Lock & Key Christmas Read online

  “For an antacid, right? It was Wreck’s favorite. He’d rub his stomach and say, “I can’t believe I ate the whoooooole thing.” I laughed, my brother’s voice imitating the ad filling my head.

  “Daddy, look at my hat,” Thunder sported a red baseball cap with a white mustang patch sewn onto it.

  “Where did you get this?” I took my high school cap off his head.

  “I found it,” he said.

  “Found it? Where? I haven’t seen this since I don’t know when.”

  The sudden seriousness of my tone had my son straightening his back as he pointed toward the hallway that led to the mudroom/laundry room. “In the box.”

  “The box?”

  “Oh,” said Grace, sitting up. “He means that old trunk you found in the attic last weekend that we haven’t had a chance to go through yet. I’d covered that up in the mudroom. Thunder, you found it?”

  Thunder’s face flushed red.

  “You opened that big black trunk all by yourself?” I asked him.

  Our son only nodded.

  Resourceful, determined. Burning with curiosity. My boy.

  I pulled in a breath. That trunk was an oldie of Wreck’s. I didn’t know how I’d missed it all these years, but it was stashed in a far corner of the attic under a couple of tarps, behind an old ping-pong table. A pile that I’d kept meaning to get to all these years, but hadn’t.

  My son stood stock-still waiting for me to pass judgment on another of his hasty actions. I lifted my chin. “Well, you going to show us what you found inside?”

  “Oh, hang on.” Grace popped a red Santa cap on his head, pulling the tail up. “You’re Santa’s helper tonight. Bring it on. Surprise us.”

  A huge grin split his face as he charged down the hallway, his sock-covered feet stamping furiously on the wood. He quickly returned holding a pile of magazines and wearing a huge athletic jacket with white sleeves and a big red M patch on the front.

  “Holy crap, that’s my varsity letter jacket from high school,” I said, fingering a cracked leather sleeve.

  “Lookin’ good, LeBeau,” said Grace, her fingers brushing the patch with the red mustang on it, my number patched on the other side. “I remember Daddy wearing this in high school. Red looked good on him, too. He was a really good football player.”

  Thunder beamed, stood up straighter, but the jacket was heavy, and his shoulders slumped. Grace adjusted the jacket on him.

  “What else you got there, bud? Comic books?” I asked, and Thunder handed me the comics he held.

  “Any Archie? Betty and Veronica?” laughed Grace.

  “No, babe. Sorry. Batman, X-men, Silver Surfer. Dang, I thought these had gotten thrown away.” I shuffled through the colorful vintage comics. “Once in a while Wreck would take me to Rapid on a Saturday morning to check out this shop a friend of his had with old comics and collectibles. It was the best.” My hand pressed over the wrinkled ends of a Batman comic as Thunder ran back to his room.

  He brought me a couple of black pencils, a stained box of charcoals, another one of pastels. “Jeez, my first art supplies,” I murmured.

  “I found something else too,” said Thunder. The kid looked like he would burst any second.

  “Let’s see,” I said.

  Thunder skirted the sofa, charging back down the hallway and returned clutching a small brown stuffed animal. “Look! Look! It’s a fuffalo!”

  “Fuffa-what?” I asked. His face flushed, he held up a small, furry, brown stuffed animal for my inspection.

  “A little buffalo.” I stroked the thick brown fur of the toy. The furry creature’s small tail was coming apart from his body. I tugged on it gently, and a prickle swept over my skin.

  “He’s so cute,” said Grace.

  “I like my fuffalo,” said Thunder.

  I fingered the toy’s little horns, his shaggy mane and let out a breath.

  “He looks like those classic souvenirs they sell,” said Grace. “I remember seeing those little buffaloes at Wall Drug when I was a kid, but all my parents got us were wooden Buffalo nickels and stamped pennies.”

  I blinked, my mouth dried. Something, something from far away tugged at my insides as I took in the buffalo’s velvety face, his black hooves, those curved horns. Something I couldn’t place with logic and sense, but my heart knew. I knew. “This was my buffalo when I was a kid, Thunder.”

  “Really?” asked Grace. “You had it when you came to Meager? But you were a teenager then.”

  “No, I think I was much younger when I had it. I don’t know.”

  Thunder carefully brushed the buffalo’s tail with a fingertip. “His tail’s coming off. Can you fix it, Daddy?”

  “Yeah, I can fix it. I think I’m the one who ripped it.”

  “You did?” my son said.

  “I remember holding him by the tail and spinning him around…” my thoughts trailed off. That buffalo clutched in my son’s hands now hurtled me back to a time when my heart had been wrenched, changing it forever. My mother’s glaring sunlight gone, replaced by my grandmother’s silent warmth.

  “Now that’s a real man toy,” said Grace, and Thunder’s eyes lit up. “You missed it, Miller—the other day when Jill brought Becca and Nicky over to play, Becca put her Barbie in Thunder’s train.”

  “Oh no,” I said.

  “And then she put makeup on her Barbie,” said Grace. “That’s when the pooper hit the fan.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “Pooper!” Thunder broke out into laughter.

  “Pooper dooper,” said Grace, planting a kiss on Thunder’s cheek. “Why don’t you take the jacket off now, Thunder, and I’ll clean it up for you this week, okay?” She slid my old jacket off Thunder’s little body and laid it on the side of the couch. “Babe? You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just wondering why Wreck had this. I think I remember the toy, but as one of those flash memories from when I was really young.”

  “How young?”

  “Like with my mother young.”

  “Oh, three, four years old?”

  “Like me?” asked Thunder.

  I was three when my mother gave me up. That day the earth dried, the sun changed color, and flavors altered—flavors I came to love, because they were me, my blood, my fabric. But at three, I only knew my mother was no more. She’d quit. I would never hear her voice again, feel her arms holding me. Thank God my son would never know such upheaval.

  “I don’t remember having it at the res though, with my dad and my grandma. I’m not sure now,” I said.

  Thunder plucked the toy from me. “Now it’s my fuffalo, Daddy.”

  “That’s right.” I tousled my son’s long dark hair as he hugged my lost buffalo. “He’s yours now. Uncle Wreck kept him safe for you all these years.”

  “I love him,” said Thunder planting a kiss on the buffalo, squeezing him.

  “Ah, you see, Thunder?” said Grace. “Santa may not make it tonight to our house, but, boy, Uncle Wreck was watching out for you, right? I told you, surprises where you least expect them.”

  I caught my wife’s bright gaze and held it. God, I loved this woman.

  “I think now’s the perfect time to read “T’was the Night Before Christmas” together. I’ll go get it.” Grace went to Thunder’s room to get the book.

  Thunder propped his little buffalo on the table and made roaring sounds. “Remember the fuffaloes we saw in the snow last week, Daddy? That was so cool.”

  Last week on the way to Rapid we’d seen a herd tromping through the perfect white drifts, and Thunder had gotten so excited. Rugged, huge animals, their heavy fur covered in frost and icy drips of snow, seemingly unbothered by the harsh elements. No, they were in their element. They belonged here.

  Like us.

  Thunder said, “Now I have my own fuffalo.”

  3

  Grace

  We’d piled the dishes in the dishwasher, left the pans to soak in the sink, abandoned our wine glasses on the coun
ter. And of course, chocolate milk and gingerbread cookies which Tania’s mom, Rae had given us, were in a bright red dish waiting for Santa to bite into should he happen to make it to our house this evening.

  Miller brought Thunder to his bed, and the moment my husband entered our bedroom and laid eyes on me sitting in the leather arm chair in a snow white Lenore’s Lace corset style nightie he clicked the door closed behind him and remained glued to the spot.

  I spread my legs. “Get over here.”

  His gruff grunt reached me in the dark like a heat seeking laser and my clit throbbed, my pulse kicking up even more speed than when I’d flung myself in the chair waiting for him to walk inside. Miller stalked over and got down on his knees before me, warm hands slowly sliding up my bare thighs, taking my breath away. This man.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered, his thumbs brushing over the delicate fabric between my legs.

  “Merry Merry, baby,” I breathed.

  He snapped at the thin strap which lay over a nipple, and I gasped at the sting. “Is this some kind of modern Victorian bondage extravaganza?”

  “Lenore’s Lace style.”

  “I never get tired of these creations of hers.”

  “Neither do I.”

  He snapped the taut strap which lay over my other nipple, and the prick of the sting lit another match in my veins. Miller bent his head, and his warm wet tongue swirled over the hardened nub, his teeth brushing over the delicate flesh as he sucked roughly.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I’m going to give you your present now.” His hand cupped a breast roughly, and I gasped. “It’s a two parter.”

  “A two parter?” I said.

  He got up and opened the leather pouch he’d taken with him on his trip and fished out a small gift box. “For my lady,” he handed it to me, getting back on his knees in front of me.

  Jewelry. I loved jewelry, a certain type of jewelry, and he loved gifting it to me. His eyes gleamed, his anticipation making my pulse throb faster.

  “Open it, baby.” His fingers slid down my middle to between my legs, cupping me, his heat blazing over my skin, his low voice whispering in my ear, “Then I’ll unwrap you.” He snapped open the tiny snaps between my legs.

  I let out a ragged breath and tore off the ribbon and opened the small suede box. “Oh, Miller.” I stared at the piece. He took the eternity band out of the box and slid it over my other stacked rings on my finger from our engagement and wedding, planting a kiss on the rings.

  “It’s all of our birthstones with diamonds. All together on one ring.” He’d already given me a ring of only amethysts—our son’s birthstone—after Thunder was born, but now a ring for me with all of us on it.

  “It’s perfect.” I kissed him. “I love it.”

  He took a breast in his mouth and sucked and nipped at my flesh as he stroked up and down my wet core. A groan escaped him as two of his fingers slid inside me, curling against my wall, thrusting, his thumb stroking my clit. My hips rocked to his rhythm as he greedily kneaded a breast.

  “Oh, oh, Miller—”

  He released me. “You know what I want, baby.”

  He liked to watch me.

  My one foot planted itself on his chest and pushed. A heated grin tugged at his mouth as his hand slid up around my raised thigh. I stroked between my legs, his fingers burning a trail on my inner thigh as I brought myself closer and closer to the edge under his searing dark gaze. My head fell back, my body arched with the building pleasure and suddenly, he kissed my bare foot and stood up.

  My pulse careened as he ripped off his henley, loosened his sweats, tugged them down and kicked them off along with his socks. Naked before me, he pulled on his erect shaft, rubbing himself up and down as he watched me, his breathing ragged, heavy, matching my own.

  Something glinted in the dim light of the room, and I blinked.

  “Is that a—you got a—No.”

  He chuckled darkly as he pulled on his gorgeous cock, making the silver ring at the base of his shaft visible. “For you. This one’s sized perfectly.” He pulled hard on his stiff length.

  “Baby!”

  “It’s feels real different from the rubber one you’d gotten us to play with.”

  “But I thought you didn’t like it. You said it felt weird, uncomfortable. I thought—”

  “But you liked it.” He stroked his hard, hard cock, and I blinked, my heart squeezed. He was killing me, and I burned this image of him in my brain. My man staring at me with wild lust roaring in his full dark eyes along with the pleasure he felt at surprising me, giving me what I wanted. I had no words. His hand curled tighter, moved faster over his dick in preparation to take me, conquer me, make my wishes come true. “Didn’t you like it, baby?”

  My heart banged in my chest at his gruff, harsh tone. “I liked it. A lot.”

  He smiled. A smile that was full of planned surprises and devilish satisfaction. “I asked Ronny about them because he does piercings at his shop, so I figured—”

  Ronny was the best tattoo artist in the Black Hills, and Miller and all the Jacks only got their tattoos from him. And now that Ronny was in a serious relationship with Alicia, she’d convinced him to open a shop here in Meager.

  Miller said, “He showed me which were the best and sized it to perfection.”

  I licked my lips. “Sized it?”

  “So I feel good about it being on me. And you know what? I like the feel of it.” He pumped at himself faster. “All tight right where it counts. Tight and hard for you.”

  “You’re killing me.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Miller—”

  “I got a vibrating attachment we can try too.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Another layer of crazy for my woman.”

  “Miller.”

  “The rubber felt weird on me, but I did like the pressure, and coming did feel stronger.”

  I swallowed hard remembering the crazy sensations of that sex session. “Hmm.” I sat up straighter on the chair, licking my lips like some desperate, hungry young vampire watching her prey cavort before her, beckon her.

  “You make me horny as fuck all hours of the day and night,” he said on a groan.

  My insides throbbed. “Me too, baby,” I breathed.

  “I want a thicker, fuller, and longer lasting hard-on for you, Grace, because I want to make my woman’s fantasies come true.”

  I’m done.

  I slid my hands up his legs at those words, at that dark tone shading his deep voice, and I pulled him close, sucked on his balls. He let out a low grunt, digging a hand in my hair as my tongue flirted with the ring, lavishing it with long and short licks.

  Suddenly I was being lifted and jammed against the wall. I gasped, my legs curling instinctively around his solid hips, clawing at his rock hard body as his cock slid up and down my wetness, the cool hard texture of the ring grazing me mercilessly.

  “You feel that?”

  “What the hell is that?” I groaned.

  “Ridges and bumps on the ring.”

  “Holy crap.”

  “Custom made for my sweet, hot pussy,” he murmured thickly on a deep thrust.

  Oh.

  My.

  Fuck.

  “Miller!”

  My fingernails dug into his neck, and a large, warm hand gripped my ass, keeping me close, keeping me pinned to the wall as he pulled out and thrust deeper, faster. He circled, I cried out.

  So full, so full.

  Our damp skin sliding, our groans urged each other on. His warm scent, our sweat and musk filled my senses. The hard wall at my back and his steely grip kept me focused and bound to his demanding need. I met his pounding with poundings of my own.

  “Come get me. Come get me, baby,” he pleaded, he urged through gritted teeth.

  I was bound, I was free. I gave, I took. Our bodies shuddered together. A hand suddenly dug into my hair, yanking hard, his hips meeting mine, our mouths devouri
ng each other as our hearts stopped.

  And started once more.

  Miller carried me to our bed, our slick, spent bodies tangled in one another. “Love you, Grace,” he whispered hoarsely against my throat.

  Wiping his long hair back, I brushed his sweaty forehead with a kiss. “Can we make that a new holiday tradition?”

  His fingers slid between my ass cheeks. “What’s that? A new toy every Christmas Eve for Mommy and Daddy?”

  My legs squeezed around one of his rock hard thighs, a hand going to his man jewelry, sliding it off. “Yes, please. The possibilities are endless.”

  4

  Miller

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I went to check on Thunder, but he wasn’t in his bed. He was all curled up in his blanket with the buffalo inside his teepee. Lowering myself to the floor next to him, I rubbed my son’s back, his little breaths hitching, releasing. Doing this always reminded me of when he was a newborn and I’d stroke his back as he’d slept in his crib to feel his lungs working, his heart beating, the rhythms electrifying. A miracle.

  My gaze went to the mural on his walls that I’d painted for him when he was born. A soaring eagle, a charging hawk. A herd of wild mustangs thundering across the prairie grasses, and a herd of buffaloes lumbering across a hill on another wall. Tall, green gold grasses, a white goat perched on a granite mountain by a waterfall, a great blue sky heavy with puffs of clouds.

  In another lifetime, Thunder’s room had been my bedroom.

  When Wreck had first brought me to Meager from the reservation and shown me this room, the bedroom that was meant for me, I’d seen a simmer of anxiety and anticipation on his face that had made me swallow hard as I stood in the doorway. Those dark-blue eyes of his trained on me, waiting for my reaction, bracing for the worst. Dig and Boner stood behind us in the hallway shifting their weight, their boots scraping on the wood floor as I took in the room.

  Oh, I’d inhaled every detail before me. I closed my eyes, seeing every detail again.

  Freshly painted white walls. A big double bed with lots of plump pillows and a thick dark blue comforter with tan stripes, and curtains that freaking matched. An old wood desk with a metal lamp on it and a couple of pencils in a container ready to be used. A small television on top of a pine dresser. My insides vibrated. It was Wreck trying his best. It was Wreck giving a shit and showing me he cared. He’d made a decision, he’d come and got me and was all in.