Reckless

by Ruth Wind

  “Are you ready to go? I have a lunch packed.”

  “Did you put on a swimsuit?”

  Ramona did not wear the things, not in public at any rate. “No way.”

  “You aren’t going to swim and let me ogle you in an itty-bitty bathing suit?”

  She blushed. He really had no clue at all. He was used to model-slim women. Not in a million years would she let him see her even in her modest maillot. “Trust me, bathing suits and I are not a match made in heaven. This is better.”

  He cocked his head again, making the light dance on his crown. Then he shrugged. “Whatever you say. Don’t blame me when I’m in the water, all cool and refreshed, and you have to sit there in your clothes.”

  “I won’t,” she said serenely.

  He grinned. “Let’s go, then.”

  Chapter 8

  Jake loved sailing. He liked being on the water in the quiet, with pine trees arrowing up into the neon blue sky, and the furry deep purple knuckles of mountains embroidering zigzags down to the horizon. He liked the sound of water lapping against the boat, and the cry of gulls, and the mingled scents of wax and fish and the faint notes of leaf mold from shore.

  He didn’t ordinarily take anyone with him. He liked to sail alone, to fall into the vastness of nature in complete solitude, but his brothers and mother had nagged him so often about the dangers that he’d begun to feel a twinge of guilt about it.

  Propped with her back against the bench, Ramona was an excellent companion. One of the things he liked about her was her singular lack of the need to chatter. She didn’t fill up quiet spaces with a lot of meaningless chitchat, like Lance would have, or most of the women Jake dated. When she spoke, it was to point something out or share an observation or muse aloud. It left Jake free to drift along without thinking, which was, in his opinion, the whole purpose of sailing.

  There were just a few boats out. Red Creek was usually crowded with tourists all winter, but in the summer, it was really only busy on holiday weekends. There were camping areas near one end of the reservoir, but at the other was a wilderness as yet undeveloped, a landscape dotted with coves and small beaches. Jake headed for that end and, in a calm stretch of water, let down the anchor.

  “Do you fish?” he asked Ramona, baiting a line.

  “Not really. If you catch something, I’ll cook it, but you have to clean it first.”

  “Hey, I cook my own fish, remember?”

  “I forgot, oh mighty chef.” She stretched her legs out over the edge of the bench and tipped her face up to the sun. “What’s your favorite fish recipe?”

  Jake cast his line into the quiet noonday waters, little expecting anything to bite. “Lemon bass,” he said, “baked with peppercorns and lemon peel.”

  Ramona opened her eyes. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “It is.”

  “How did you get involved in cooking, anyway? It seems like a strange profession for a man like you.”

  “A man like me?”

  “Yeah, a macho man.” She grinned unapologetically.

  “Are you stereotyping again, Dr. Hardy?”

  She raised her brows. “Did I or did I not correctly name your favorite music?”

  “Ah...yes.”

  “I rest my case. Answer the question. How does a soldier boy like you end up cooking like that?”

  “It’s not a profession, it’s a hobby,” he said. “And you know, all the best chefs are men.”

  She chuckled. “So are most of the best hairdressers.”

  Jake shot her a grin, but she had already leaned back again, perfectly comfortable with her eyes closed, her legs extended to the sun. He wondered if she had any idea how sybaritic she looked. Her face and throat were dewy, and a bar of sunlight slid down her chest in a curvy line. The sheer pleasure she took in the sun and fresh air made him feel lusty.

  For one moment, Jake let himself remember how lovely her breasts had felt, heavy and warm against his palms, the tips eager for his touch. She hadn’t known how she looked then, either, had no idea how her nipples had pearled when he kissed her palm, how her eyes had gone limpid and sensual. She just didn’t have a clue how sexy she was.

  Amazing. He popped the top of a beer and shifted his focus to the undulating surface of the water. He’d promised not to come on to her, and he’d stick by it. It was a lousy idea anyway. As powerful as the physical attraction was between them, she was right—they really weren’t the same kind of people at all.

  And he liked her too much to indulge his usual hit-and-run sex with her. He wanted her friendship and respect. He didn’t have many friends.

  Following Ramona’s example of undiluted relaxation, he stripped off his shirt and balanced his fishing pole on his knee. He stretched out to let the sun warm his body, sink into his chest and limbs and knit all those little wounds. Nothing ever felt quite as good as the warmth of the sun bathing his body.

  The boat rocked gently, and Jake closed his eyes. Sunlight stung his burn and he used his shirt to cover it. He was surprised how well the aloe had worked, actually. What had looked at first as if it would be a raw, blistered burn was only red and angry-looking. It would heal fine.

  He dozed, the sunlight red against his eyelids. Sunlight, bright and blazing...

  With one of those abrupt, alarming shifts, he was in the desert. The endless, dun-colored desert. The air was filled with the sound of guns and tanks and cries. He couldn’t tell who was screaming until a soldier behind him said, “Mary and Joseph, we’ve hit a village.”

  On his sloop in the middle of the lake, Jake bolted upright. His movement rocked the boat a little, and he dropped the fishing pole with a clatter. He swore under his breath and reached for the pole with a hand that shook ever so slightly.

  He glanced at Ramona. She had opened her eyes and simply looked at him with those infinitely patient, velvety eyes. He saw compassion and understanding and acceptance, and they made him hate himself even more. If she really knew everything, all that gentleness would be wiped away.

  “Do you want to tell me about your bad dreams, Jake?”

  “I don’t have bad dreams,” he said gruffly. It wasn’t a lie. Dreams were manufactured of dust and fantasies and fears. His were memories.

  He expected that she would now pose her question, the question he had promised to answer. His throat dried and he took a long swallow of cold beer to wet it. He had promised. He would answer.

  But she only pointed to a bluff. “Look! Isn’t that Makeout Point?”

  Her simple acceptance of his obvious need to avoid the subject was a little unsettling. Had he wanted her to probe those raw wounds? With a mental shake, he looked over his shoulder. “I believe it is.”

  “Only ‘believe’?” she teased. “The Jake Forrest I remember had a string of girls as long as the I-70. My guess is you had your own parking space, with a little plaque nailed to a tree.”

  In spite of himself, he grinned. “Well, it didn’t have my name on it, but I could usually count on the spot below that ponderosa pine up there on the left.”

  Her laughter rolled out, husky and sexy. “I don’t imagine you had much time to appreciate the view.”

  “Not the view of nature anyway.” He raised his eyebrows rakishly. “Sounds like you know more than a good girl should about the Point. Did we all have you pegged wrong?”

  Lazily, she shifted her head, and her hair scattered loosely over the seat. “Is that how the guys pegged me? As a good girl?”

  “I don’t know about them, but I did.”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I was. Didn’t have a single date in all of high school.”

  Jake inclined his head. “Really?” What could they have been thinking? How had he been so blind to the charms of this woman all those years ago?

  “Really.” Her expression was droll. “Think about it. Who was going to ask a dumpy, scholarly girl out on a date? I mean, I probably wouldn’t even have known what to talk about. I would have been pet
rified.”

  “I bet I could have found a way to make you talk,” he said lightly, shooting a grin her way.

  “You?” She snorted. “You wouldn’t have given me the time of day, Jake Forrest. You liked them then just as you like them now—tall and elegant.”

  If that was true, he wondered why he spent most of his time with Ramona in a state of near arousal. “Well,” he responded guardedly, glancing toward the lake, its surface sparkling with sunlight, “teenage boys are notoriously obvious.”

  The oddest hint of despair flickered over her eyes. It piqued Jake’s curiosity. Had she loved and lost someone important to her?

  “How about college?” he asked, hoping for clues. “Did the guys find you there?”

  But when she answered, her voice was even and calm. “I had dates in college.”

  “Anyone important?”

  She gave him a womanly, enigmatic smile. “One or two.”

  Just that fast, he wanted her. Wanted to leap across the small cockpit and cover her body with his own and kiss her senseless. Breathless. “And since then?”

  “Mind your own business, soldier boy.” With a languorous gesture, she lifted her hair off her neck. “How about you? Why aren’t you married? Isn’t that part of the up-and-coming officer scenario?”

  “I was married for a while. We divorced when she snagged a more powerful officer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Jake shrugged. “Don’t be. It wasn’t even a big deal when it happened.”

  “How long were you married?”

  “A couple of years. We were both in our twenties. There were no children, and I lost track of her. Wasn’t meant to be.”

  “I can’t imagine sharing a big part of your life with someone and then just losing touch.”

  He thought about Linda, his ex. Tall and slim and beautiful, she had been exceedingly efficient, bossy and ambitious on his behalf. Truthfully, he’d been relieved to have the marriage end. “Does that mean you keep in touch with those one or two important college boyfriends?”

  “Yes.”

  A twinge of—jealousy?—twisted in him. It surprised him into a smile. “Any regrets on your part?”

  “None at all.”

  Jake thought about pushing a little further, but at that moment, she slid down on the bench so she was lying flat. Her long hair spilled almost to the floor beside her. Against her body, the gauzy shirt settled and clung to her breasts, and she bent up one knee. She looked utterly trusting, utterly relaxed, and utterly unaware of how delectable he found her.

  He stood up. “I’m going to take a dip. Be right back.”

  Ramona was relieved—at least for a moment—when Jake decided to go for a swim. She could not bear one more moment of his naked, gleaming chest staring her in the face.

  It was unfair that a man should be so perfect. His shoulders were broad and neatly muscular without being pumped. His stomach showed washboard strength—likely he still did sit-ups every morning—and his skin was warmly tanned.

  The detail that intrigued her the most was the exquisite scattering of hair from nipple to nipple. Not too much. Not too little. Just right—a virile dusting of silky black hair that tapered to a tiny little line that furred his belly below the navel.

  She had pretended not to notice when he shucked his shirt, but a woman would have to be dead not to care about all that smooth brown skin. She had the most peculiar picture of the way that single line of hair would feel against her naked stomach.

  Yeah. Like she’d notice the feeling of a quarter-inch wide line of hair if Jake Forrest’s naked body was pressed to her bare skin.

  Sunbathing had always made her feel slightly aroused. It was so luxurious to soak in all the warmth, especially at the start of summer, when the bones had been chilled all winter. The sun worked loose any lingering tightness, softened all the tense muscles.

  The combination of the sun, the softly rocking boat and Jake’s bare chest made her feel dangerously languorous and hungry. It would be so easy to reach out a hand to beckon him to her. So easy to let him stretch himself over her and kiss her and then make love in the sunshine.

  So easy.

  With a sigh, she sat up and peeked in the cooler for something to drink. Not beer, she decided. That would probably be the last straw. If she drank a beer, she wouldn’t wait for Jake to make a move—she’d probably attack him the minute he came back aboard.

  Selecting a can of juice, she stretched and watched Jake swim with the smooth, athletic grace she would have expected him to display, his arms cutting the water with barely a sound. For a single longing moment, Ramona wished she hadn’t been so shy about her suit. She liked swimming.

  Instead, she drank her juice and idly picked up the fishing pole he had wedged between the cooler and some kind of gadget on the sloop. It was obvious he was not terribly serious about actually catching anything today, so she began to reel in the line, thinking to cast once more.

  A shiver went through the line and Ramona halted instantly, afraid she’d done something wrong. Although he might not mind if she played at fishing, it might annoy him if she caught the line in something and broke the whole pole.

  She moved to put it back down, but it gave a sudden fierce jump and she closed her hands around it reflexively, holding tight. “Jake!” she cried.

  The line rushed out, making the handle on the reel spin crazily. Ramona had no idea what to do, so she just hung on. It occurred to her there was a fish on the other end of the line. It was weirdly exhilarating.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see if Jake had heard, and he was swimming quickly back toward the boat. Knowing he would be able to take over in a minute cleared her head, and Ramona gripped the pole more firmly. What did she know about this? The spinning reel slowed, and instinctively, Ramona caught it and reeled it back in a little. The fish pulled it out again, and she let it swim. When the line went slack, she slowly reeled it in a little at a time.

  She laughed in delight. Behind her, Jake called out, “Hang on, I’m coming aboard,” and she braced her feet to keep her balance in the rocking boat. The fish, seeming to sense a good moment to make a break, suddenly pulled hard.

  Ramona drew the pole into her stomach and grabbed the reel. “Oh, no, you don’t,” she said to the fish, and slowly reeled back again.

  Jake came up behind her and put his cold, wet hands over hers. “Oh, he’s a big one! Hang on. You’re doing great.”

  The fish and Ramona played tug-of-war for five minutes, with Jake murmuring encouragement and helping her hang on. At last, he said, “Do you want to reel him all the way in?”

  “I think I do,” she said. “Do you mind?”

  “Good for you.” His voice was close to her ear, and Ramona noticed with one part of her mind that he was dripping all over her. A rivulet of water tickled its way down her shoulder, then spilled into the valley between her breasts, and his body made the back of her blouse and shorts damp. “Get ready.”

  “Okay.” She braced herself, rocking a little to be sure she had good footing, then following Jake’s lead, pulled hard.

  The fish broke the water, fat and silver and fighting. Jake cried, “Reel him in now!”

  She did. The fish sailed over the side and landed at their feet, stunned. Ramona felt a twinge, then laughed aloud. “He’s big!”

  “He sure is, sweetheart.” With a reverent hand, he held the flapping body to still it, then before Ramona knew what he planned, slit the creature’s throat with a sharp knife. “Thank you, my friend,” Jake said quietly.

  Suddenly, tears sprang to her eyes, and she stared at the fish with a painful sense of regret and the joy of accomplishment warring in her breast.

  “I’ve never caught a fish this size in my life!” Jake said, and looked up. “Oh, honey.” He put his hand around her ankle. “Haven’t you ever caught a fish before?”

  She blinked, trying to clear her vision. A tear escaped her eye and slipped down her cheek. Mute, she shook
her head.

  “My dad taught us to thank them. Try it.”

  Ramona knelt. Jake put her hand on the cold, slick body of the fish. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Did it help?”

  Ramona looked at him. His hair was slicked back from the water, giving his face a strangely exotic look. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He was very close. Close enough that she noticed individual bristles on his chin, close enough that she realized one of his front teeth had come in at a slight angle. Close enough that she saw individual minute creases on his rugged, beautiful face. “For what?” he asked softly.

  She didn’t know exactly. She gestured toward the sky and the lake and the fish. “For all of this. It’s wonderful.”

  With one finger, he touched her cheek. “My pleasure.” He stood briskly and put his hand on the anchor. “The only thing that will make it better is to cook him for lunch. What do you say?”

  “Where?”

  “On shore.” He pointed to the isolated beach nearby, sunny and inviting, with tall trees in a semicircle around it. “I have everything we need.”

  Ramona eyed the private, inviting stretch of sand, and a voice told her it was a bad idea. But her lips moved of their own accord. “Okay.”

  Jake made a fire while Ramona spread a blanket on the soft sand and unpacked the lunch she had put together—a good chunk of sharp cheddar, red grapes, a couple of apples, an assortment of crackers and cider.

  While Jake gutted the fish and waited for the fire to die to the right level, Ramona took a handful of crackers and wandered to the edge of the lake. Leaving her shoes on shore, she waded in up to her thighs, admiring the glitter of sunshine on the water, the soft sound of wavelets lapping on the shore, the eternal whisper of wind through the pointed tops of evergreen trees. The air smelled of wood smoke and forest. Against her legs, the water was deliciously, bitingly cold. In contrast, the sun made her hair almost too hot too touch.

  Glorious, she thought, gazing to the far distant shore and the tumble of the town of Red Creek spilling down the opposite mountainside. From here, it looked tiny and quaint, an old gold-mining settlement turned glitzy little village.