The Reprobate by Dorothy A. Bell

Friday Focus – Author Shauna Aura Knight Sunday Snippets 19 – Changing Tracks

The Reprobate by Dorothy A. Bell

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The Reprobate

Fiddle-playing Royce O’Bannon, and Cleantha Arnaud, the lonesome,

Broken music teacher break conventions rules.

Excerpt:

He pulled her onto his lap and held her tight. Feeling

the warmth and weight of her firm little bottom on his thighs

instantly did things to his manhood—his blood pooling in his

groin.

God, he wanted to lay her back and kiss the hell out her.

Using all of his restraint, calling upon his inner reserve of

control, he held himself in check.

“Now, tell me what this is about? All week you wouldn’t

even look me in the eye. Are you mad at me because I picked

you up and carried you down the steps in front of your

father? I had to—don’t you understand? I had to hold you. I

thought I would die out there in the wind and snow. I kept

warm by thinking of you in my arms. When you came out

that door, I had to, Cleantha—I had to touch you, feel your

body against mine.”

She sniffed and confessed, “I wanted you to hold

me…never let me go.”

For a moment he couldn’t speak, his mouth had gone dry,

his mind drew a blank. She wanted him too, but still, what

they felt for each other couldn’t be right or even possible.

Doomed. Right this minute he wanted to peel off her clothes,

lay her out on the rug before the fire and plunge himself into

her quiver. He wanted to taste every inch of her, make love to

her, take her breath away, leave her limp and begging for

more. Knowing that, he also knew he would hurt her in more

ways than one, and she would rip his heart out, leave him

bleeding and hating himself. He also believed Cleantha

Arnaud to be the most amazing person he’d ever

encountered. If she was angry, or in pain, he wanted to be

there for her. Suddenly it occurred to him that maybe this

great sense of discovery, of wonder and aching passion,

finally explained why he’d been born. At last, maybe he had a

reason to exist.

With that revelation planted in his mind, Royce set his

desire aside and took it upon himself to ask, “Why are you

drinking, Cleantha? What’s happened?”

Looking up at him, her eyes wide, she looked like a little

girl. His heart melted. Her eyes were full of turmoil and

misery. Her lips quivered when she spoke. “I feel so

worthless. My father’s thinking of getting married. I’m too

stubborn to die and get out of the way.”

He nodded and asked, “So, we’re talking about Mrs.

Tatom?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t like her?”

She shook her head and surprised him, saying, “Margret

Tatom is a lovely woman.”

He liked it that she sat content on his lap, with her head

resting on his shoulder. She sighed, her breath smelled sweet

with the fragrance of the elderberry wine and felt warm

against his neck. The temptation to kiss her lovely lips

distracted him from what she was saying. With a tilt of her

head to look up into his eyes, she foiled his opportunity to

make his move.

“I like Margret, but—she treats me like I’m…I’m a cripple,

not only in body but of mind. Worse, I think my father would

like to get me out of his way. He wants to build on a parlor

and a bedroom for me on the other side of the house.” Her

words had tumbled out in a rush. She trembled within his

embrace. “A room with its own entrance,” she said, lifting

her head from his shoulder to look up to his eyes. “A room

where I could have my own fireplace, a room where I could

be put out of the way when he marries,” she blubbered, then

laid her head back on his shoulder, ”A room away from his

new family, his new wife, his new daughter.”

Nodding with understanding, he murmured with real

sympathy, “Ah, a pity drunk, the worst kind.”

She slugged him in the chest and wiggled to get off his

lap. “Go away, you…you thug. I realize you’re the expert on

what kind of drunk I might be. What’s your excuse?”

He chuckled and tightened his hold while she made a

half-hearted attempt to get free. Once she settled back down,

her body stiff, arms folded across her chest, he answered her,

“It’s been a few weeks now since I’ve had a drink, but I’d

guess I drank to punish myself.”

She pulled back, giving him a saucy smile to ask, “For

being a prize pig?”

In fun he jerked his chin up, taking the hit, then

answered her in all honesty, “Yes, as a matter of fact. For

being a Goddamned prized pig. A pig is selfish and rude, and

that would be me,” he said without shame.

“Did getting drunk help you feel better about being a

pig?” she asked, her eyes soft, full of pity. He’d never had

anyone look at him with such tenderness, such empathy, and

it took his breath away.

“No.” Her eyes demanded the truth. “Drinking made me

feel like hell. That’s the punishment, you see.”

Relaxing, Cleantha put her head back on his shoulder. “I

think you’re a beautiful pig.”

“I think you’re beautiful, too.” Without thinking, he

kissed the top of her head. Her hair beneath his lips felt silky

and smelled of oranges and roses.

“Drinking makes me feel like shit,” she admitted on a

whimper. Royce laughed and gave in to his need to feel his

lips on her mouth, to taste her, feel her.