by Karen M Cox
“You’re amazing,” he whispered. He saw her embarrassment, even in the dim light of the moon, and he smiled. “What I mean is every part of you is designed to go with every other part. You’re the perfect incarnation of you.” He leaned over and nibbled at the pulse throbbing in her throat before running his tongue along her collarbone and just inside the inner edge of her bra till his mouth rested between her breasts. She arched her back and her moan reverberated from her chest into his lips. He drew his fingers down over her stomach, feeling it move up and down as she gasped. One finger slipped under the button on her cutoffs and he undid them in one smooth motion, drawing down the zipper and laying the fly open. The white cotton of her panties peeked out from underneath. He kissed right below her belly button and took a little nip at the hipbone jutting out.
“James?” She breathed. “What are you . . . ?”
He slipped his hands inside her shorts and drew them down, exposing her skin to the night air and his hungry eyes. “Would you believe me if I said, ‘Trust me’?”
She giggled, actually giggled out loud, and his heartbeat flared and pounded in his veins for a minute. He sat beside her, simply staring at her in wonder, before reaching under her to unhook the last bit of clothing and drawing the straps down her arms.
The beauty of her body beckoned him, but he found himself unable to tear his gaze from her face, intense and exquisite. Her eyes were like arrows, hot pokers stabbing inside his chest. Lying down beside her, he drew one hand along her inner thigh and her eyes slid shut, releasing him from her gaze and allowing him a respite so he could concentrate on the rest of her. As his fingers slipped between her legs, she started to cry out and self-consciously covered her mouth with her hand.
“Yell all you want, darling,” he murmured. “No one can hear you but me.”
His touch coaxed her further into delirium, and he whispered roughly, “Let it go, Laurel. It’s all right, just let go.”
She broke then, her arms reaching above her head, grasping the blanket in her fingers — arching and sighing and writhing in movements so erotic, he had to drop his head and close his eyes to keep from losing control of himself. He felt as if he’d run ten miles, and he gulped the warm, humid, night air as if he were drowning. He kissed her softly and whispered sweet nothings to her, and while she recovered, he slipped a condom out of his wallet and doffed his button-fly Levi’s.
He looked up to find her watching him, interest and trepidation warring on her features.
“Still afraid?”
Her eyes darted up to his face. “No,” she said quickly, and then she let out a nervous throaty laugh. “I mean, not much.”
He lay down, facing her and held her close. She kissed him on the mouth in acquiescence, and he pulled her on top of him.
“What — ?”
“I know what you want, remember? Trust me.”
“Famous last words.”
He smiled at her bravado. “Mountain Laurel, you’re one in a million.” His gaze narrowed in on her. “Damn, this is going to feel so good.” He guided her with his hands, pausing when she gasped with a quick intake of air. “Take your time. You know what to do.” He moved her hips in a barely perceptible rhythm, which she slowly began to take over. His eyes closed, and he let himself sink into the warm, urgent cadence, shuddering as he felt his tenuous control slipping away. Somewhere in the middle of it, he realized she was losing her restraint too, and he wanted to shout in primal triumph as the world exploded in a white-hot burst of light. While the resulting embers faded and floated away, he felt a tear slide from the outer corner of his eye. He brought his hands up under the red curtain of her hair to hold her forehead against his. His voice came out low, smooth and sure. “I will always love you, Laurel Elliot. Always.”
Chapter 7
Christmas Day
Fat snowflakes flew across the windshield of James’s Toyota Corolla as he snaked along the interstate curves leading to the mountains. His cheeks were tight and drawn from where he’d swiped away tears, and his jaw hurt from clenching it for the last hundred miles. He was almost there — almost to the closest thing he had to a home now. And it wasn’t a place, although the place was part of it. His home was now a person — a person with flaming red hair, dark blue eyes, and a smile that made all his troubles fade and his worries disappear. Laurel.
He only hoped she would be there. They had been planning this interlude since October. Her weekly letters kept him abreast of the progress on her cabin, and the last one said the place was done — not fancy — but livable, and she was planning to spend her Christmas break there. She asked him to join her, and he said yes, but the plans were for him to arrive day after next. There was no phone — no way to reach her to say he was coming early.
He still had a key to the Pendletons’ boat in case her place wasn’t an option, but he really hoped he wouldn’t have to use it. The boat would provide shelter, but shelter wasn’t what he was looking for. He wanted comfort. He wanted Laurel.
The car in front of him fishtailed in the snow, reminding him to pay attention to the rapidly deteriorating road conditions. According to the radio, the worst of the storm wouldn’t hit until sometime around midnight, but he knew the snow would probably be heavier in the mountains. Once he made it to the cabin, he’d be up there for a while.
What would she say when he got there? Would she be shocked? Happy to see him? Would she see the anguish in him right away, or would he have to tell her the whole story before she understood?
Wipers stuttered over the windshield, the rough sound of rubber against dry glass. The exit sign for the lake shone like a green beacon in the dark. He signaled and changed lanes, and soon he was on the two-lane road that wound its way to Elliot’s Marina. Luckily, the snow had slacked off some although it was still hard to see. Somehow, he found the drive that led down to the dock. There were a few lights on there, and a few more a little farther up the main road that marked the entrance to the Elliot family home. He could see smoke from their fire swirling above the trees in thin wisps. He drove on, creeping along the road so he wouldn’t end up in the ditch. The cabin’s gravel drive was almost completely obscured by snow, but miraculously, he found it in the dark. He shifted down into first gear, but his car ended up stuck anyway in the steep driveway about a hundred yards from the house.
He revved his engine a time or two but the wheels just spun in place. The old car wasn’t going any farther, so he grabbed his duffel and his guitar from the trunk, wound his scarf around his neck, and trudged through the falling snow. As he stepped through the last row of trees and into the clearing, he caught a glimpse of the cabin, and his heart leapt. There were lights on, and smoke drifted from the chimney. Someone was there! Desperate optimism made him believe it was Laurel and Virginia.
Hoisting his bag on his shoulder, James walked up the steps, pulling down his scarf so she would recognize him, and set his burden on the porch floor. He opened the screen and knocked on the wooden door behind it. The curtain slid over the sidelight for a second and then jerked back closed. The door flew open and there she stood, wide-eyed and wonderful.
“James!”
He tried to answer her, but words stuck in his throat. He held his arms open, and Laurel filled them. A thankful groan escaped him, and he held her to him as if he would never let go.
* * *
James sat in the corner of Laurel’s little couch, admiring her form as she approached. Her hair was pulled back and tied low on her neck, draping over one shoulder. She wore an ivory fisherman sweater and jeans tucked into brown suede boots. She looked warm and comfortable walking toward him, holding out a steaming mug of tea.
“Sorry, there’s no coffee. I don’t drink it very often, so I don’t keep any here.”
“This is fine,” he said, nodding his thanks to her. “It’s hot, which is the most important thing right now.”
“I didn’t hear you coming. Where’s your car?”
“It’s stuck about
halfway up the driveway.”
She sat in the other corner of the couch and wrapped both hands around her cup. “I bet it was a cold walk.”
He gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “Where’s Virginia?” He looked around for evidence of the older sister.
“She’s gone back to school early. She rented an apartment up there, and I think Stu might come down from Cincinnati and visit her over break.”
“Ah.”
“You want a sandwich or something? I brought some ham up from Mom and Dad’s house.”
“No, thank you — not right now.” He set his cup on the coffee table and reached for hers, putting it on the table next to his. “Come here so I can say hello properly.”
She laughed and slid over, wrapping her long arms around his neck. “Hello,” she whispered, and kissed him on the lips. He sank into the kiss, pulling her to him and willing her mouth to open under his. He pulled the tie off her hair and ran his fingers through the long, shining, red locks, settling his hand on the back of her head to hold her securely in place. The pent-up emotions of the past twenty-four hours unraveled inside him, and his desperation to make a connection with her was overwhelming. He moaned her name, inching his hands under her sweater.
“Oooh, your hands are cold.”
“Let me warm them on you.” He moved in to kiss her again, and she caught his face in her hands and pulled back to look at him.
“James?”
“Mm-hmm?”
“This visit is a bit of a surprise. You’re here early.”
“Wanted to see you.”
“Mm-hmm. Wanted to see you too.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“When are you going to tell me what’s happened?”
“What do you mean?” he answered, not wanting to talk about it when he was all charged up for other reasons.
“You look . . . happy, yet unhappy — happy that you’re here, but unhappy about something . . . something big . . . something that brought you here two days early.”
He sighed. “I don’t want to go into it just yet.”
She studied him for a moment. Then she shrugged. “You’re the boss, Jim Dandy.” She turned so her back was to his chest and leaned against him, pulling his arm around her. “So, do you want to hear about my Christmas?”
He nestled her head under his chin and drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair, her skin, all of her. He felt his pulse quicken but his body relax, which didn’t seem possible, but there it was. “Go on.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “The whole Elliot crew gathered round the family homestead for the holiday. My mother planned this elaborate dinner to celebrate Christmas and Ginny and me coming home from school. It was the perfect Christmas feast — ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, rolls, and green beans with ham hocks.”
James shuddered, and she laughed at him. “Buckeye.”
“Hillbilly.”
“Anyway, to go on with my story . . . It was going to be quite a to-do.” She ran her hand down his arm as she might stroke the spine of a cat. James almost purred.
“But then, the big Christmas Day arrives” — she paused — “and Mom spends all day in her room crying.”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
“So, Virginia and I made the dinner. We fix Mom a plate and take it in to her. We open the presents without her, and then late this afternoon, Ginny says she’s done and heads back to Lexington. It’s supposed to snow, and suddenly I can’t stand the thought of being trapped in that house anymore. So I leave my brothers playing on their new Nintendo and Spring with her nose in a book, pack up some leftovers, and hightail it out of there.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“So here’s my question: when I run off up here, what makes me any different than Mom running off to her room? Don’t you think we’re both hiding?”
“No, it’s different, Laurel.”
“How?”
“You’re still changing, still growing, still doing new things — you’re going to school, you’re working on this cabin. Trust me; it’s different than crying in bed all day. You know that.”
“She wasn’t always like this, you know. I mean, she was always quiet and shy, but not like this.” Laurel’s voice became very soft. “What if that happens to me too? When I get older?”
“It won’t.”
“You sound so sure of that.”
“You won’t do that. You’re going to get off this mountain and go out there and do something incredible.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. You make anything seem possible.” She snuggled deeper into him, and they sat in silence for several minutes, contented in the closeness and the quiet. James felt his lids drooping, and he fought the urge to sleep. He didn’t drive all this way to crash on Laurel’s couch. He wanted her — had been waiting for her these four months — but in spite of himself and without realizing what he was doing, he slipped into the welcome oblivion of exhausted slumber.
Chapter 8
The next thing James knew, he was awakened by sunlight streaming in the window. He lay curled up on the couch, a patchwork quilt over him and a pillow under his head. He glanced around the empty, cold room and sat up in slow motion, stretching his arms over his head. First, he needed the bathroom. Second, he needed to find his toothbrush because his teeth felt like sandpaper.
The back door slammed, and a blast of frigid air hit him. Laurel appeared in the doorway, arms filled with wood, charmingly dressed in jeans and a thick barn jacket. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her hair was mussed under a knit hat topped with an absurd pom-pom. She looked like a snow bunny.
“You’re awake,” she announced in a cheerful voice.
He rubbed his hand over his face. “Hello, Beautiful.”
She blushed even rosier. “I started a fire.”
“Beautiful and accomplished,” he said, watching her with a secret little smile.
She rolled her eyes. “James, I’ve been building fires since I was ten.”
“All the more impressive.”
She looked at him in sober contemplation. “I’m going to put this wood in the stove, make some tea and oatmeal for breakfast, and then I want you to stop trying to distract me with silly compliments — although they’re much appreciated — and tell me what’s going on with you, okay?”
He sighed. “Okay.” He got up and opened his duffle. “Shower?”
She pointed down the hall.
“Come with me?” He waggled his eyebrows at her, only half joking.
“You haven’t seen the shower yet. I doubt we could both fit.”
“Be back shortly.”
She walked over and put her arms around him, hugging him close. “I’m so glad to see you,” she whispered. He kissed her and disappeared into the hall.
She was right about the shower. It was barely big enough to turn around in. James washed in a hurry and jumped out, shivering in the cold as he donned his clothes. He ran his fingers through his hair and decided he’d shave later. When he entered the kitchen, Laurel was setting the table with two bowls and mismatched spoons. A carton of milk, some sugar and cinnamon, and a teapot made an unpretentious centerpiece.
Then she turned, spoon in hand, and gave him a smile as brilliant as sun on snow.
He sat down and picked up his cup while she spooned out the oatmeal.
“My parents are getting a divorce,” he began.
She set the spoon down in the pan, her face awash in concern and sympathy. “Oh, no!”
“Oh, yes. I knew things were bad, but it all came to a head yesterday when my mother told me that my father has been having an affair for the last ten months.” He dumped two large spoonfuls of sugar on his cereal.
“Oh . . . oh, James.” She reached over and grasped his hand. He dared a look up at her, but he saw no shock, no disdain, no censure there — only compassion.
“I guess she’s known a while now, but she wanted us to have one last Christmas as a family. Apparently, the other woman didn’t like that, so she called the house, complaining that Dad had promised to come over to see her yesterday, but he couldn’t because Mom insisted he stay around while I was home. She goes on to ask Mom what was the point of making him stay for the holiday since Mom already agreed to the divorce.
“So, there’s a huge blow-up. Mom is furious with Dad. She said she just asked for one little thing for my sake, and he ruined it like he ruins everything.
“Given the state of their marriage, a divorce is probably for the best. They’ve been estranged for three or four years. But he should have been man enough to ask for one in the first place instead of sneaking around like a coward.
“After the cat was out of the bag, Mom threw him out, and he went to what’s-her-name’s house after all. Then he calls me a few hours later and proceeds to tell me there’s no money for my tuition or room and board this semester. Nothing. He said he was going to break it to me gently, but when Mom threw him out, she took that option away from him. He accused her of overspending his income.”
“Wow,” Laurel mused, shaking her head.
“Dad says he can’t pay my college bill in addition to Mom’s alimony. He said plenty of other things too, but the gist of the conversation was, ‘You’re on your own for the bill.’”
“He actually said that?”
“Well, to be honest, I didn’t give him a chance to say it. I just hung up.”
“Maybe you should have let him explain,” she answered, her voice small and tentative.
James rolled his eyes. “Explain what? How he made a mess of my life? How he ruined our family? What’s the point of listening to that?”
“I know you’re angry, but he might have had a helpful suggestion or two about school.”
“You don’t know my dad. He doesn’t give helpful suggestions, just ultimatums. It’s his way or the highway.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I don’t know. Dad says I’m twenty years old, and it’s time to start standing on my own two feet. I have a little money, but not near enough. I’ve never been too good about saving, and it’s not like I had any warning or time to prepare. Maybe there’s enough for tuition, I don’t know, but I can’t apply for a student loan in time to pay my rent, so it looks like I’m sitting out at least a semester.”
