Yield (Cal and Macy's Story 3)

Macy makes an almost-strangled sound in her throat, and finally, a maniacal type of laugh pops free. "I was fifteen years old, Cal," she says drily. "What could I have possibly done to get the FBI's attention?"

"I don't know," I tell her carefully. "And I don't need to know details. I just have to know if I need to be prepared to assert a 5th Amendment defense on your behalf. I guarantee the prosecutor will call me Monday to set up a meeting to interview you. I'll stall her as long as I can, but you need to at least give me some parameters of what you could be facing with her."

"No," she says softly. "I didn't do anything criminal."

She puts enough emphasis on the word "I" that I clearly get the implication. Something criminal happened in Brussels, but for the life of me, I can't imagine what a fifteen-year old's knowledge could do to help a prosecutor with white-collar indictments. It just doesn't make any sense.

"Oh, my God," Macy says reverently as we drive down the dirt lane to Hazentree Farms. She takes in the acres upon acres of neatly lined rows of apple trees, all with tiny balls of fruit on them starting to burgeon with color.

Macintosh, Rome Beauty, Red Delicious, Honeycrisp, Gala, Fuji, and Golden Delicious. Seven different kinds of apples to choose from.

When the farmhouse comes into view, Macy lets out a tiny sigh of appreciation. Two story yet modest with white clapboard siding, black shutters, and a sprawling porch filled with black rockers.

Right on cue, my mom pushes open the front door. She trots down the steps with my dad not too far behind, her long, blonde hair pulled up into a messy bunch on top of her head. My dad's darker blond hair is still in a short, military-style cut that he can't seem to let go of. Both of them have huge smiles on their faces as they watch me bring the car to a stop at the base of the porch, and my heart rolls over with love for them. Everything that is the foundation upon which my life was built was given to me by these two people.

Mom walks around the front of the car to my side while Dad opens up the passenger door. I step out, right into my mother's warm hug, and peek over the top of the car to see my dad holding his hand out to Macy.

"I'm so happy you came to visit," my mom gushes as she squeezes me hard.

I watch as Macy is enveloped in a not-too-threatening hug from my dad, who releases her and grins big at me. "There's my boy."

"I'm a man, Dad," I quip. "Quit tearing me down in front of Macy."

"Little piss ant," he says affectionately as he rounds the car to hug me.

"Come on," my mom says as she turns from me, walks over to Macy, and loops her arm around her waist. "Let's head in. Lunch is ready."

Macy shoots me a timid look over her shoulder, and then she's disappearing up the steps into the house.

"She's a real beaut," my dad says as he nudges me in the shoulder.

"You sound like you're surveying a '57 Chevy or something," I mutter as we start for the house.

Dad gives a hearty laugh, slaps me on my back, and as we hit the front entryway, I'm assaulted with amazing smells from my mom's cooking. My mouth instantly waters and my stomach grumbles. While Macy's eggs and bacon were definitely better than mine were, they didn't exactly fill me up either.

By the time we make it into the kitchen, I see Macy has been firmly ensconced on one of the kitchen stools that round the center island and Mom is pouring her some lemonade.

I take the seat next to her and Mom dutifully hands me a glass from which I take a gulp before sitting it down.

"Entertain Macy while I get everything set out," my mom instructs my dad with a pointed look. "We'll just eat here at the counter."

My dad stands on the other side of the island from us. He takes a moment, eyes my mom's ass while she removes a pork loin from the oven, and then turns his head our way as he leans his elbows on the black granite. "So Macy, Cal says you do volunteer work with people down on their luck."

It's a nice segue into a safe conversation for Macy because it's something she loves doing and never minds talking about, although she doesn't like to necessarily take credit for her efforts. I watch as Macy smiles big, joy and supreme job satisfaction lighting her up from within as she tells my dad all about The Faith Mission. Both my parents ask her several questions about her work while food is passed around, and within fifteen minutes, my dad is volunteering to come into the city to talk to some of the younger residents at the shelters about military career options.

After I finish eating, I lean back in my stool and casually rest my arm across the back of Macy's. I let my thumb graze along her shoulder while she talks to my parents. Every minute that passes, the stress lines around her eyes ease, her body relaxes, and her laughter comes naturally. She eats all of her food, shoots me warm smiles, and once even reaches over to squeeze my knee.

Today is exactly what she needed, and I knew my parents' easygoing, non-threatening nature would give it to her.

After lunch, my dad kidnaps Macy to take her on a tour of the farm because they've already cooked up an idea where they can bring some of the shelter kids out here on a field trip to pick apples come September when the harvesting season starts. I shake my head in wonder over how well they've hit it off, and then I happily set in to help my mom clean the kitchen.

"She's wonderful," my mom says merrily as I rinse plates and hand them to her to stack in the dishwasher.

"Of that, you have my wholehearted agreement."

"She's Travis Carrington's daughter." That's a statement from my mother. Not a question.

I look over at her in surprise.

"Her picture's been on the news. I guess some FBI agents wanted to talk to her and reporters were swarming her apartment building. The news is hypothesizing on what information she might have."

After turning off the kitchen sink, I dry my hands and give a tired sigh. "Yeah. She's had it rough the last few days."

"Poor child," my mom coos.

"I'm going with her to talk to the feds probably next week, and while I can't tell you anything about what's going on, just do me a favor... keep her in your thoughts and prayers, okay?" I ask my mom.

"Absolutely," she says with a confident smile. "And if that girl needs to get away from it all, you bring her butt right back out here to the farm. No one will mess with her here. Your dad will run them off with his shotgun."

I laugh and lean over, grabbing my mom for a quick hug. "Might just do that."

When we release, her warm smile slides and she becomes serious. "You're a good man, Cal. And you deserve a good woman."

"Do you think it could be Macy?" I ask curiously, because my mother has always had a good gut instinct.

"I don't know enough about her to say for sure," my mom says simply. "But, I can tell you this... she thinks mighty highly of you."

"What makes you say that?"

"The way she looks at you. A woman recognizes what that means. She adores you. Really deep down adores you."

"You think?" I ask, a little happier in my soul hearing that.

"Of that, I'm sure," she says with a wink. "Now go wipe the counters down, and then we can go hunt your dad and girl down to see what trouble they're getting in to."

Chapter 5

I expected Macy to be stiff and unsure of herself the first time she came to my apartment, but she sits with her bare feet resting on my coffee table as she's nestled back into my couch, slurping on lo mien noodles beside me.

I've been trying not to overwhelm her so when we got back from my parents on Sunday afternoon, I dropped her off at her apartment and went back home by myself. I think I may have seen a bit of disappointment in her eyes when I told her I had to get some work done for a deposition the next morning, which was absolutely true. Although I could have easily done it at her place, I felt it was best not to overstay my welcome. It wasn't but four days ago that she first let me in.

Macy did let me take her out to dinner Monday night, and she almost demanded that I go back to her apartment with her as I paid the bill. This demand came in the form of her leaning across the small, intimate table for two while I signed the credit card slip and just casually saying, "I need you to fuck me extra hard tonight, Cal."

My hand actually spasmed around the pen I was holding, causing it to rip into the receipt. My head shot up, and I narrowed my eyes at her in challenge. "Yeah?"

She nodded, smiling coyly at me, and had the audacity to even dip her eyes in a completely fake showing of shyness before she murmured, "If you think you can handle it?"

We basically attacked each other the moment we stepped foot into her apartment, never making it past the couch. I fucked her extra hard as requested, fueled on by her shrieks of pleasure, and after we came back down to earth, she quietly led me into her bedroom in a silent request for me to stay the night. I gladly accepted.

But tonight I want Macy here... in my apartment. I want to find out if she's truly gone all in with the concept of us dating. We've got the monogamy down pat. The sex is a fifteen on a ten-point scale. She's opened up to me somewhat, and she's let me stay the night with her. Those are all positive signs as far as I'm concerned, but I still held my breath when I texted her a request to come eat dinner at my place tonight.

Her response was quick, decisive, and made me smile. Sure. I'll bring Chinese. And then I want to tie you up after.

Damn, but I love how sexually uninhibited Macy is. I love that she has desires and fantasies. I love that she makes her move when she wants and isn't afraid to voice her needs. I really fucking love how adventurous she is in the bedroom--or living room, or bathroom, or hallway, or wherever--and frankly, I've never been more sexually fulfilled in my life. I'm in an almost constant state of arousal around her, yet she assuages my needs in overabundance, keeping me well satisfied and happy.

No, make that deliriously happy when it comes to sex with Macy.