Rendered (The Cass Chronicles Book 3) Page 9

“Well, yes, but only when we are full.”

  Hazel reached for Killian’s arm. “Look, think about it. I’ve made arrangements for us to go visit a lodge a few minutes from the city. We can get some ideas, talk to the owners. They visited us to fish last year, so they are happy to talk to us.”

  Killian had been grumpy all the way home. Cass wasn't sure if she should give him some space, to try to draw him out. She decided to jump his bones. That was always a good bet.

  She took his coat and hung it next to hers. “Hey, why don't you pour some wine and I will run us a bath.”

  Taking a bath together sounded sexier than it was. Killian was tall and their tub was small, but the idea of it was enough to carry them through the awkward reality.

  Sipping her wine, she nestled back against his chest, feeling the bubbles crinkle as she pressed against his flesh. He buried his face in her hair. “Did you know that there is some science to the idea that redheaded women smell differently than other girls?” he asked.

  She blinked, having a scientist for a husband resulted in the oddest conversations. “Like, worse?” she said, fighting being offended with all her might.

  He laughed. “No, it’s pheromones, largely unconscious. Redheads are sexy and fertile.”

  “Fertile” was not a term she usually thought of us pillow talk. She laughed at the notion. “Oh, baby, I’m a good breeder.”

  Killian, God love him, would never understand that his wife was a much less precise thinker than he was. “It probably has to do with vitamin D, the pale skin improves absorption and that might reduce maternal rickets.”

  She swilled her wine. “Rickets? Jesus.” She was less precise, but no less direct. “Hey, I can process vitamin D, wanna blow job?”

  If she had been aware of his erection before, there was no missing it now.

  “See, we redheads know what we are doing…”

  She turned unto her knees and he lifted himself up out of the soapy water. She pulled him into her mouth as deeply as she could. She ran her tongue over his cockhead and began to rhythmically suck him. His hands were in her hair. “That’s my girl. My very good girl,” he moaned. She loved it when he called her that. She ran the flat of her tongue over the length of him, slowly at first and then with added urgency. She sucked him into her mouth and pulsed her tongue on the underside of him until he came deep in her throat. He recovered while she lay in his arms. They lay like that until the tub began to cool off and then Killian reached for her hand and helped her out of the tub. They dried each other off and hurried into bed, still damp. She nestled in, blissful. He rolled onto her and slid down her belly. She was always shy when he kissed her pussy. He was insistent, gently but firmly opening her thighs. He feasted upon her, rolling his tongue around and around her clit as a finger rapidly slid in and out of her. Her orgasm snuck up on her; she was suddenly overcome and gripped his hair in her fists. The sheets were cool as she pulled them over her shoulders and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Hazel had rented a Suburban and they piled in. Cass considered offering to drive, she was the most familiar with the city, but she was a terrible driver. Luckily, Lloyd slid behind the wheel. The museum wasn't open yet but Killian was taking them all in to see where he was working. Hazel could not have been prouder. When Killian showed his ID to the guard, and the uniformed man replied, “Good morning, Dr. Nelson,” Cass thought her mother-in-law might literally bust her buttons. Killian led them back into the bowels of the building. It was like stepping from an old world mansion into a laboratory. Killian opened deep drawers and showed them the various mounted specimens. There were whole wolves of various sizes and colors, as well as casts of footprints. “These are the ones that I decided not to exhibit.” He led them deeper into the labyrinth. In a smaller locked room, there were shelves of more specimens. A computer screen near each one included Killian’s notes. He led them into a room with a projector and screen. He logged into a computer and suddenly they gasped to see him on the screen. They settled into seats and he dimmed the lights. An exhibit about wolves was one of the very first ones put together for the original museum of natural history—over a hundred years ago. A sepia toned photograph filled the screen; it showed a caveman with a heavy brow ridge, swathed in furs, crouching with a spear as a pack of snarling wolves cornered him against a boulder. Killian’s voiceover continued, “In our early days the wolves were cast as vicious, man eating predators.” A series of images of earlier exhibits moved across the screen with a timeline under it. She was listening to the onscreen Killian say, “In the 1970s, scientists began to consider looking at wolves from a different perspective,” when the Killian that was sitting right next to her grasped her hand. He nodded his head to the doorway. She followed him. Her husband leaned over his brother and whispered, “We have to check something out—we’ll be back in ten.” Killian used his ID to open the door of the AV room so that they could exit into the hall. Apparently security was a serious business at the museum.

  “What do I need to check out?” she asked. He reached behind her and cupped a bottom cheek. “We need to see if I am right about something.”

  She was on the verge of issuing a string of demanding questions, when he opened the door of his staging room, securing the door behind them. He pulled a large padded stool out from under a work table. “I think this might be the perfect height.”

  She couldn't contain her smile. “Perfect height for what?”

  He chuckled as he drew her closer to him and unbuckled the belt at her waist. “Perfect height for us,” he whispered. She found herself bent over the stool. “Grab the rung, baby,” he whispered. She reached farther down to do as she was told. She suddenly found herself face to face with a snarling yellow eyed stuffed wolf whose placard bore the legend “Maneater of Yellowstone.” She was about to suggest they cover the canines in the room with something when she felt Killian’s flank press into her. He still had his jeans buttoned up. This could only mean one thing—she was about to be spanked. Was she ever. There was no lecture, only encouragement, “God damn, baby, you are so beautiful,” he began. The spanking was hard and fast and he moved from cheek to cheek She didn't even try to avoid it, she arched her back and settled into her beloved role as an adored spanked wife. “That's my good girl, arch that back, get this pretty bottom up where it needs to be.” His hand moved crisply smacking each spot three times and then moving on to a different spot. “My first day in this room. I got nothing done because I could only think how perfect you would look bent over this stool.” Just when the spanking would have moved from a pleasurable pain to straight up punishment, he ceased. He leaned over her while he unbuckled his jeans and kissed the side of her neck. They both knew they only had a few minutes. It only took a few. He pounded into her without preamble and she could not have been more ready. She growled as she came and pressed her hips back wanting him even deeper inside of her. He came even harder than she had and then immediately zipped himself up and helped her ease her jeans back up over her hot pussy and even hotter bottom. They returned to the AV room in time to hear the Killian on the screen say, “And that's where we are today—no longer viewing wolves as monsters, not romanticizing them, but feeling wonder at this apex predator that has always captured the imaginations of humans.” Killian flipped the lights on and his family burst into applause. Hazel turned to her daughter-in-law. “Is anything on fire?” Oh God. Cass suddenly remember the nightmares she had had in middle school in which she showed up to take a test naked. Only now she wasn't just unclothed, she had a red hot ass on display for all to see… she froze in horror. Killian carried the ball. “It turned out to not be anything serious.”

  It clicked, Cass repeated dumbly, “Nope—no fires,” which was, in fact, a lie. She would be aware of the scorched tender skin of her ass every second of the rest of the day. Bliss.

  Twenty miles out of the city they reached, Mercy’s Folly a Georgian style estate. Cass found the name intriguing, but no one whose mailing address w
as “The Lodge, Slick Trench, Alaska,” could afford to be judgy about such things.

  They were greeted by the smiling manager. Cass craned her neck, taking in the view of the symmetrical, stately brick building.

  It managed to look palatial and yet to exude the warmth of a family home, albeit a family rolling in old money. She glanced around the empty parking lot. Why wasn't this place packed on a summer weekend?

  “I am under strict orders to show you the kitchen first,” the young man said, introducing himself as Curtis. He ushered them through the grand entrance. The foyer was breathtaking. It boasted marble floors and champagne colored damask wall paper. A large round table adorned with a gigantic silver urn filled with irises filled the center of the space. Curtis led them to the first door. “I can't take you to the kitchen without going through at least one of the ballrooms, so this isn't really cheating.”

  It was breathtaking. Enormous white marble fireplaces were at opposing ends, and bay windows filled an entire wall. Cass took in the view of the grounds. “Wait a minute, is this place new?” Instead of manicured gardens, a muddy swamp full of earth moving equipment greeted her eyes.

  “Well, we’ve just done a massive renovation. It was a family home, but it was falling apart. It's been a labor of love, for us.” Seeing Cass’s confusion, he quickly added, “My wife and I.”

  An idea was forming in the back of Cass’s brain. “When do you anticipate opening the doors?”

  “Well, we had some events lined up for October, but we actually think we will be ready sooner—which is not a problem you ever hear about.”

  Everyone laughed and Curtis led them through a service door to a large, stark, but serviceable kitchen. A tall woman with a kerchief tied over her hair was draining pasta in the commercial size sink. “Hi,” she chirped. “Give me one sec.” She set the steaming pot on the counter and grabbed Hazel in a deep bear hug. “It is so nice to see you!”

  Cass simply had to stop underestimating the affection that her diminutive mother-in-law inspired in people. She shook hands with the erstwhile chef. “What’s for lunch?”

  “Orecchiette with Italian sausage, roasted chickpeas, butternut squash and fried sage leaves.”

  “Count me in!” Cass had met very few people who cooked as well as she could, but with her first mouthful, she realized that she was in the presence of one of those rarified cooks.

  “This is delicious,” she said as soon as she slowed down shoveling the morsels into her mouth long enough to speak. “So what are your plans for this place?”

  “Well, we’ve got a lot of weddings scheduled for the late fall and even into next year. We have limited guest rooms—we only have fifteen. Other than weddings, we hope to host a lot of conferences and group getaways. Hazel was nodding aggressively.

  “But, it's all just being planned so far, Ma,” Killian whispered. Not quietly enough.

  Curtis didn't seem bothered by this. “True, but I’ve managed large hotels, and obviously, we have a gifted chef.”

  They carried plates to the sink. “C’mon, we’ll show you around.”

  There were four ballrooms. They had entered through the grandest. There were also two smaller rooms, one an old fashioned library and one a chintz laden nook, perfect for a tea party. As Curtis led the way upstairs, Cass could not help herself. “So how early do you think it will be ready to go?” she asked the chef who it turned out was named Aislin.

  “Well, the buildings got finished faster than we anticipated, we still need to staff it and the landscaping is going to require a lot of elbow grease. If we got the back gardens done, we could be ready in a month or so. Finding waiters and bartenders shouldn't be hard.”

  Cass had fallen a few steps behind. Aislin was going on about how they would still need to find the experts who could bring their dream to life, florists, a masseuse, a yoga instructor, photographers, etc. Cass didn't hear it because she was texting Tabby.

  We don't need the Carlton. I have found a gem! Its perfect! By the way, does the White Gown Network have any landscapers on staff?

  Tabby’s response was mind-numbingly rapid. Cass had to wonder if MBA programs taught speed texting. It was also incomprehensible to the plump cook.

  Assuming we can bring it in without raising our out of pocket expenditures, and that it's within the parameters established by consumers, consider it greenlit.

  Cass was assuming that that meant something along the lines of, “Okay.”

  She caught up to the tour. They were heading into the apartments that they had built for themselves. Curtis was explaining that they had built two because eventually they imagined his mother living there, but that she was currently kayaking in Aruba, so that day may be a long way off.

  They had all trooped down the back stairs, when Curtis said, “Let us buy you all a drink.”

  He opened the door to the library. Cass noticed the beautiful wooden bar running along the end.

  Cass asked for a whiskey sour and deliberately planted herself next to the gifted cook, realizing to her horror that she had totally forgotten the young woman’s name. Cass leaned in. “You will have to forgive me, I will remember that pasta long after I've been put in the Alzheimer’s unit, but I have already spaced on your name.”

  “Aislin.” Was the unexpected answer. “I suspect drugs were involved, although my parents swear it's an old Irish name.”

  Cass considered paying attention to the discussion going on about the plans to expand the Lodge in Slick Trench. However, she had a more pressing conversation that needed to be had. “So, how early do you anticipate opening?”

  Aislin ran a fingertip around the top of her cocktail glass. “Oh well, the landscaping is going to slow us down. We can't really afford to speed the process up.”

  “But if that wasn't a problem?”

  “Well, we’d need to find staff.”

  “Okay, if you found staff.”

  “We could go in a week.”

  “I can give you ten days.”

  * * *

  The plans fell together astonishingly fast. Sarah was relieved to think that she wouldn't have to deal with the MRAs who might show up, and she swore that she trusted Cass. Tabby agreed to mobilize an army of landscapers, and to find staff. It was decided that they would not disclose the location of the reception until the final episode which would air a few days after the actual wedding.

  Cass stopped by Tabby's office. “I am really sorry I lost my temper.”

  “Rage is very motivating.”

  “Well, thanks. I agree, but I shouldn't ha—”

  “No, not YOURS. Viewers. It served as multi channel relationship building. It provided sticky content.” Cass could not hide her bewilderment. “It increased your social reach,” Tabby finished, as if the matter had been thoroughly explained.

  “Okay, then.” Cass opened the door.

  “Cass?”

  Uh oh. “Yes?”

  “I like you taking a stand for social consciousness, it minimizes dissonance.”

  Cass wasn’t sure precisely what that meant, but she headed to the studio with a grin on her face.

  CassCooks Blog Post:

  I know, it's summer—but it won't always be… such are the vagaries of life. I tasted a pasta that is perfect for a cold night. And this fall, I will be making it every day and twice on Sunday.

  Alas, there is nothing for it—you need real Italian sausage. Go to your local pretentious supermarket and sashay up to the butcher counter. Look the person who is dressed in a butcher's coat straight in the eye, pull your shoulders back, and say, “Please help me.” They want to help you. Remember the hapless Maytag man of the commercials of our childhood… Marooned on an island… Wasting away from disuse… Save the butcher counter. Explain that you need a flavorful Italian sausage. He or she will light up like a Christmas tree.

  You need a pound of sausage to feed about five people, unless one of them is me…

  Take your precious sausage, redolent with ga
rlic, fennel and pepper—pull off tiny knobs and toss them into the pan as it rises to a gentle heat. You cannot just jump into a hot pan all willy nilly and get ideal results. NO, the sausage needs to render some of its fat. This will release the aromatics and allow the rest of the meat to brown. This is essential. Gentle heat and time will allow your sausage to give forth its savory essence. Stir constantly—this will break up the meat and ensure even seasoning. There is a life lesson in there somewhere—but I'm freaking hungry.

  Once the meat is lightly browned, add the onion and let that brown in the essence of sausage. Remove it from the pan. Add your greens. Allow them to cook over medium heat for several minutes—any bitter green will work here, but younger ones will cook faster. Add a bit of olive oil and turn the heat up. Add your cubed squash—butternut or acorn. When you are buying your overpriced sausage, stretch your legs through the produce dept. You may well find pre-cubed squash. Buy it. It’s a good product, and one of those giant squashes is a serious adversary. I personally believe that ER departments probably have a name for it, “Slippery squash hand guillotine syndrome.”

  You want brown here, but you don't want scorched. At the first sign of burning, add a half cup of water and stir to deglaze the pan. Return sausage and onions. (Now—one way to stretch this to feed more people is to also add some cannellini beans—trust me, it doesn't turn into wall paper paste with the pasta, but it does bulk out your meal.) Our foremothers knew a thing or two about feeding hungry people. Most cuisines have a dish that allows the cook to fill tummies with cheaper ingredients. In Asian cuisine you have a small serving over very savory meat or vegetables served with a large portion of bland rice. My own ancestral meal stretchers run to Yorkshire pudding—which lets you use drippings to serve as “make weight” for growing boys… That's why the quality of the sausage matters—the juices we render from it will season the entire dish.

  I like orecchiette in this; you may like a different pasta. Stir it all together and grate one clove of garlic. Parmesan is always a good thing.