by Sandra Hill
“You gonna just keep looking, soldier?” she taunted. “Maybe the flag can only go half-mast these days.”
“If I were in better condition, I’d leap off this bed and show you just how high this flag can fly.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” she teased.
To her shock, and his, too, he did, in fact, launch himself forward and tackle her to the floor. He saw red blinking lights behind both eyelids at the pain, but then adjusted himself over her. Raising himself on his straightened arms, with his flag planted firmly between her legs, he said, “You were saying?”
“Are you crazy? I was just teasing.” She tried to push him up and off her. “Move, you idiot.”
No way was he moving now. “Isn’t there a song you can sing about now, sweetheart? ‘It’s a grand old flag,’ or something like that?”
“Idiot!” she said.
Leaning down, he brushed his lips across hers and murmured, “I don’t think I can wait. Are you ready, Sal?”
“I’ve been ready for weeks.”
With those words, he took himself in hand and worked his way slowly into her. Slowly, because he really was damn friggin’ big today. And slowly, because her inner muscles were welcoming him every inch of the way with spasms that about caused his head to explode . . . or something else to explode. And slowly, because he was where he’d wanted to be for more than three years.
Once he was in, though, the agony in his leg caused him to cramp up, and he rolled to his side, his good side, and raised her leg up over his injured thigh. Then, carefully, he was able to begin the long, unhurried strokes that went deeper with each thrust. He didn’t last long, and neither did she, especially when she grabbed his buttocks, hard—he would have fingerprints on his ass by tomorrow—and rocked against him, also hard. She arched her neck back and went into a full-blown orgasm that held his cock in a rhythmically clutching stranglehold, milking him dry.
“Oooooh!” she cried out at the end.
He didn’t cry, but he felt like it, with the sheer joy of a torturously pleasurable climax of his own.
This was the time when he should say that he loved her, or she should say that she loved him. But neither of them said anything, perhaps both waiting for the other to speak first.
Finally, she got up and said, “I have to go to the bathroom. Do you want me to help you up?”
“Nah. I’ll be okay.” And he was, once she left the room, not wanting her to see the humiliating way he had to maneuver himself to get to his feet. As he sat on the side of the bed, trying to catch his breath, the cell phone, which she’d placed on the dresser, pinged a few times, indicating an incoming text message.
When she returned and he was about to go to the bathroom himself, he told her, “You had a text message. Maybe you better check to make sure it’s not from my dad.” Though, if there was an emergency, he would probably call me, Jake thought. And my dad doesn’t do text.
She was in the bed with the sheet pulled up under her armpits when he got back and climbed into the bed with her. He’d taken half of a pain pill when he was in the bathroom. It should kick in soon. “So, who called?” He immediately regretted his words. If it was Kevin, for example, she might consider his question an invasion of privacy.
“It was José. He texted to say that I didn’t need to come in tonight to prepare the breads for tomorrow. In fact, he said I should take off the entire weekend, that he and Mary Lou could handle everything.” She frowned as she relayed that information. “Which is really odd.”
“Why is it odd?”
“This offer, from him and Mary Lou, and all the food that people have been bringing over—I don’t know—everything. They’re being so nice. I mean the people in Bell Cove are always nice, but this is somehow different.”
He began to laugh, first a chuckle, then a chortle, then full-blown belly laughter.
“What?”
“Really, Sal, you don’t know why Dad and Old Mike offered to take the kids for the weekend. Why people have been bringing enough food to supply an army. Why your employees want you to stay away from work.” When she still looked confused, he explained, “They want you and me to spend all of our time doing—” He threw his arms out to indicate the bed.
“Nooo!” she said.
“Yep. All of this so you could get laid and I could get my rocks off. Repeatedly.”
She put her face in her hands. “I feel so stupid.” But then she looked up and over at him beside her and slapped him on the upper arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you knew.”
“Oh, my God! They’re all sitting in their homes, or businesses, or walking down the street, speculating on what we’re doing at the moment.” She thought for a moment. “Even Father Brad. Oh, I’ll never be able to look him in the face again. Any of them.”
He just grinned.
“You’re not upset?”
He shrugged. “It’s Bell Cove. It’s what they do.”
“They’ve gone too far this time.”
“Ya think? Wait till we go to town. They’ll be checking me out to see if I walk bowlegged or have a loopy grin on my face.”
“And me?”
“They’ll be counting the days till they see a baby bump on you.”
“Bite your tongue, boy.”
“I have better uses for my tongue, girl.”
And he did.
“Blow the Man Down,” or “Fire in the Hole”—either worked for these pirates . . .
The town bells rang eight times as Sally eased her way out of the bed, but even those sounds didn’t awaken her husband, who lay splayed out on his back, arms thrown over his head, legs spread. She’d worn the man out, Sally thought with a smile.
With his eyes closed and his face relaxed with satiation, he looked younger and less battle worn. God only knew where the eye patch had flown! Possibly under the bed.
Sally didn’t know if having sex with her husband was a mistake with all the baggage they both carried. Without a doubt, there were problems ahead for them, questions that would have to be answered, hurdles to overcome. Maybe insurmountable ones. But, for now, seeing Jake like this, she was pleased that she could do this for him.
Hah! Who am I kidding? It was for me, too.
She didn’t want to make any noise by opening a drawer; so, she just drew Jake’s T-shirt over her head. Its hem skimmed her midthigh, which should be okay, just in case a friendly Bell Coverite decided the two lovebirds didn’t have enough food to sustain them through a dirty weekend. She tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
It was still light outside, of course, so she didn’t need to turn on any lights in the kitchen, which was a blessing. A light might have signaled a neighbor to come over.
After setting a handled tray on the kitchen table, she took a bunch of the donated items from the fridge. A meal for herself and Jake would be welcome about now. Neither of them had eaten since lunchtime. And there had been all that hunger-inducing “activity.”
She started by buttering some of her very own slider rolls and filling them with paper-thin slices of roast beef from Abe’s deli, with arugula and Eliza Rutledge’s homemade horseradish sauce. Thick slices of beefsteak tomatoes from Elmer Judd’s garden over at the Patterson house were soon glistening with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, heavy on the salt and pepper. Three small bowls of salads: potato, shrimp, and fresh fruit. (And, no, she was not using Vana Gustafson’s lutefisk creation.) Deviled eggs from Ina Rogers. A plate of various pickles, olives, and hard cheeses with crackers, courtesy of Stu and Barb MacLeod of the Blanket-y Blank quilt store. Assorted cinnamon rolls from Delilah’s diner. A pitcher of iced sweet tea.
A half hour later, she struggled to carry the tray up the steps without spilling anything. Jake was sitting up in bed, reading some message on his cell phone, when she came in. Immediately, he placed the device on the bedside table and made room for her to set the tray on the middle of the bed.
“You read my mind, babe
. My stomach’s growling as loud as those bells.”
“You heard the bells? I thought you were asleep.”
“I didn’t want to let you know I was awake and miss the sight of your bare butt sneaking out of bed. Or you raising your arms to put on my T-shirt. Or you bending over to put on a pair of slippers.”
She gave him a mock glower of disapproval and kicked the slippers off, moving onto the bed, carefully, to keep the tray level between them. “For the record, I wasn’t sneaking. I was being considerate.”
“Whatever you say. Please flash your ‘consideration’ at me anytime you want.” He smiled at her.
And her heart melted. A little bit. A lot more when she noticed that he’d put the eye patch back on. He must be self-conscious about how he looked.
They both sat cross-legged on either side of the tray and dug into the feast. The whole time they talked. Comfortably. Which was a treat for Sally, who’d felt as if she had to walk on eggshells around her husband since he’d come home, never sure what would be a forbidden subject.
First they talked about the possible addition to her bakery.
“Gabe will bring some architect drawings over for you to look at next week,” he told her. “Just preliminary stuff. Nothing too expensive or detailed until you decide for sure if this is what you want to do.”
“Not just me, Jacob. This has to be a joint decision.”
She could tell that he was about to disagree with her. He still wasn’t ready to commit to a long-term sojourn in Bell Cove, maybe even to their shaky marriage. At least, that was her opinion on his hesitation. In any case, he stopped himself from arguing with her on the “you” versus “us” issue, and instead said, “Once I have the costs worked out a little more, I’ll go to the bank for you.”
“I appreciate your offer, but we will go to the bank,” she corrected.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and gave her another heart-melting smile. “Just so we’re clear, I’m willing to do any grunt work you need to make this happen, but I still don’t think I could be involved in the actual operation. It’s just not me.”
“Good enough! I’ll appreciate anything you can do. I know nothing about construction. And this saves me time for other stuff.”
“So, have you thought about your Labor Day bakery theme items yet?” Jake was aware that Mayor Ferguson had been bugging her for days to tell her what she planned so it could be put in the Lollypalooza brochure.
“I’ll have the usual red, white, and blue frosted flag cakes and Mookies. In light of the secondary pirate theme, I found some oversized, pirate-ship cookie cutters online that might be nice, except it would take a lot more fancy piping than I might be willing to do, unless I charge double for them, which I don’t like to do.” She gave him a look, fluttering her eyelashes.
“Not a chance!” he said with a laugh. “Not unless you want anatomically correct pirates.”
She laughed, too. “Then, there’s the other secondary theme, the treasure discovery. For that, I’ll do some kind of gold coin Mookies.”
Another secondary theme was the “Hometown Hero” for which she was designing a palm tree cookie with a yellow ribbon tied around its trunk, but she didn’t think she’d tell Jake about that. Best that it be a surprise, and, yeah, she feared he’d put the kibosh on it. Little did he know, the entire town would be welcoming their hero home in their own distinctive way, including Abe Bernstein at his deli which would be featuring Italian hero sandwiches. And Delilah was going to make her cinnamon bun of the day with blueberries, strawberry jam, and white icing. The mercantile ordered in a huge supply of flags for people to wave. The bookstore was planning an “American Heroes” window display.
“The good thing is that I can bake and freeze many of my cookie recipes ahead of time, and do the decorating in the off hours.”
“I’m gonna have to be in that stinkin’ parade, you know,” Jake said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “I promised Doreen. It was either that or agree to be on a dumbass float with a replica of a Blackhawk jet and some military choir singing ‘God Bless America.’ Where does that woman get these ideas?”
“You got me! Did you know she helped plan a surprise wedding for Delilah and Merrill, complete with leftover Fourth of July decorations and a pirate-themed reception at Chimes, that mansion of Gabe’s? And, of course, the Grinch contest last December was the absolute best, or worst, of her schemes for bringing more tourists to Bell Cove, the kind who spend their dollars here and then go home.”
“I read about that. Izzie brought me a bunch of newspapers to read while I was in the hospital.”
“By the way, that was a nice article that Laura wrote about you. Focusing on your family and Bell Cove. I saw Matt clip it out of the paper and put it in his desk for safekeeping. All of the boys are proud of you.”
His face went blank at that. It was a trick he had for not showing emotion. Why would he feel that he couldn’t show his feelings in regard to the boys? Or was it the boys’ regard for him that made him uncomfortable?
“I’ll check to see if your uniform needs to go to the dry cleaners,” she said. “I assume they’ll want you to wear that.”
“Either that or dress like a friggin’ pirate, which I could do with this eye patch and gimpy leg.”
She knew he was sensitive on the subject of his injuries; so, she just teased, “You’d make a very handsome pirate. Sex on the (pirate) hoof, so to speak.”
He grinned, but then asked her suddenly, “Should I have been using a condom?”
“Kinda late to ask that, Long John.” She shook her head at him. “But, no. Not necessary. I’m on the pill.”
He stiffened.
And she could read his fool mind. “Don’t go getting bent out of shape. I got a prescription once I heard you were coming home.”
He tilted his head at her. “So, you planned to have sex with me from the get-go, but made me wait these two weeks before taking the plunge?”
“No, Jacob. They were just in case.”
He looked as if he wanted to discuss the subject more, but then he relented and said, “Just in case you’re feeling partial to a salty dog . . . wanna help this pirate swab his deck? I’m thinkin’ Long John Silver’s boat is smellin’ a bit like bilge water and needs a good shower after all this activity.”
“Just so you know, this wench gives no quarter when it comes to Jolly Rogers,” she said, entering the playful banter. She glanced meaningfully to his “flag.”
A short time later, under a warm shower, she laughed and teased, “Not so much yo-ho-ho-ing now, is there?”
And Jake said, “Aar!”
Chapter 13
Ride, Sally ride . . .
The town bells might have been ringing in the hour, over and over, as usual, but it wasn’t until they reached ten that Jake finally awakened to find himself flat on his back with Sally splatted half over him, her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, an arm thrown over his waist, one breast on his chest, the other pressing his side, a knee thrown over his happy place. In other words, an invitation to morning sex.
Jake didn’t move. Sex with Sally had been amazing. Having his wife back in his arms was a dream come true. Yeah, an impossible dream, one that might be over in a blip of a second, once she came to her senses, or if he managed to be a bit more noble and think about her and not his raging libido. Hell, for now, selfish bastard that he apparently was, he just wanted to freeze the moment, inhaling her sweet scent, memorizing the feel of her smooth skin against his rougher edges, cherishing the honesty of her lovemaking.
But then Jake muttered a swear word as he realized the implications of the ten bells. They’d overslept!
“Hey, babe, wake up,” he said, kissing the top of her spiky hair. “I forgot. I have an appointment at two o’clock in Hatteras.” A two-hour drive in the off-season could be up to four hours with tourist traffic and ferry delays.
“What?” she asked sleepily.
He was already up and pulli
ng out clean clothing from the bureau drawers. A pair of briefs, athletic socks, sweat pants, and a T-shirt. “I have a rehab appointment at two o’clock in Hatteras. I need to get going if I’m going to make the Bell Cove ferry at eleven.” Jake had been scheduling his appointments at the same time as Gus, whenever possible, and thus hitching a ride. But Gus didn’t go on the weekends.
“Do you have to go today?” She was careful to pull the sheet up under her armpits as she sat up.
Which amused the hell out of him. Almost nine years of marriage and she thought to hide her intimate parts from him? What was it about a woman that she could engage in wild monkey sex all night long and then turn all virginal modest in the morning?
“I do,” he replied. “The every-other-day routine is important if I want to improve. It’s too easy to skip a session. Then it becomes two. And more. Come with me.”
“Huh?”
“Come with me. It’s a long drive, especially with the two ferry crossings. I could use the company. Plus, you can watch what the massage therapist does to my leg, and if I’m a really good boy, maybe you’ll follow through with me here at home.”
“A really good boy, huh?”
“Or a really bad boy.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. Well, one of them. “And if you’re a really good girl, I’ll take you out to dinner somewhere nice along the way back. I can bring a change of clothes with me.”
“And if I’m a really bad girl?”
“Even better.”
“I really should go into the bakery and help out while you’re gone.”
He refused to beg, but he did give her a look.
“Don’t smolder at me, you . . . you pirate, you!” she said with a laugh.
“Me? Smolder? With one frickin’ eye?”
“I imagine that the other one is smoldering, too. Under the eye patch.”
He shook his head at her silliness.
“Okay, I’ll come with you, but you hit the shower first. I am not hopping the plank again.”
“Blimey!” he said with a grin.
