pointed out.

  He grinned playfully.

  And heavens, did I like that grin.

  He’d had it before, of course.

  But maturity had made it so much better.

  “Can’t we just make out in front of the fire until your girl texts she’s on her way home?’

  I felt my lips curl up. “As tempting as that offer is, it would make me feel better if you knew what you were in for.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Well, as you mentioned, we have a hashtag and have already earned a mashup. This will require my publicist getting involved.”

  He stared at me.

  Then he asked, “Sorry?”

  Yes, this was what I was afraid of.

  He didn’t understand.

  I set about explaining.

  “You see, there will be questions, and I’ve no doubt, there already are, and Mary is holding back the tide. We’ll need to talk with our families, our friends, so they’re aware and not blindsided, and then decide when we allow the statement to be released that yes, indeed, Imogen Swan and Duncan Holloway are an item. Then, I hope, there will come a time when we’ll be ‘official,’ And the time where we declare we’re ‘serious.’ And…uh, so on.”

  It took him a moment before he said, “How ’bout this? We do whatever we want, and your publicist, and mine , ’cause River Rain’s got one, though she is not personal to me, she can be briefed, and when they get these requests, they can say, ‘Ms. Swan and Mr. Holloway do not discuss their private lives.’”

  “Darling,” I whispered carefully, “that does not work.”

  “How does it not?”

  “That feeds the fire.”

  “So what?”

  “Bowie.”

  “Is it their business?”

  “Well, no,” I allowed.

  “And is it gonna affect us? And I mean really affect us, Gen. People are gonna take pictures. They’re gonna post them. You warned me they come up to you, and I can imagine they do. The touching part will stop, if I’m around, but you gotta take care of your fans as you see fit. That’s part of your job. So all that’s going to happen no matter what. But we pay these people, the publicists, to handle shit, and eventually, folks are just gonna get it. We don’t have to spoonfeed them. We don’t have to make decisions that are personal and private and then share how we feel. I’ve no doubt you got a lot of money and that makes your life very comfortable. These people gave you that life by watchin’ your TV show and goin’ to see your movies. So there is definitely a way that you owe them your kindness and attention. But you don’t owe them your life.”