Bound to Happen

by Mary Kay McComas

  Joe laughed. “Good. Terrific,” he said dryly, chuckling quietly and giving her a wary eye. “They taste great in eggs.”

  Maybe she had overreacted a little, she thought, as Joe went silently back to eating his eggs. But she was tired of feeling like a total incompetent around this man. Everyone who knew her thought she was always in control, always organized, and always up on everything. She wanted Joe to think so too.

  After their meal, Joe went straight to work. Leslie did the dishes and quickly ran out of things to do. She’d already been out of doors once that day, and she’d admired the view while she was there. So unless there was a good reason to go out again, she’d just as soon stay inside where she belonged. Of course, Joe was a neat, clean person, so there wasn’t much to do in the cabin either. She didn’t own anything in the vicinity but a purse and a cut up dress. She went to her purse in search of entertainment.

  While Joe plunked away at his little computer, Leslie cleaned out her wallet and put her credit cards in alphabetical order. She checked the shade of her lipstick and decided to save it for when the rescue party came. She counted the keys on her key ring and took the time to wonder why Joe had bothered to take them out of the ignition, since neither she nor her car were going anywhere. At last she found a distraction—a silver nail file tucked away at the bottom of her bag.

  With great verve she set about her manicure. On the third nail, she looked up to find Joe staring at her. A scowl of displeasure looking very at home on his face.

  “What?” she asked innocently.

  “Must you do that?”

  “What? My nails?”

  “It’s very distracting.”

  That was exactly why she was doing them, but she got his point just the same. “Sorry.”

  Joe went back to work, and Leslie tiptoed over to the kitchen sink for a glass of water. There was an old-fashioned hand pump that needed to be primed a little before water came out of it, but he hadn’t seemed to mind the noise when she’d been doing the dishes. Joe’s plunking slowed down but didn’t stop while she got her drink.

  She recalled seeing some saltine crackers in one of the cupboards and quietly sought them out. She opened the crackling cellophane wrapper and removed several, because the eggs hadn’t satisfied her appetite. Not a big eater normally, and never a snacker, Leslie chalked this lapse in her behavior up to the mountain air. Everyone knew it made you hungrier than usual.

  “Is that going to take long?” Joe’s exasperation was a surprise to Leslie. Now what had she done?

  “What?”

  “All the wrapper rustling and cracker crunching,” he said, annoyed.

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry,” she said, walking back to the couch, flopping herself down despondently. “I’ll just sit right here, and I won’t make a sound. I promise.”

  “Look. I’m sorry. But I have to get this done. I’m not used to having someone around while I work. I told you I wasn’t easy to live with.”

  “So, work. I’ll be very quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Joe’s expression was dubious, but he seemed willing to give it another try. She sat like a statue of The Thinker for awhile, then leaned back into the couch and got comfortable. She tried to remember some of her favorite music and played it back in her head. But when her moccasin-shod feet began to tap lightly on the floor, she had to stop. She closed her eyes, thinking she’d try to find her alpha level through meditation. It was something she’d always thought interesting but never had the time to try. After several minutes of trying to relax, she found herself listening to Joe’s plunking. It was terribly disturbing. She sighed and gave up on her alpha waves. But she didn’t reopen her eyes.

  Joe. Joe Bonner. She liked his name. It was a very plain name for an extraordinary man. Her mind crawled back to the morning hours when he’d so rudely touched her when he discovered she wasn’t really hurt. For all his anger, his hands had been remarkably gentle. What would his touch be like if he weren’t angry? What if he were feeling amorous and favorably inclined toward her? Her body sighed from head to toe at the thought. What if he were even more gentle? What if his strokes were intended to arouse her, to drive her wild with desire? What if he’d started to undress her, looking for her wound? What if he’d touched her bare skin, caressed her naked breasts until they were on fire with insatiable yearning? What if … ?

  “For crying out loud, Leslie! What the hell are you doing over there? Having an orgasm?”

  Her eyes popped open. “Who me?”

  Joe was turning to face her as she swung her feet to the floor and sat up. “Sigh, sigh, groan. You could do sound tracks for porno movies. What are you doing?”

  “Nothing. I was trying to be quiet. But excuse me for breathing, Mr. Bonner. I’ll try to do better in the future,” she said defensively, so he wouldn’t see the guilt she was feeling.

  “This isn’t going to work,” he said, “But, I have an idea.”

  “What?” she muttered under her breath, still feeling foolish about her daydreams, still feeling the effect they had on her body.

  Joe walked to the door and looked back at her when she didn’t follow. “Out here.”

  “Oh, great,” she mumbled, rolling off the couch and getting to her feet to shuffle along behind him. Out the door and around the side of the cabin she followed him, until he stopped at his would-be garden.

  “You seem to know your chives. How would you like to plant some more conventional veggies like carrots and potatoes and lettuce? If I can get back to my truck before too long, you can plant tomatoes too. I bought some plants, but they may die before I get back to them.”

  Hands on her hips, Leslie looked first at the plot of dirt, then at Joe. “Are you joking?”

  “No. It’ll give you something to do. Something to be proud of. And I won’t have to be yelling at you constantly to be quiet.” He grinned. “It’ll be good for our morale.”

  “If I say no, are you going to force me to do this?”

  A strange look crossed Joe’s face, and again he grinned—this time it wasn’t with humor. He took several steps toward her. He was several inches taller than she, and she had to force her head back so she could keep eye contact with him. His green gaze bore into her, searching deeply for secret treasures he was greedy to possess. She took a step backward and then another. Joe continued to advance on her until her back was against the rough wood of the cabin. When his arms moved up on either side of her to block her escape, she didn’t flinch or break contact with the keen stare that was more her captor than his physical form was.

  For long minutes he stood there, close but not touching her, wondering but not asking. “Funny, that you should mention force. I can’t recall one time when I’ve actually forced you to do something you didn’t want to do,” he finally said in a low, menacing voice. “Why would you bring up something like that unless you’d been thinking about it? Have you been thinking of my forcing you to do something you don’t want to do, Les? Is that why you brought it up? Do you want me to force you to do something you don’t want to do? Does that excite you?” he asked, aligning his zipper to hers and leaning into it firmly.

  There had to be anger in her somewhere, she thought, frantically searching for it. He had no right to treat her like this. Her pulse was racing so fast and her breathing was so shallow, she couldn’t sort out her emotions. Even her sensory system was on the blink. Instead of repulsion, she felt like one raw, totally exposed nerve ending. She was frightened and excited. She wanted to run away and melt into his arms at the same time. The turmoil seized her vocal cords, and she didn’t deny him.

  He lowered his head. His lips touched the soft, sensitive skin just below her right ear and moved slowly across her throat as he rubbed his body against hers, pressing against her breasts until he could reach her other ear, her temple, her forehead, the corner of her mouth. His mouth closed over hers, his tongue stroking, demanding entrance.

  He pulled back. “Is this part of the ga
me? Am I supposed to force my way in? Is that what makes you hot?” he asked, his voice harsh with his own need, which already was evident as it pressed urgently into her belly.

  Unbeckoned and from out of nowhere, tears clouded her eyes. She wanted him to continue; she wanted to open up to him, but not just physically. Tiny drops rolled down her cheeks. Joe saw them and hesitated briefly, astutely, before he lapped them up with his tongue and went back to her lips. This time, however, he wasn’t overbearing.

  He removed his hand from the wall behind her and cupped her face tenderly. He placed a chaste kiss to her lips, then sealed it there, ever so gently, with the pad of his thumb. “Leslie. I wouldn’t ever force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. Nothing. I want you. I guess that’s becoming obvious, isn’t it? But not by force.” He paused. “The garden is there to keep you busy. But not by force. Never by force.”

  They stood there for several more moments, both refusing to release the energy they had created. Joe removed the remaining few tears on Leslie’s face with a soft stroke of the back of his hand. “You okay?” She nodded numbly. “I’m not going to apologize for this either. I enjoyed it too much. And you don’t have to work in the garden. But I’m asking you to please stay outside for a while, so I can get some work done. Okay?”

  She nodded once more and sucked in a huge breath as he moved away from her. He glanced back at her once before rounding the corner of the cabin. His look had been filled with mixed emotions, and she knew he was feeling the same turbulence inside that she felt.

  She hadn’t flexed a muscle since he’d pinned her to the wall. Long after he left her, she remained rooted to the same spot, too weak to do anything more than breathe in and out. She tried to decipher the meaning of her response to Joe’s assault on her senses, but her mind was a blank, an unearthly, rapturous void of nothingness for the first time in her life. It was as if Joe Bonner had the power to kiss away her ability to reason, to judge, and to make choices. Curiously she didn’t perceive this as an altogether bad thing. She found she liked it. Being totally sensorial was a new experience she wouldn’t mind repeating. But if a next time came, she wanted Joe to know what he was doing to her. She wanted him to come to her with gentleness in his heart; tenderly, the way he had the first night when he’d listened to her talk; with consideration, the way he had when he’d tended to her blisters; with real emotions, the way he had when he thought she was hurt. Not with anger.

  Next time. The idea appealed to her. She tried to remember the last time she wanted a man as much as she wanted Joe and found that it never existed. Her body had ached for the closeness only a man could supply, late in the night, alone in the darkness. But no man had ever awakened images in her mind of the two of them together, their bodies entwined and throbbing with passion. Joe did. Joe brought to life so many things in her that she never knew were there: Desire and excitement, need and a wish to please, anger, frustration, and shame.

  Leslie released a slow breath. Joe made her feel, that was for sure. It seemed odd that she could almost hate him and want to know him better in the same second, but she did.

  Inside the cabin, Joe began to plunk away at the computer keys again, slowly and with a lot of backspacing. His concentration was poor, and every other word was showing up misspelled. It didn’t matter if Leslie was in the cabin or not, she was on his mind, jamming his brain waves.

  Every time he turned around, everywhere he looked, there she was with those deep blue eyes sparkling with humor or anger or curiosity. He could feel her all around him, warm and yielding. He was having a hell of a time keeping his hands off her. His resolve not to get involved with her was wearing thin. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman more. But Leslie Rothe?

  He hadn’t fully recovered from her little stunt earlier in the day. The panic he’d felt at seeing her lying there in the dirt, motionless, came back too fresh and too easily. And moments ago outside, watching her raven black hair blowing in the wind, her chin set rebelliously, her stance become defiant, he couldn’t seem to control himself. There was something in him that wanted to tame and possess her. He wanted to teach her to love, to give and accept love with her body. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted to hear his name on her lips. Joe. Joe. Joe.

  The trouble was, did he want it because she was a beautiful woman who had not the slightest interest in him? Or was he truly attracted to Leslie? Did he want her to want him because she’d never loved someone before? Or because he needed her to love him? She was a worldly woman with an innocent heart, and he, maybe better than most people, knew how fragile a heart was. If he set out to win her heart, he should damn well want to keep it. That would only be fair.

  Determinedly, he turned back to his work. He’d give this thing with Leslie a little more time to see if his first instincts were right. Then, before he got carried away for all the wrong reasons, he’d arrange for an early rescue.

  A few hours later, a grubby, dirty Leslie leaned her hoe against the outside wall of the cabin and tried in vain to brush the part of the garden she was wearing back down where it belonged. With a critical eye, she surveyed her efforts. For someone who grew her own herbs in lovely coordinated pots on her kitchen windowsill, she hadn’t done such a bad job on this much less chic way of farming. In fact, she almost wished she’d be there when it finally came up from the ground and became fruitful … or in this case vegetableful. She’d love to see the expression on Joe’s face when he found he was the owner of an anomalous garden.

  The idea had occurred to her shortly after the giddiness caused by Joe’s kiss had worn off. It was the perfect way to pay him back for every mean and cruel thing he’d done since they met. As a bonus to the idea, it was also something she could cherish in her heart and laugh about the next time he was nasty to her—and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind about there being a next time for that.

  She’d spent most of the afternoon hoeing wonderfully straight and even furrows in the loose soil so as not to arouse his suspicions. The next day, she would begin her creative seed planting. Although, if he were especially kind and friendly toward her later, she always could change her plan.

  With the light and airy step of a person about to wreak revenge on the enemy, Leslie all but skipped up to the cabin door. She listened at the door to hear if Joe was still working. There was no sound, but then computers didn’t make much noise. Prudently, she knocked on the door. When there was no answer, she repeated the gesture with more force.

  A sleepy-eyed Joe answered her summons.

  “Can I come in now? Or should I wait till you finish your nap?” she asked, irked that he’d been sleeping while she’d been outside breaking her back over his garden.

  “Give me a break,” he muttered, still drowsy. “I’m not a rock. I haven’t been able to sleep as well as you have the past couple of nights.”

  “Oh, sure. Blame that on me too.” Stepping past him into the cabin, she caught a look in his eyes that actually did indicate he accused her of being the cause. She ignored it as a luscious aroma reached her nose and made her salivate. “You cooked dinner,” she said, amazed.

  “Well, what do you think I did before you came along? Call for Chinese takeout?”

  “No. But I guess I assumed …” She let her words trail off, realizing she had misjudged him again.

  “You assumed you’d have to do all the cooking because you’re a woman,” he finished for her. “That would have been very unliberated of me to presume such a thing, now, wouldn’t it?”

  Leslie smiled at him. “Yes, it would have been.” She was impressed that he hadn’t. It wasn’t exactly in keeping with the character traits he’d presented to her so far. “Do I have time to wash up and change clothes?”

  “Yes. And am I to assume that’s my signal to take a hike?”

  Again, she smiled, appreciating that he hadn’t made one of his usual lurid comments. She got the distinct impression he was trying to be nice to her, to get along with her: Perhaps he was making amend
s for his earlier behavior, or maybe he was trying to bridge the gap that had formed between them when they’d swung their cars off the road. Whatever, his reasons, Leslie was grateful. She didn’t want to fight with him anymore. She wanted to know him better.

  Seven

  LESLIE’S SINK BATH and Joe’s dinner went uninterrupted by strife. Joe had prepared venison, which Leslie wasn’t at all sure she was going to like. But not wanting to offend him again, she tasted it and found it not too bad. She thought she might even grow to like it.

  A fire snapped and glowed in the fireplace, and kerosene lamps were lit. Aside from the little gasoline generator that ran only three hours a night in order to keep the battery-operated refrigerator charged, there was no electricity. Even Joe’s computer ran on batteries, but he seemed to have an ample supply of those. Leslie found it extremely inconvenient that nothing was instant or laborless, but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She simply added it to the reasons why she preferred to stay in the city; although, she had to admit, the firelight made things very cozy and romantic.

  Mountain nights, however, proved to be just as boring as mountain days. There were no reports for her to review, no places to go with her friends, nothing to see or watch or listen to.

  “What are you working on?” she asked Joe in a quiet voice, desperate for conversation.

  “Can we talk about this later? I’m on a roll here.”

  “Sure. Sorry.” With that avenue closed to her, she had nothing left to do but think. And invariably, her thoughts turned to questions. It was her nature to question. “What happens when we run out of food? I mean, even after you’ve gone back for the food in your truck?”

  “I’ll kill something, and we’ll have berries for dessert,” Joe said absently without looking up from his writing.

  “It’s much colder here in the winter. Will we be warm enough? With just this fire? You don’t usually stay all winter, do you?”