Finding Purpose (Colorado Veterans Book 1) Read online

  The land is amazing. It’s 100 acres of varied terrain. It’s good for hiking, horseback riding, fishing, hunting, and animal watching. Never in my life did I expect to own something this amazing. The day we closed on the property, Judson hung a sign on the front gate, christening the place Daisy Rivers Ranch. It’s spectacular. My parents are coming to visit next month. My dad said he’ll help Judson do some of the work and my mom plans to help me paint the inside of the house.

  His mom lives about 20 minutes away and came to see the place with us on our second walk through. She loved it as much as we did. Although Joel, his brother, looked over the contracts for us, he hasn’t said much. Judson said he’s still mad about the addiction issues. We’re hoping he gets over it soon because he has a seven-year-old son who loves to ride horses and we want to bring him here.

  Judson may not want kids of his own, but he wants a relationship with his niece and nephew. Although his niece is only two and won’t be riding horses for a while, he wants to see her, too. I’ll give Joel time to come around before I go over there and light into him. Besides, we haven’t bought horses yet. We want the barn to be safe before we add animals to the mix.

  Life at the CSPD is great. The atmosphere here is much more laid back. That’s not to say they don’t take their jobs seriously, they do, but the approach is different.

  I was pleasantly surprised during my first interview to find the chief of police here was on the national team with me my first year and remembered me as soon as he got my application. I think it helped me land the job. I’ve been assigned to the family crimes division, working with my partner on domestic violence and adult crimes. Seems like some of the worst of society can be found in the case files of this particular division.

  Jasen Dexter, who prefers to be called Dex, is my partner. He’s an enormous man built much like Judson, 6’4” and probably 230 pounds of solid muscle. He’s a good guy, but quiet. We make a good team considering I’m comfortable with the quiet type. He joined the force several years ago when he returned from Afghanistan after serving six years in the Army.

  I lie back against the cushions of our new couch and look at the vaulted, beamed ceiling for a few minutes before I turn my head to look at Judson, who’s also looking at the ceiling. Our legs are splayed in front of us, heels to the coffee table, and by our limp postures it’s obvious we’re both tired.

  “What are you thinking about, babe?” I ask as I reach for his hand, sliding my fingers between his.

  “You. Us. This place,” he answers as he squeezes my hand.

  “Good or overwhelming?”

  “Both. I’m happy. This is a good move for both of us. I’m happy we have our privacy together. I’m overwhelmed thinking about all I have to do around here, but at the same time, I’m content. I needed something to do and this is a good investment of my time and our money.”

  My heart warms with his words and his honesty. He’s been working hard on sharing his feelings over the last six months. It’s not been easy. When the anniversary of his accident came around, he was holed up in his room for two days and wouldn’t talk to Ms. Polly or me. He missed counseling that week and I was afraid if he left the house we’d find him at the bar. He didn’t leave though. He slept and did sit-ups and push-ups in his room for two days. He listened to music and read letters. He ate the food we left outside his door. We gave him his space but I was worried sick. Finally, at the end of the second day he crawled into bed with me and told me what was on his mind. His feelings were a mixed-up mess of relieved, sad, angry, happy, and confused. After those emotional days, he went back to working on improving his communication.

  “I’m excited to see what you’ll do with this place. I love the ideas you’ve sketched out. Tomorrow, let’s unpack for a few hours and then walk down to the pond and fish for a little while. Well, you can fish and I’ll sit out there with you and read.” Fishing is not my thing.

  “That sounds good. Come here,” he pats his lap and I roll over to straddle his hips. He tugs on my ponytail as a lazy grin lifts one side of his mouth.

  “I love you, Daisy.”

  “I love you, too.”

  His eyes survey my body, starting at the top of my head and moving slowly down, over my face, down my neck, over the curve of my breasts and down over my hips to the place where our bodies are joined. My hands rest on his chest as I note his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate. He slips one hand up the hem of my T-shirt and rubs his calloused fingers across my skin to the cotton of my bra. His pointer finger circles my nipple, bringing it to a sharp peak. He leans forward and nips at it with his teeth through the fabric. He knows this drives me wild. I whimper and push my chest forward in a silent request for more. His body jiggles with a chuckle. Bastard. It’s obvious he loves the reaction he can draw out of me with minimal effort. If it didn’t feel so good I’d stop him just to kill that arrogant gleam in his eyes.

  “Now that we live alone, I can do this whenever I want,” he explains with a wicked grin. I close my eyes and let my head lull back as he nips at my other nipple and licks it through my bra.

  “It’s been a long time since I could do this as slowly as I want to and put forth the right effort to get a vocal performance out of you. I usually have to hold back or cover your mouth to keep you quiet.” He shakes his head, smile still in place. “Not anymore. Now you can scream the walls down for all I care.” Excited by his words and ready to get this started, I roll my hips against his. The denim is a rough but welcomed friction against my most tender area.

  “Stand up, Daisy.”

  I do as I’m told, knowing a reward is coming. He spreads his legs farther apart and pulls me in close between them. His palms grip my ass cheeks as he nuzzles my breasts. I want more. I need skin on skin. I need him inside me. I want to speed this up—I tend to get excited and rush—but I can’t. I have to let him have control right now. He’s in alpha mode and obviously getting off on having his orders followed.

  I dig my fingers into the short hair on his head and scratch the way he likes it. I love the feel of the soft strands between my fingers.

  He unbuttons my jeans and lowers the zipper at the slowest pace possible. I squirm, signaling I want him to speed up. He grips my hips to hold me in place, “Stop moving or we’ll start all over.”

  “Babe, please,” I whine. He loves when I beg and it’s obvious, as the bulge in his jeans grows bigger. He wiggles his body a little and reaches between his legs to adjust himself with a groan.

  Hooking his fingers in my jeans and panties, he lowers them to my knees. The denim is tight and holds my legs together. He slips one finger in between the damp folds and rubs across my clit, one, two, three times, with the perfect amount of pressure and it feels so good. He withdraws his fingers and lifts them to my lips. He likes it a little dirty so I close my mouth around the digits and taste the tang of my own arousal. I swirl my tongue around and suck hard. He groans again and pulls them out.

  “Shimmy out of your jeans. Climb up here and straddle my face. I want to taste you.” I feel the flush spread up my neck to my face. The ache between my legs grows with his naughty words so I do as I’m told and straddle his face, lifting one heel to the back of the couch. I’m afraid I’ll suffocate him in this position if I don’t. I can feel his breath across the exposed area and his fingers circle the opening twice smearing my juices up and over my clit.

  “So damn wet, and I haven’t even really started,” he murmurs before he buries his face and strokes his tongue in and out of me, then up and over my pulsing clit.

  “Judson,” I squeak. My thighs are already trembling and he’s barely gotten started. He can do this for 30 minutes at a time when he wants to torture me. It can be both heaven and hell all wrapped in one. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold my weight up in this position though if he drags this out. I’m usually flat on my back with my thighs spread as far as they'll go when he goes for the marathon munching session. Now I have to fight to stay conscious so
I don’t fall, which would be very unsexy, or collapse on his face and suffocate him. Also, unsexy.

  “Relax, Daisy, I’m going to take my time. You’re gonna come more than once this way so brace yourself.”

  “I can’t. I’ll fall. I need to lie down for this.”

  “No way. I’ve been dreaming of this for months while we waited to get our own place. I’m taking my time and getting this my way. Now brace yourself and let me get back to work.”

  I stifle a whimper by turning my head into my shoulder. He parts the lips of my sex with his fingers and laps at me like a kitten does milk. My legs are shaking bad now. He grips my hips hard and holds me in place while he sucks my clit into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue so many times I lose count and spiral into an explosive orgasm so big I forget where I am. I rock against him trying to ride it out.

  Judson’s chuckle vibrates the swollen flesh and triggers a second, smaller but still decipherable orgasm. I want to collapse. I want to lie down and take a nap, but I know I can’t. He’s determined. I have to endure more until he’s had enough or decides he wants to fuck me more than eat me. After one more orgasm my legs give out and I slide awkwardly down his face and the side of his body in a heap, half straddling him and half balled up on the couch.

  He smacks my ass hard enough I know there’s going to be a handprint and demands, “Chest on the couch, ass in the air.” I’m like a snail as I attempt to comply with his orders and my jellied body responds. When I’m up the way he wants me, he slaps my ass twice more and rubs the sting with his warm palm. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he studies his handiwork. He finally drops his pants and I realize he’s been commando this whole time. About once a week he goes without boxers under his clothes and it turns me way the hell on. It’s like he knows at some point he’s going to fuck me and he wants to get to business quicker and easier. I crane my neck a little farther so I get a better look at him as he gives his cock a couple of fast pumps and rubs the swollen head against my soaked opening.

  When he pushes inside until his hips are flush with my ass, a tortured moan escapes him and I squeeze my walls around him as tight as I can. He smacks my ass again. “Are you trying to make me come quick? If you keep that up it’s going to happen.”

  I do it again to be naughty and wait for a slap that never comes. Instead I feel his knee slide up beside mine on the inside of the couch and his torso cover me. From the reflection I can now see in the window, we look like wild animals. His hips roll into mine, harder each time while the force of his thrusts scoot me down the couch. He bites into my shoulder and I cry out and push back against him. He does it again in a different spot and adjusts his angle, bucking harder each time. I’m screaming his name as he forces another orgasm out of me before I feel hot streams of fluid burst inside me and his weight collapse on me. The places he bit me are stinging a little, but the warm halo of post-orgasmic bliss is pulsing through me making it easier to ignore those. I need a nap.

  “I think I’m going to like living alone with you even more than I thought,” he comments, sounding out of breath.

  I giggle and reply in the haughtiest voice I can muster, “I was kind of wondering if Ms. Polly would like a roommate. I don’t think this is going to work for me.”

  “Really?” he asks as he pokes my ribs with his fingers, making my squeals ring out around the room. I’m ridiculously ticklish so I fight back, thrusting my hips, doing my best to dislodge him from his place on top of me. He continues to find those sensitive spots until I wiggle myself all the way to the floor, screaming and laughing all at once. I look up to where he’s lying and find the biggest smile I’ve ever seen from him plastered across his face. The expression is so happy and relaxed it touches something deep inside me.

  I sit up and brush my lips across his. “I love you, babe,” I tell him. “Smile like that for me every day and I’ll never leave.” I trail my fingertips across his eyebrow and kiss him again.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you here every day, and if I wake up and you’re by my side then it’s likely you’ll open your eyes to that smile,” Judson remarks.

  Chapter Twelve

  Quinn

  Every city has an area where the crime is higher than anywhere else and this is that neighborhood for Colorado Springs. I’ve been here several times a week since I started this job. So many times, in fact, that some of the faces on the street corners and porches are looking familiar. Dispatch is sending us to an apartment where there’s been at least one other complaint since I completed my training a couple of months ago. The last time, it was for a domestic abuse situation and the neighbors called the cops when the yelling continued past 30 minutes and the woman’s screams got too loud for the neighbor lady to hear the television. The victim was in bad enough shape she was admitted to the hospital and the perpetrator was thrown in jail. He didn’t go down easy, but luckily he underestimated me and I was able to distract him while my partner dropped him. I can’t imagine what the problem is today though because the guy, Howard Jackson, is still in jail and not supposed to get out until sometime next year at the earliest. His sentence is longer than normal because the domestic abuse was a parole violation.

  I knock on the door and we wait. I’m standing in front because I can’t see over Dex if he’s in front. No answer, but I hear a loud thud on the wall near the door and a loud screech. I knock again, harder. “Open up, police!” I shout.

  Inside, the yelling gets louder as something heavy sails through the glass window a foot to my right. My partner growls behind me and we both pull our weapons.

  “Move over, Quinn,” Dex commands.

  I’ve learned not to argue with him so I step aside as he kicks the door with so much force it splinters into at least fifty pieces. He pushes through the jagged wood and steps inside. A groaning noise comes from the floor to my right and I look down to find the same victim from the last time, bloodied and beaten, lying on the floor. A bang sounds from the back room of the apartment and my partner takes off running in that direction while I call for an ambulance. He comes back a few minutes later, empty-handed and flaming pissed.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Bastard climbed out the window and took off down the fire escape. He was too far ahead of me. Did you call for a bus?”

  “Yeah, they’ll be here in less than five. Where’s the boy?”

  “Shit, I forgot about the kid. I didn’t see him. Let’s hope he’s out somewhere. He didn’t take the last beating too well.”

  Lateesha Brown is the victim’s name and she’s groaning, but not speaking. It’s obvious her nose is broken by the odd direction the tip is facing. Blood covers her face and her jaw is swollen. I can’t tell what else is wrong and I’m afraid to move her to check since I found her lying here. There’s a good possibility of a head or neck injury. By the looks of her, this beating did more damage than the last.

  Dex comes back into the room as the paramedics arrive. I give them the information I have on the woman and step back to speak with my partner. “What’s up? The kid gone?”

  “No, but he won’t come out of the closet and I’m not dragging him out. I think we need to call in a social worker on this one. This kid has seen too much and with his dad in the clink and his mom headed to the hospital, I doubt he has anyone to take care of him.”

  “You call it in and I’ll see what I can do to get him out of there.”

  I tiptoe into the room Dex indicated and step in front of the closet. The folding doors are wedged open and the kid, who’s small for 10 years old, is squatting with his back against the closet wall, surrounded by old shoes and dirty clothes. His arms are wrapped around his knees and he’s watching me like I’m a predator ready to attack him.

  Carlo is half Hispanic and half African American with enormous brown eyes, a little round nose and full lips. His dark hair is coarse and kept short. The poor kid could blow away in a windstorm he’s so skinny, but I suspect that’s lack of effort f
rom his mom when it comes to feeding the kid. The last time we were here I wanted to buy him a whole pizza when I saw his collarbones sticking out of his shirt.

  “Carlo, come on out, buddy. You know I’m not going to hurt you. I was here before.”

  He shakes his head rapidly as a single tear trails down his caramel skin. I step in closer and squat down so I’m not looming over him. “Come on, Carlo, you know you can’t stay here. I need you to come with me.”

  He shakes his head again.

  “Okay, I get it. You’re not ready. How about I sit here and keep you company until the social worker gets here?” I sit down and ignore the terrified bulging eyed look that crosses his face at the mention of the social worker.

  “You don’t like the social worker? I don’t know who they’re sending, but I’m sure it’s someone nice. I haven’t met a mean one yet.”

  His wide eyes lock on mine and for a brief moment I can see the pain this kid has already endured in his short life. This will be his third or fourth time in foster care and even though they were short stays I’m sure it was enough to stick with him.

  “Carlo. No one is going to hurt you.”

  “It’s not the social worker. It’s the homes they stick me in, they’re always bad,” he whispers.

  “What’s bad about them, Carlo?”

  He shakes his head.

  “You can tell me. It’s my job to keep you safe. If there’s a problem I need to know about it.”

  More tears leak from his eyes and my heart twists uncomfortably. I wish he’d tell me what the issue is so I could fix it. Before I can ask any more questions, a homely woman, somewhere in her mid-fifties, with a fuzzy brown ponytail and ill-fitting clothes, pushes the door open and steps inside. She glances between Carlo and me and says, “I can take it from here, officer. I was a few buildings over when the call came in.”