Reckless

by Ruth Wind

  The splash of water warned her Jake was coming. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said as he joined her, a halfeaten apple in hand.

  “I was thinking I’m glad to be a native of Red Creek. How many people can claim the blessing of being born in such a beautiful place?”

  “I can.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “My dad, too, I guess.”

  “I didn’t realize he was a native.”

  Jake nodded. “He was.” He flung the apple core hard, deep into a stand of trees. “Did you know him?”

  “Sure. He was one of my patients, too.” She lifted her brows in resignation. “Not a good patient, obviously, but when he felt sick enough, I treated him.”

  “Stubborn old dog.”

  Ramona sighed, remembering Olan’s plethora of lifestyle health problems—everything from his gall bladder to gout to the clogged arteries he ignored until they killed him. “He might have been around a long time if he’d made a few small changes. Walked a mile a day. Cut about half the fat in his diet.”

  “Really?” Jake reached into the water and emerged with a handful of pebbles. “I thought his heart was pretty bad.”

  “His heart was stressed,” she said slowly. “But it was a treatable condition.”

  Jake expertly tossed a rock, and it skipped cleanly over the surface of the lake for a long way. His face had a shuttered look.

  “Do you miss him?” Ramona asked, plucking a flat stone from Jake’s palm.

  He sighed and skipped another rock. “I wish I could say yes. But Lance was the only son my father had time for, and he was even an a—” he glanced at her, grimaced “—a jerk to him. But still Lance pretty much worshiped the ground my father walked on.”

  Tentatively, Ramona tried to skip a rock, but it clunked into the water. “He was hard on you?”

  “I guess.” He handed her a smooth, flat stone. “Use a Frisbee motion.” He illustrated.

  She tried it, and the rock moved in perfect arcs, five times. Ramona laughed. “You’re just full of interesting bits of knowledge, aren’t you?”

  Jake lifted one dark brow. “A man of many talents.” A lock of dark hair, now dried from his swim, fell over his forehead, giving him a rakish look. He bumped her playfully with his shoulder. “And you haven’t even uncovered my true area of giftedness.”

  If he had not glanced at her mouth suggestively, Ramona might have been able to toss off this snippet of banter, but that lingering, promising glance gave her a hot, heavy sensation, and her mind went blank. She suddenly became aware of his naked chest, the damp shorts clinging to his taut buttocks.

  “Honey, if you could bottle that look, you’d be a millionaire.”

  Heat crawled up her neck and edged the tips of her ears. She shifted her gaze away to the water. “What look?”

  “Miss Innocence,” he said with a low chuckle. “Look at me again, Ramona.”

  “No.” Stubbornly, she stuck her hands in her back pockets. “As it is, you think you’re irresistible.”

  “Ah.” The single syllable was deep and rich and full of knowledge. It slid down Ramona’s spine like a moist tongue. “You have to prove you can resist.” Laughter edged his words as he added, “It must be very difficult if you can’t even look at me.”

  As he meant her to do, Ramona laughed. “You’re such a bad boy, Jake Forrest.”

  He grinned, and the expression no longer looked odd on his lean face. Mischief reached all the way to his sapphire blue eyes and shone there like stars. “I am that,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t you like to find out just how bad I can be?”

  Oh, yes. She looked at his mouth, then back to his eyes. “You’re too much of a heartbreaker,” she said. “I never was one of those girls who wanted to tame a James Dean.”

  “James Dean?” he echoed incredulously.

  “You know the type.” She shrugged.

  “So what type did you want?” he asked, then held up a hand. “No, let me guess. David Cassidy?”

  Ramona laughed. “No way.”

  He narrowed his eyes in thought. “I would have guessed you to have a crush on Donnie Osmond or...who was that other guy? The one in that Western show?”

  “Bobby Sherman. My best friend was wild for him.”

  “But not you?”

  “No.” Ramona trailed her hands in the water. “I was wild for Cane, in ‘Kung Fu.’”

  “What?” He laughed, and Ramona loved the easy sound of it coming from his chest, deep and rich and full of honest enjoyment. “Miss Earth Mother? Miss I-Put-My-Jelly-Up-By-Hand liked ‘Kung Fu’?”

  “Never missed a single episode.”

  He cocked his head to look at her. “unbelievable.”

  “Stop laughing at me,” she protested, and splashed him a little. “Did you ever watch it?”

  “Sure. My brothers and I had a date with Y Chang every week.” He held out his hand. “‘When you can snatch the pebble from my hand, grasshopper, you will be a man.’”

  “That’s the thing everyone remembers, like it’s some big joke, but it was a lot more than that. It was spiritual, in a way television usually isn’t. Especially not then,” she added, thinking of the other offerings at the time.

  “So you weren’t watching for the fight scenes?”

  Ramona lifted a shoulder. “I didn’t say that. I loved the fight scenes.”

  “Really?”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?”

  He looked puzzled. “I’m not sure. You’re just so—” He broke off. “I guess it’s like the doctor and nurse business. I expected you were a nurse because I figured women doctors would usually be so driven or tougher or something.”

  She smiled. “I guess we both have a lot to learn about stereotypes.”

  “I guess we do.” He splashed her. “And that was very neatly done, grasshopper.”

  Ramona danced away from him. “What?”

  “Avoidance of my devilish talents.” His grin was pure male. “But you know what they say. You can run, but you can’t hide.” With another quick, playful splash at her, he turned toward shore. “Come on. I bet that fish is cooked by now.”

  As they waded back to shore, Ramona admired his long, tanned back and tried to remember exactly why she was running. In his present mood, it seemed as silly to resist him as it would be to resist enjoying a field full of wildflowers.

  So beautiful, she thought. If only he could get well.

  Chapter 9

  The fish was excellent, and in combination with the fruit and cider, Ramona could not imagine a more perfect meal. She licked the lemony juice from her fingers with a sigh. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut our friendship short this very minute, Jake.”

  “Oh, really? Why’s that?”

  Falling back on the blanket, she gave a sated sigh. “You feed me too well. I’ll be as big as a house before you know it.”

  He stretched out on the other side of the blanket, the decimated piles of food a safety wall between them, and propped himself on one elbow. “I wish you liked your body more.”

  With a grin, Ramona spread her fingers over the plumpness of her belly. If the truth were told, she really did like the way it felt. “I like it fine. I just wish I could eat like everyone else and not turn into a Reuben.”

  “I think you’d be better as a French dip.”

  She laughed. “Very funny.”

  “Yet another of my many talents.” He moved the plates to one side, then the grapes.

  She sat up. “Oh, no, you don’t, Mr. Wonderful.”

  “What?” He gave her a wolfish grin.

  Ramona’s heart flipped. Dappled sunlight fell upon his face, making him look boyish and approachable. “Don’t you start teasing me again.”

  Undeterred, he put a long, elegant hand on her leg, just above her knee. “We could just make out,” he said. “Pretend we were in high school.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have come out here to this isolated spot with you.”

  His hand moved a li
ttle higher up on her thigh and then a little farther down, curling around the sensitive back of her knee. “So why did you agree?”

  Ramona took refuge under her hair, bowing her head so it fell forward and obscured her face. “I don’t know.”

  “Can’t hide from me, grasshopper.” He moved to duck under her hair and made an exaggerated kissing sound with his lips. “Come on, give me some sugar.”

  Ramona laughed and pushed at his shoulders. “Ick!”

  They tumbled together, wrestling playfully, Jake making kissing sounds and tickling her, Ramona holding him off in mock horror. Their bare legs tangled and slid, and one of his hands got caught in her hair, and they fell back onto the blanket, laughing. It was only then that Ramona realized he was aroused. She felt him against her thigh, and the vision of that heavy sex covered in soft cotton came back to her, flooding her senses with the swift, biting swell of desire.

  As if he realized she noticed, Jake pressed ever so slightly into her. “I’ve been aching for you since this morning.”

  “Jake...” she protested weakly.

  He was braced over her, his face only inches away. Black hair fell around his face and against her palms; his skin was warm and silky. “Can I kiss you, Ramona? Just for a little while?”

  Her hands betrayed her by sliding down his back in exploration.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured, then bent his head and claimed her mouth.

  The kiss was exquisite. His lips were full and hot and moist and he knew what he was doing—that much she had learned at the reception. He had perfect lips, firm and pliant and knowledgeable, and Ramona made a small sound of pleasure at his touch. He slanted his mouth and Ramona opened to him, inviting his tongue to explore as she explored in return, and there was no awkwardness, no confusion, only total and complete harmony.

  Dipping, playing, seducing, drinking, he kissed as if the act was an end in itself. He teased her lips with his tongue and suckled lightly. Ramona liked best the light dance of tongues. He seemed to sense that and indulged her, fencing and tantalizing until every bone in her body turned to pudding.

  “I love your mouth,” he said, lifting his head. “You have great lips.”

  Ramona pulled him back to her, dizzy with the sensation of kissing him, wanting more. He rolled to her side, then they tangled their legs together and kissed and kissed and kissed just like teenagers. Ramona’s blood heated and flowed through her in a tingling rush, alerting every nerve to be ready. When he brushed a hand down her back, she shuddered, and when she explored his ribs, he groaned. The weight of her clothes seemed constricting and safe all at once.

  Finally, he lifted his head, and Ramona saw reflected on his face the same slightly dazed expression that summed up her feelings. Equal parts wonder, desire, and contentment. In a rough voice, he said, “I have to stop now.”

  Ramona nodded. But she couldn’t seem to move away. With one finger, she touched his lower lip. “You have a pretty nice mouth yourself.”

  “Thanks.” He swallowed, and his hand moved on her waist, then stilled. “I’m not feeling very resistant, Ramona. Distract me.”

  She wasn’t feeling very resistant, either. Some instinct of preservation prompted her to ask, “How about if you answer my question now, then?”

  His vivid blue eyes sobered. “That might be more of a distraction than you bargained for.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” The boil had to be lanced.

  “Ali right. Do it now, so I can think about something besides coaxing you out of your clothes.”

  “Do you want me to move?”

  His hand tightened on her side. “No.” He closed his eyes. “This is nice.”

  Nice. A very small word for what she felt lying next to him in a patch of shade from tall pines, in the silence of a summer afternoon in the mountains, his long legs tangled with hers, his member a low thrust against her thigh. She lifted a hand to his dark hair and brushed it away from that vulnerable temple. “Okay. I want you to tell me your dream. The one that keeps you from sleeping.”

  His eyes flew open. “No.”

  “You promised,” she said quietly. “Any question of my choosing.”

  Abruptly, he rolled away, turning his long, tanned back to her. “Not that one. Think of something else.”

  Her body felt cold where he had been, and Ramona drew her knees up to her chest. It would be so easy to let it all go, to pretend he was on the mend and he’d get better on his own.

  But Ramona knew he wouldn’t, not until he released the bitter memories that were causing him so much pain. Still, discretion was the better part of valor and all that. “Okay,” she said, and mulled over a second choice. “Why did you resign your commission?”

  For a long, endless moment, he was silent. Tension radiated from the muscles in his back, gone rigid now. Ramona thought he wouldn’t answer this one, either.

  Finally, without looking at her, he replied, “I couldn’t do it anymore. I found out I don’t have what it takes to be a soldier.” His jaw was hard. “It’s that simple.”

  Her heart sank. “Is it, Jake?”

  “It is.” He stood up and started gathering things together. “We’d probably better head back. It’s getting late.”

  Jake stepped out of the car at Ramona’s gate. She had dozed most of the way back and looked sleepy and a little sunburned as she collected her basket of demolished supplies.

  He could think of nothing to say as they rounded the car, and Ramona did not meet his eyes. A dull ache pounded in his chest, and he couldn’t seem to break through it.

  “Thanks, Jake,” she said casually as she unlocked the gate. “I needed a break like this.”

  “You’re welcome.” He wanted to make some light comment about the fish or the kissing or something, but nothing came to mind. He only looked at her, aware of the sludge in his chest. “Thanks for going with me.”

  Her gaze skittered to his. mouth, then to his eyes, and she took a step back. It was only right she should expect a goodbye kiss. After everything that had passed between them, he should want it, too.

  And he did. But he couldn’t seem to take another step closer, and she finally lifted a hand and gave him a brave smile. “I’ll see you.”

  “Okay.” It was all he could manage.

  But as she turned and walked down her curving driveway, he still couldn’t move. Her loose hair swung in thick golden brown swirls across her back like some beautifully woven cloak, and her bottom swayed very prettily. When her dogs came rushing around a corner, she touched each one, and they greeted her with devotion and eagerness.

  Standing frozen on the other side of the gate, Jake imagined himself leaping nimbly over the barrier and running after her. He saw himself pulling her inside to her herbstrewn kitchen, then into the dark recesses of her bedroom. He saw himself making love to her, maybe all night. He saw himself steeping on her breast....

  She didn’t turn her head for another look and he didn’t leap over the fence. Instead, she disappeared around a bend, and Jake moved on robotic legs back to his car.

  The restlessness that had driven him out to the bar last night was back. It rattled on his nerves and danced on his spine. He also knew he was physically tired—the long day in the sun after a night short of sleep had taken its toll. He needed a nice hot shower, a good meal and a long, undisturbed night’s rest.

  So he tried it. He went back to his condo and showered, then made himself a thick, juicy steak with a baked potato and washed it down with a bottle of honeyed ale. He watched ESPN while he ate. It soothed him a little. Whistling softly, he straightened up the apartment, took a couple of sleeping pills with some water and went upstairs to bed.

  Where he stared at the ceiling. And shifted to. stare at the wall. Then flipped over on his belly and closed his eyes. Nothing.

  With a sigh, he clicked on the bedside lamp and read until he felt very drowsy, but as soon as he put the book away and turned out the light, he was wide awake aga
in.

  Slowly, a feeling of panic began to creep over him. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter if he slept tonight. He didn’t have to be anywhere early in the morning—he had a good manager at the restaurant. He tried to tell himself he was a night owl, and it would be okay to get up and watch movies on the cable channels—all night if he wished—and rise at noon.

  He watched a movie and half of another one. He paced and avoided taking a drink because he didn’t want to mix it with the pills. At 3:00 a.m., he turned the stereo on low and reorganized the few things on his kitchen shelves. At four, he started on the living room, gathering old magazines and the accumulated junk he’d left lying around.

  At five, he made some coffee and watched the sun rise over the mountains, bleakly admitting he had no life. There was nothing he believed in. Nothing he cared about except maybe his mother and brothers. Nothing in his life that would ever give him any joy. He felt hollow, empty, useless.

  The blank walls of his condo seemed to mock him. He looked at the white painted walls and remembered Ramona’s rich, fecund kitchen. You knew the minute you walked into the plant-filled room that the woman who lived there was warm and giving and kind. You felt it.

  Once, his home had reflected his tastes. Because a military man had to move regularly, he preferred to keep those possessions to a minimum, but he’d chosen them with pride and care. They spoke of his travels and the passion he had once felt for beauty. He’d collected unusual artworks representing the cultures he’d visited and had once been proud of the painting he’d found of the night skies.

  Everything was stored in a closet upstairs. He hadn’t bothered to unpack any of it. They mocked him, his things. Mocked his grand dream of being a soldier, the only dream he’d ever had. Now he looked back on the arrogant youth, the fast-track officer, and felt pity for the fool he’d been.

  Jake buried his face in his hands and swayed dizzily. Exhaustion. He recognized it and fell sideways on the couch, praying for rest. For peace. For the healthy sleep of a normal man.

  And into his exhausted mind crept his dream. His memory.