“If it’s by special invitation only, how do we get one? Do I reach out to Julie?”

  Marcus grimaced. “Much as I hate to admit this much of a relationship with Tyler, if I request an invitation for you and Daralyn, it’d be a done deal. He’ll send it directly to you. If your plans change, just politely decline, no problem.”

  “Good to know.” Hearing that eased his concerns about locking them into something he or Daralyn might not ultimately feel good about. “If we go, wouldn’t we be expected to…participate?”

  “Absolutely not,” Marcus said. “You can go simply to watch and learn, or participate at whatever level you wish. There are very structured rules at an event like this, and Tyler will be the first to explain them to you. They’re not the kind of rules meant to steal the oxygen out of the room. They’re intended to ensure the most comfortable experience possible for everyone attending.”

  When Marcus met Rory’s gaze, there was a flintiness to his green eyes that reassured him. “Safety and respect are the two most important parts of a BDSM environment. If ever you find yourself in one where either of those things are missing, you should leave immediately.”

  “Got it.”

  “So, do you want me to have him send you the invite?”

  Him and Daralyn at a Dom/sub event in Florida. Hearing him say it, even in his head, sounded a little out there. But Rory also couldn’t deny the track he and Daralyn seemed to be on, or that he wanted to pursue it even deeper.

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks. I better get going. I’ve got to clean up some before I head for the store.” As he backed out the door, he nodded to the cup on the table. “Remember not to smoke around Daralyn. And air it out in here before she gets home. Maybe even change your clothes.”

  Marcus lifted a brow. “You worried about her inhaling secondhand smoke?”

  Rory frowned. “Well, yeah, but no. She hates the smell of cigarette smoke. If she hangs around it too much, she gets sick to her stomach. You didn’t know?”

  “No. I didn’t. She never…” Rory could see he was thinking it over. “I don’t smoke often, but if I do, she leaves the porch. In that way she does. A quiet excuse, slipping away.” His gaze came back to Rory. “Why?”

  “If I had to guess, it’s because Oscar and Burton were both smokers.”

  As he headed for his own house and the quick shower he really needed for the sake of anyone within ten feet of him, his cell rang again. He didn’t recognize the number, but he often gave out his cell to customers, so he picked up. “Wilder General Store. Rory here.”

  “Mr. Wilder.” The woman’s voice was smooth and professional. “I’m Marjorie, Dr. Taylor’s assistant. She wanted to talk to you. Is now a good time?”

  Daralyn’s session would have ended an hour ago. She and his mom usually went out for brunch afterward, followed by a walk in a nearby park. Rituals that helped Daralyn even out. The sessions, while far better than they used to be, still seemed to drain her emotionally. Being the center of attention, even for her own mental health, was never a comfortable experience for Daralyn. Long and short, she wasn’t due back in town until after lunch, so getting a call from Dr. Taylor’s office filled him with alarm.

  “Is everything okay with Daralyn?”

  “Oh, yes sir,” Marjorie assured him. “Dr. Taylor just needs to talk to you a moment. Please hold.”

  A click and then another person spoke. With a rasp that added interest to the otherwise flowing, comfortable tone, Dr. Taylor sounded like she was in her thirties. He’d never met her, but he’d always imagined her older, like his mother’s age.

  "This is Susan Taylor, Daralyn's psychiatrist. First, my assistant said you were worried. No reason to be. I’m actually calling you because of good things that happened with today’s session. Daralyn has discussed the changes in her relationship with you.”

  While he’d encouraged Daralyn to talk to Dr. Taylor about the sexual things happening between them, he hadn’t expected to talk to Dr. Taylor directly about that. His embarrassed wince was followed by a not insignificant wonder at just how much Daralyn had told her.

  Since the doc said good things had happened, at least it didn’t sound like she was thinking of raking him over the coals for the Dom/sub stuff.

  “The purpose of my call may seem a little unusual. However, since I’ve been counseling Daralyn and guiding your mother on her care for some time, it’s not quite as off the path as you’d expect.”

  The psychiatrist paused. “I asked Daralyn if she thought it was a good idea if I talked to you sometimes, about things happening between the two of you. Give you the chance to ask me questions. She said she thought it was a good idea, and signed the waiver, allowing me to have discussions with you about her.”

  Good thing he was sitting down—a personal joke he indulged in his head sometimes—since that would have taken the floor out from beneath him. He pulled the van over to the side of the road, because the conversation had taken a turn that required his full attention. “No kidding.”

  “You sound relieved.”

  More than she knew. “I wouldn’t hurt her for the world,” he said. “I want to do everything I can to make sure I don’t.”

  Though another part of him wondered what would happen if his gut and the psychiatrist’s opinion took different paths on something. But no need to borrow trouble.

  “That reflects what she’s told me about you.” Dr. Taylor’s tone warmed. “She’s a very special young woman, and you and your whole family have been her advocates from the beginning. I’m not understating it when I tell you that your family saved her life.”

  “You think her uncle or father would have gone that far?” Even knowing Daralyn was safe and sound now, the thought gave his stomach an unpleasant lurch.

  “Always a possibility. But the greatest danger was that they ultimately would have destroyed the part of her that has miraculously survived, that has been able to find her own identity, get as far as she has under your family’s care.”

  It was so eerily close to what he’d told Marcus, it came back to him now. Through some miracle, there were things happening that allowed Daralyn to become Daralyn, and she hasn’t let that go. They didn't break her.

  “For the most part,” Dr. Taylor said, “I think we could handle things with the occasional five- or ten-minute phone call, initiated by either of us, depending on the situation. However, since we’ve never met face-to-face, would you like the chance to do so?”

  “Yeah, absolutely.” He pulled himself out of his head enough to remember his manners. “Yes, ma’am. I’d appreciate that a lot.”

  “I’ve had a cancellation, if you can make it here in about an hour. Or we can schedule another time.”

  He could make it if he pushed himself. And he would. “If the employee I have covering me at the store is good to stay a while, I’ll be there. Thanks very much, Dr. Taylor.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Wilder. I believe you are a very special man, too.

  After that remarkable statement, she disconnected the call.

  Susan Taylor’s office was located in the nearby town of Rockingham, in a two-story medical building by the hospital.

  Rory took the elevator up to the second level to reach her suite. Marjorie, her assistant, was in her forties. She wore a navy-blue dress and dangling earrings that looked like sparkling blue dolphins. Rory waited for Dr. Taylor in a comfortable waiting room with a pale green couch, matching guest chairs, and a soothing picture of lemons on an old wood table. The framed work was positioned over the sofa.

  He imagined Daralyn here earlier. He bet she’d chosen the chair with the best view of that picture.

  Just beyond Marjorie’s area, he could see Dr. Taylor’s office. The door was half-open, revealing another cozy space with warm colors, pictures of rustic farm scenes. A trio of pillar candles flickered on a side table, while a big box of tissues was placed within reach of the guest chairs.

  Had Daralyn left the doc’s office crying? Or no reaction, just all closed in on herself? Did she feel unburdened, like going to confessional? Even knowing women had that peculiar habit of crying to help them feel better, Rory really didn’t like to think of Daralyn doing that without him around to comfort her.

  Maybe next time he’d volunteer to take her to the appointment, instead of his mother doing it.

  “Rory.” Susan Taylor stepped into the threshold. She was tall, had curly brown short hair, and wore gray slacks and a lavender blouse. The somewhat corporate business outfit was softened by the inviting expression on her face, and her choice of jewelry. A yin and yang pendant on a silver chain around her throat, and matching earrings. She also had a trio of chunky lavender and gray stone bracelets on one arm.

  Surprise crossed her expression as her gaze coursed over him. She held out her hand. “Hello.”

  “Pleasure.” He shook it, glanced down at himself. “Let me guess. You thought I was taller?”

  She chuckled. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable. Oh, wait a second.” She held up her hand, disappeared in her office and then returned, rolling out one of the cushioned guest chairs. Marjorie rose and took it, wheeling it into her work area. “I don’t want you to have to wedge yourself in here,” Dr. Taylor said.

  When he came in and she closed the door behind them, she turned to face him. “I didn’t know you were in a wheelchair,” she said. “Some time ago, Elaine mentioned one of her sons having an accident, but I didn’t make the connection.”

  “Daralyn must not talk about me much, then.”

  “On the contrary. That’s why I was surprised. She talks about you all the time. Particularly recently. She’s never said a word about it.”

  “Oh.” That was a hell of a realization. It called to mind what Will, one of his buddies in his adaptive challenge group, had told him.

  They’d been on a bus, headed for Kitty Hawk and a day of hang gliding. Rory hadn’t yet been up for that, but he’d gone along to watch. Will’s able-bodied girlfriend Kate had been with them, and she and Will talked about how they met.

  “I didn’t notice the chair all that much,” Kate said, in her broad Australian accent. “It was like noticing what kind of shirt or shoes he was wearing. His confidence and sense of humor made the biggest impression on me.”

  Will ran his palm up her upper arm, giving her a squeeze and a smile. “If it’s not a problem that I let define me, then for the right girl, it’s not going to be a problem either.”

  Rory was sure his face had reflected his yeah, right reaction, because Will had given him a knowing look. “If you want to get there bad enough, you’ll get there, man. You have to work on yourself, on your view of yourself, before you’re fit to be with anyone else. But that’s the same for anyone, disabled or not. Right?”

  Coming back to the present, Rory parked himself in the spot the guest chair had occupied while Dr. Taylor took a seat on the sofa across from him. She gestured to a K-cup maker. “I have coffee and tea,” she said.

  “No, thanks.” Before he asked any questions, he wanted to make sure. This wasn’t just about him, after all. “So on the phone, you said she was okay with this. If you don’t mind, can you tell me a little more about that? I don’t want to overstep.”

  “I’m pleased you’re sensitive to her feelings. I’m clear on the parameters, so I’ll ensure we stay within them. However, I don’t mind explaining how it came about to reassure you of the same.”

  Dr. Taylor sat back and crossed her legs. Professional but relaxed, looking ready to take any topic in stride. He could see why Daralyn felt comfortable around her. He thought anyone would.

  “You’re aware that Daralyn never asks for anything for herself. Not for herself, not personally. Someone has to ask her first, and even then, what does she say, if someone asks if she needs more pie, more anything?"

  "She says I'm fine, but thank you. Never outright no, but never a yes. Usually we read her cues and don’t ask. We just decide what we think she wants. Which sounds bad when I say it out loud.”

  “It would, if the person listening didn’t know how much care and focused attention your family puts into figuring out her non-verbal cues,” Dr. Taylor reassured him. “So, you already know Daralyn didn’t say ‘Dr. Taylor, I want Rory to be able to talk to you about me, because it’s too difficult for me to explain some things to him.’ But I picked up that desire from her, and asked her the right questions to get to the same place.”

  She met Rory’s gaze. “It’s tricky ground. It always has been. But it’s ground we all started walking a long time ago.”

  “She’s made a lot of progress. You’ve been key to that.”

  She inclined her head. “Thank you, but I’m not being modest when I say your family is primarily responsible. Every forward step she has made has been the result of your love for her, your willingness to develop a partnership with me that is open and honest, all of us aligned in her best interest while attempting to give her room for self-determination.”

  She cocked her head. “That’s a tricky path as well, isn’t it? From what I’ve deduced, you are very protective of her. And now you are in a romantic relationship with her.”

  Had those Dom/sub vibes come up in conversation? Or, if they had, had Daralyn framed them as a more traditional or old-fashioned male/female relationship? Had Dr. Taylor been told about the spanking?

  Those kinds of concerns were about his comfort levels, so he pushed that aside and asked his most pressing question. “Has following my gut caused her any problems?”

  She mulled that over, which closed a cold fist around his heart for several uncomfortable moments. “No more than any attempt to fit two lives together more intimately does,” she said at last. “It’s important that relationships evolve naturally with Daralyn. From what I can tell so far, your instincts and knowledge of her are serving you both well.”

  “Okay.” He took a breath, let it out. Dr. Taylor clasped her hands loosely over one knee.

  “She told me what happened when she became sexually aroused, how she initially responded to it, and how you handled it. How you asked her to talk to me about it.” Her expression tightened. “I thank you for that. Helping a person with such a prolonged history of abuse involves long term therapy for that very reason. The layers get peeled back over time, and when they do, they can reveal even more deeply buried things, things we cannot guess at, probably because so much of it is unimaginable. So, please, ask the question that you’re hesitating over. Your honesty can only help her.”

  Fair enough. “I expected her to be afraid of sex. But she’s not. Only her own reactions to it. It’s made me wonder about how they… Doc, I can’t even begin to tell you how much I don’t want to think about it, see it in my head, talk about it. But I feel like I need to understand some of it.”

  Dr. Taylor nodded. “A very reasonable and intelligent conclusion. You may already know some of this, but it should help fill in some gaps. They started sharing her around the time she was six years old. Her mother died when she was five, so I assume that was the trigger. One woman left the home, so Daralyn became her replacement. Which suggests to me her father and uncle also shared her mother. Unlike Daralyn, she was severely beaten, on a regular basis. Ended up in the hospital multiple times. Never filed one charge against them. Social workers couldn’t get her to even consider it.”

  Dr. Taylor’s expression was grave. “I have that from police reports, not Daralyn herself. She has very little memory of her mother, except as a shadow who fed and bathed her for a short period of her life.”

  The psychiatrist rose, started herself a cup of coffee. Rory shook his head when she offered him something again. He thought he might crush the cup in his hand. He didn’t want to hear this. But if Daralyn had had to live it, he could damn well handle hearing it.

  “I believe Oscar and Burton Moorfield found the abuse distasteful,” Dr. Taylor said, taking in his expression. “Viewed it as ‘necessary’ only because Daralyn’s mother was too old to be properly trained to obey them without question, serving them however they demanded. So after she died, Daralyn was the perfect answer to that. She could be trained from the very first.”

  She returned to the sofa, cup in hand. It was one of those photo mugs, with a Westie on it. Her dog, he assumed. “Pre-puberty, they made a moderate effort to choose methods of release less painful to a child of her age and physical development.” She glanced his way. “An orifice less risky for their needs.”

  He was going to be sick. He swallowed, hard, and Dr. Taylor’s eyes were on him.

  “Okay?”

  He inclined his head, jaw tight. “Keep going. Please.”

  “Her father had more control of his impulses than her uncle. When Burton was drinking or high, he was far less careful. Oscar appears to have intervened enough to keep her out of a hospital, which they would have avoided, for obvious reasons. He apparently had a friend who was a male pediatrics nurse—a fellow pedophile—who treated her several times for UTIs and other issues.”

  She rested a hand on her knee, her other hand on the cup she’d placed at her side. “Serving their sexual needs was merely one of the domestic functions they required of her. While they cared nothing for her responses, emotionally or physically, once they moved to sexual intercourse, when she was around eleven years old, a basic effort was made to ensure the act was not unbearably painful.” Her mouth thinned. “Again, a functional decision, not a compassionate one. They weren’t sadists. Her involuntary reaction to that level of pain would have been disruptive to their own release.”

  She took a breath. “So, to answer your question, other than those times with her uncle, she didn’t fear sex any more or less than their other requirements of her. Denying them, or doing something they found objectionable, held a far greater terror for her.”