Silver Brewer: The Silver Foxes of Blue Ridge

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Mind your own damn business, James. You’re good at that.” My eyes flicker from James to Giant.

  “Seems like he’s not the only one,” I mutter. Stomping around Giant, I head for the path cutting into the woods but then stop and turn back one more time. “And don’t ever treat me like I’m not there again.” I point at the station, reminiscent of the way he and his brother spoke to each other without including me. This is how Hudson would act, as if I wasn’t present, as if I didn’t have an intelligent opinion or couldn’t make a decision. I spin for the path. I don’t even care if I get lost. I just need away from Giant.

  Ironically, I find my way back to camp, and it doesn’t seem half as far as it did while we raced through the darkness under rain and thunder. As I see the waterlogged fire pit and the soggy ground around our site, I turn on Giant who’s kept his distance behind me.

  “No bathroom?” I huff. “Yet less than a hundred yards off, there is one.” Not to mention a solid roof and a small kitchen, but these things are the least of my ire. My anger festers into a storm of rage. I hate how he treated me like I was invisible. Not introducing me. Acting like nothing happened between us. I also do not like how he’s willing to break our agreement and take me back. Was it only sex to him? Did he not enjoy it like I did?

  “And you’d like to traipse a hundred yards to pee?” he questions. “You didn’t seem to mind the woods.” His voice lowers as if the remark surprises him. No, I didn’t complain because I accepted we were roughing it. He wanted to prove something to me, and I…I wanted to prove something to myself, I realize. I wanted to prove I could do this.

  “Never mind.” I sigh and shake my head, turning away from him. I scratch at my scalp. My hair is dirty and grimy, and I just want a hot soak and clean sheets and wine. Lots of wine. But not tonight. One more night. I stomp over to the fire pit and sit on an upturned log. I have one more night to survive this hell and rid myself of Giant Harrington once he signs on the line.

  Only it hasn’t really been hell. It’s been rather wonderful, if I’m honest. The sexy time. The ax throwing. Even the hot dog roasted over a campfire was pleasant. I’m surprised how much I’ve enjoyed myself. Giant has catered to me in every way—organizing our menu, cooking, and cleanup. He’s trying to encourage me to appreciate the natural environment around us, and I’ve absentmindedly soaked it up. Do I really want to leave him? Why has he done all this? Did he just want sex with me? I hate to think this is the truth, and a bigger question niggles at me. Will he really give up his land after a three-night camping trip?

  Giant sets his pack on the ground and rummages through it before pulling out something rolled up and tucked in a small bag. I watch him walk to two trees and clip one end of the material to a hook I hadn’t noticed drilled into the trunk. He crosses to a second tree and fastens the other end of the nylon cloth to a second hook. As he steps back, I notice it’s a hammock.

  “You said you read.” The statement startles me. I stare up at him, wondering what this has to do with anything. The tension between us is thicker than the humidity lingering from last night.

  “My reader’s in my bag.” Without permission, he rummages through my pack and pulls out my tablet.

  “Why don’t you read for a bit? It’s too wet to sit on the ground, and I need to dry everything from last night. I’ll make breakfast.” Now I am curious. What is this behavior? He hands me my e-reader, and I stare after him as he lowers the food from the trap in the tree. I should offer to help, but I don’t want to talk to him. I stand and walk to the hammock.

  “Straddle it. Then set your butt down first. It makes it easier to lie back and get your legs in it.” I do as he directs and lounge back. Within a few minutes, my anger dissipates from the sway of the hammock, the whisper of the trees, and a warm breeze. I can’t concentrate on any words in my book, so I stare at them instead. Unfocused. Disappointed.

  Why couldn’t sex always be like it was last night? Maybe only random sex can feel so liberating. Then again, if how I’m feeling today is a side effect of random sex, I don’t think my heart can take it. I haven’t been with anyone in a year, and Giant’s behavior is a reminder of why I’ve held back—I’m too emotional to have casual sex. My eyes close with memories of last night. Images of Giant touching me fill my head. His thick fingers. His mouth on my skin. His big dick. He’s a large man, and his private property is proportionate. I’ve never been so full, so satiated, and so at a loss when it was over.

  I scratch at my scalp again.

  Maybe I’m destined never to understand men. Hudson was closed off, unobtainable even when physically present. Why can’t I have a man who can be affectionate?

  “Breakfast is ready.” His voice should startle me, but I’ve learned to listen for his quiet movements. I’m not hungry, but I roll from the hammock, nearly turning all the way over and falling to the ground. Giant catches me, but I shrug off his touch. “I got it.”

  I stalk to the fire pit and sit. Fried eggs and corned beef hash—I haven’t had such a breakfast since I was a kid. The combination reminds me of my dad, and I suddenly feel lonelier than ever.

  “My dad died when I was a kid, so I don’t remember much about him, but this was his favorite breakfast.” I don’t know why I tell Giant this tidbit. You’re filling the empty spaces.

  “I’m sorry. About your dad.” Giant says, staring down at the meal in the skillet. He doesn’t add anything more, and we fall into awkward silence, and for once, I don’t feel the need to chatter and fill the quiet.

  11

  Silence is too quiet.

  [Giant]

  I can’t handle her silence.

  For the talker she is, she hasn’t spoken since breakfast. In such a short time, her constant chatter has grown on me, and I miss the noise. The hum of life she whispers no matter what she’s saying. The chirping beat she stimulates in my quiet heart. I didn’t realize how empty my world felt until this vibrant woman entered the place I hold most sacred. My land.

  She’s only here for the land, I remind myself, but she certainly seemed upset about last night.

  We had sex, she blurted, but those brilliant blue eyes were filled with hurt. The expression surprised me. Did she not want to have sex with me? Did I force her? Did I go too far? Her adventurous spirit tells me I didn’t, so why did she look so offended? Was it only because I suggested we return to the cabin? Did she want something more from me? Other than my land, I can’t imagine what I could offer her.

  Her quiet unnerves me, and she scratches at her hair for the tenth time.

  “Got an itch?” I don’t think she has bugs. The insects are mild as the temperature drops this time of year. Still, a tick would love her hair. I love her hair.

  “My hair. It’s just dirty, and it feels gross. I think I’ll go down to the stream.”

  “Not alone. I don’t like James being around.” What is he doing up here? I love my prodigal brother, but I don’t trust his motives for anything. He claims he has his reasons to leave the family, but we all have “reasons” in our lives, and that’s when we need family the most. “I’ll go with you.”

  Letty’s eyes narrow at me. “Fine.” She stands and heads into the tent, returning with shampoo and a towel. She stalks past me, heading for the stream. I follow, once again keeping my distance. When we get to the edge of the water, she tugs off her shirt and then looks at me over her shoulder.

  “You can turn your back.” It takes me a moment to realize what she means. She wants me to turn around, but I don’t think I can pry my eyes from her. The ripple of her spine. The dip at the base. The nape of her neck.

  I’ll be damned if I let her out of my sight with James in the vicinity, but I begrudgingly spin around. She could give me the slip if she wanted. Then I hear the slap of the washcloth hitting the water. I imagine her rubbing up her sides and over her breasts. My mouth waters as I haven’t had a taste of them yet. Hell, I haven’t even kissed her. I envision her dipping the cloth lower, s
wiping her sex, and I’m a mess. She’s mumbling something behind me, and I slip my hands into my pants, adjusting my dick which is moving toward its new status around this woman—perpetually hard.

  “Giant.” My name is a strained attempt at a whisper. “It’s…” Her voice stops.

  “What now, woman?” I shift from foot to foot. She whispers my name again. Detecting something in her voice other than her easygoing chatter, I quickly spin and note a bear on the other side of the stream.

  Fuck.

  “Letty,” I whisper as loud as I can, hoping not to draw any attention to her. “Don’t move.” Then again, she’s in a precarious position. Her pants are down near her knees, underwear included, and two white globes of perfection shine at me. But I can’t think about my hands on that ass or driving into her from this angle like I did last night because she needs to get away from that water.

  “Now slowly, lower for your pants, Cricket.” My eyes don’t leave the bear who is intent on watching the rippling water. With Letty in my line of sight for the wild creature, I see her slowly bend forward and drag up her jeans. Then she takes one step back and another. When her foot steps on a twig, and the sound snaps like a shotgun, the bear looks up. We both hold our breath. I’m calculating how quickly I can reach her, hike her over my shoulder and run when the large, black creature turns away and slowly moseys in the opposite direction. I step forward and grip her bare shoulders. She claps a hand over her mouth and melts against my chest. She’s trembling under my fingers.

  “He’s so beautiful,” she mutters once she uncovers her lips, not yet fazed that a bear caught her with her pants down, literally. Or that she’s standing shirtless before me, leaning back-to-chest against me.

  “Beautiful and dangerous,” I hum next to her ear, not certain if I’m talking about the bear or the woman before me. She relaxes another second before leaning forward, removing herself from my touch, and scratching at her hair. Her arm attempts to cover her bare chest, but it’s hopeless. Both swells are hardly contained. “I have an idea. Let’s head back to camp. Are you finished?”

  “As good as it’s going to get, I guess.” Her irritation with me lingers in her tone. I should tell her I’m sorry for whatever I did and beg for forgiveness with my tongue, my fingers, and my straining erection. Her festering, fiery energy makes me want her again. I haven’t been able to calm myself for the second day in a row. What is it with this woman?

  When I woke to the sound of James, I’d been dreaming of her, her lush body underneath mine. My mouth finally meeting hers. As I pressed over her, shielding her from James, my thoughts shifted to driving her down the mountain.

  My truck. She’s going to hate me when the truth comes out.

  I scrub a hand down my beard. It’s grown bushier as the days pass.

  “I’m done,” she mutters, and my gaze shifts back to her. Her hair is rolled into a tight bun at the base of her neck, and she scratches at it again. Greasy hair or not, she looks beautiful.

  I walk her back to camp.

  “Let me fetch some water. I’ll be right back.”

  “I thought you were afraid to leave me alone,” she snarks, but the bite is no longer present in her tone. She can hold her own against the likes of someone like James, but still, his presence has me cautious. Ignoring her comment, I grab a bucket and a water jug, and then head back to the stream. When I return, she jumps up from the log she was sitting on. Her eyes wide with fear.

  “What’s wrong?” I set the water-filled containers near the fire.

  “I-I thought you were a bear.”

  “Ah, I see the reality of nature is settling in with you. Lions and tigers and bears.” I repeat her line from the other night.

  “He was beautiful,” she whispers, but fear still laces her voice. He could have been dangerous. She has her arms wrapped around her, and her hands rub up and down her flannel-covered arms.

  “Here. Sit.” I direct her to the fire pit. She folds down onto the log for a seat and stares at the dying flames. I kneel to stoke the fire and pull the water-filled bucket closer to the heat source. With my hands on her waist, I shift her body on the upturned log.

  “What are you doing?” she snaps. Does she no longer want me to touch her in even the simplest manner? My chest pinches at the thought.

  You’re so standoffish. I don’t think this is true. I’m just quiet. I’m not a talker, but her silence has me questioning my lack of chatter, or at least opening up about a few things.

  “I’m washing your hair,” I state. She twists and looks up at me over her shoulder.

  “What?”

  “I know how much it can be a bother.” I swallow before I continue. My heart races as I speak. “When my wife was sick, she liked it when I washed her hair. When it all fell out, I cleaned her scalp. We pretended her hair was still there.”

  Her eyes instantly fill with tears, but I don’t want her sympathy. She licks her lips and turns her back to me.

  “She was a lucky woman to have such care and attention.” I hold my breath, questioning the honesty of her words, but she twists back to face me with a weak smile, letting me know she means every word.

  “It’s going to be cold at first.” Positioning one knee near her, I tip her back over my propped thigh. Then I release her hair from the band, allowing the thick tresses to tumble toward the ground. It’s long, so I’ll need to watch that it doesn’t dip into the dirt. I pour a portion of the water jug over her hair, and she closes her eyes.

  “Cold?” I question.

  “It’s okay,” she mutters. She’s more than okay. Other than when we started, she hasn’t complained once about our arrangement. Outside bathroom. Eating from a pan. Even sleeping in a tent. I’ve had fun with her. Ax throwing, laughing, even a foiled attempt at flipping a burger over an open flame. Letty is a metaphor for life, and I want to live her. Yet disappointment seems inevitable.

  “Clara…” I pause, and Letty’s eyes snap open. “That was my wife’s name. We were high school sweethearts. I was this big oaf football player, and she was a quiet book girl. I always wanted to go into the military, and she only wanted to be a mother. We weren’t talkers. Weren’t eloquent. We fumbled a lot.” I chuckle, recalling our first kiss, our first time in bed, and all the near misses. We grew practiced but not passionate. “It wasn’t fair to lose her so young.”

  Letty nods and water drips onto her forehead. I swipe at it, taking my time to caress the side of her face as I stare down at her. Breaking the connection of our eyes, I reach for the shampoo next to me and squirt some on her hair. Apricots. It suits her. I massage the growing suds around her temple and lift her head for the underside. She hums like she did when we had sex, and I smile to myself. This is a noise I’m not certain I can live without hearing.

  “She was thirty-nine when she passed.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be fifty next spring.”

  Her eyes pop open. “You don’t look fifty.”

  The corner of my mouth tugs upward. “I’ve got gray hair.”

  Her eyes narrow, and she checks out my beard. “A few, but you also don’t seem that old.”

  “Thank you.” I snort. “And how old are you?”

  “I just turned forty.”

  I gaze down at her. She can’t be. “You look so young.”

  A smile brightens her face although her eyes have closed. “You’re a charmer, Mr. Harrington.”

  Her teasing tone further curls my lip.

  “No one ever says that about me.” You’re so standoffish, returns to my thoughts. How many people have you tried to charm? I ask myself.

  Her eyes open again as I massage her scalp. “Charmer?” she questions.

  “Yes.”

  “Huh,” she huffs. “I find you very charming.” Her lids lower lazily, but her lips twist like she doesn’t approve of this finding.

  “And how is that?”

  “You’re thoughtful and kind. And you obviously took care o
f your wife. You’re a lucky man to have loved someone so deeply. And washing hair is a romantic gesture.” My fingers pause on her sudsy locks. She isn’t wrong. I loved my wife. Clara loved me. We worked, but it’s been ten years. My mother’s voice trickles through my head.

  It could happen again.

  I peer down at Letty. Her blue eyes are cut off from me, but her pink lips pout. She has the perfect slope to her nose and apple-defined cheeks. I want to lower and kiss her, and then I remember again I haven’t kissed her. I’ve touched her and fucked her, but we haven’t kissed.

  I’m such an idiot.

  “Going to rinse now,” I warn. “Tell me if it’s too warm.” I lean forward and drag the bucket of water from the fire. Hoping I didn’t let it sit too long, I dip a finger in the liquid to test the temperature. Not hot. Not frigid. I grip the edge of the bucket and pour the water over her suds-filled hair.

  “That feels nice,” she purrs like she did last night. My dick knocks at my zipper, unfurled to almost full mast. I continue to rinse her hair, doing the best I can to remove all the soap residue. This wasn’t a spa-like treatment, but I’m hoping it might help make her more comfortable.

  I get one more night, then we talk. There won’t be much to say after another night, though I’ll admit I’m happy to have another chance with her. Will one more night be enough? my heart murmurs, but I dismiss my answer.

  When I think I have her hair clear of shampoo, I press at her shoulder blade, helping her sit upright again.

  “Better?”

  “Much. Thank you. That was sweet of you.” She begins to comb her fingers through her hair, separating the wet clumps and spreading the long length.

  “Have a comb?”

  Her brows pinch in question, but she answers, “In my bag.”

  “Be right back.” I can’t handle rummaging through her underthings again, especially now that I know what they look like on her body. When I was searching for her tablet earlier, I brushed against her collection of thongs and was instantly hard—again. The thin lacy material is so unlike anything Clara wore. Skimpy. Sexy. Spontaneous. Seeing Letty in this barely-there fabric does something to me and not just my dick. It hints at adventure in the bedroom. I curse myself for comparing Clara and Letty. They are obviously unique women, yet the opposition between them is what draws me to Letty. I want the adventure. I want different.