by Ruby Laska
There were a few more houses along the way, not many. A few of the old landmarks were gone; a graceful old oak felled by lightning, a once-pristine fence tilting and peeling, an old bait shack boarded up next to its modern replacement.
The last half mile before the lake, the road became rougher still. There was no reason to head out to the lake unless you planned to do some serious relaxing. The occasional picnicker or hiker or sunbather found their way to the shore, which was overgrown and full of bracken. But mostly people came to be on the water, not next to it. To fish for bluegill or crappie or the legendary twenty-five pound catfish that had outfoxed several generations of sportsmen. To float in lazy circles, dipping a hand in the water from time to time.
Amber had been out on a number of boats with Mac, but their favorite had always been the old wooden skiff that was left pulled up onto the bank, the oars stored underneath, left to fend for itself in the elements until someone else felt like taking it out. It wasn’t Mac’s. It wasn’t anybody’s, or so it seemed; lots of folks knew it was there, and everyone always returned it to the same spot.
Amber eased to a stop when the road deteriorated to twin ruts in the dry, cracked earth. In the spring, when it rained, this road would have been soggy, wet mud, practically impassible. Now it had baked in the heat, a few brave weeds choking up between the tracks.
Amber shielded her eyes against the sun and peered out onto the sparkling waters. Up ahead, she could see Mac’s truck, pulled off to the side, the glossy red paint coated with a thin layer of dust. She pulled the Mercedes off to the side and started down the road.
After a few yards she slipped out of her sandals, backtracked and left them sitting on the hood of the car. No sense ruining a good pair of calfskin shoes, and besides, the lure of going barefoot was too great to resist.
It had been a long time. She felt the textures of the road on the soles of her feet, the rough clods of dirt, the softer pads of matted grass, the sharpness of an occasional twig or pebble. She’d once run here, years ago, her feet tough from a summer outdoors, feeling nothing underfoot until she stepped into the coolness of the water...
At the bank she had to squint to tolerate the blinding flashes of gold cast by the shifting waters. But there he was, out a ways, the little boat bobbing to and fro according to the water’s whim. Was it the same boat? Were their initials still carved in the bottom? MM & AD ALWAYS, she could see it in her mind’s eye, the fresh white hardwood exposed by his pocketknife, gleaming against the weathered gray.
It was only his profile, but it was Mac, of that she had no doubt. Even in profile he was unmistakable, his chin resting contemplatively on one fist, as he stared out at nothing at all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Mac,” she called softly. Her voice was lost in the afternoon hum of insects and birds and water lapping on the shore.
She cupped her hands and closed her eyes and called his name with all her strength, all her heart. After a moment, when it seemed as if even the bugs stopped their chorus to listen, his reply came back to her like an echo across the calm waters.
“Amber?....Amber, stay there, I’ll come to you.”
As he approached, the motions of the oars strong and steady, Amber began to tremble a little. When the boat had covered the distance to shore, she could make out his features, right down to the dark circles under his eyes.
In no time he was just a few yards away, the boat heading into the rushes that grew at water’s edge. Mac stepped out, his bare feet dipping into the water up to his knees, tugging the boat behind him. He’d taken his shirt off in the sun, and his chest and shoulders were a burnished bronze, his muscles rippling as he moved the boat.
Amber swallowed. Hard. There was so much more to the man before her than she’d guessed when she first spotted him in the bar that night. Inside was still the passionate boy she’d once known, a natural lover guided by intuition. But the man he’d become was a natural leader, an employer and friend who buried his own needs while helping those around him. And there was a little of Tom Sawyer in him too, a swaggering bravado that barely concealed his vulnerability.
Even as she read relief and welcome in his eyes, Mac jutted his chin at her and indicated with the slightest gesture that she should climb in. Amber hadn’t considered what she would say when she found him, but words escaped her as she fought conflicting desires: throw herself into his arms, run away as fast as she could.
Instead, she managed a few words in a small voice.
“May I join you?”
The corners of Mac’s mouth worked, and then he reached out a hand for hers.
“I insist,” he said.
Her eyes locked on his and she was barely aware of moving towards him. Her hand was wrapped in his strong one and she was lifting her skirt and stepping into the lake, the water bracing, wakening her senses. Mac released her hand only to circle his arm around her waist, steadying her as she stepped carefully into the boat and sat down on the seat.
Mac sat across from her, their knees touching, and gave the shore one tremendous shove with the oar, and then they were gliding out on the water towards the middle of the lake.
“I’m not engaged,” Amber said abruptly. “That ring—the man who left it made a mistake, and I’ve already sent it back to him.”
Mac stopped rowing for a moment, the paddle dripping cool water into the boat as he searched her face, his expression wary.
“It was an engagement ring, though.”
“Yes...” Amber sighed, trying to remember why she had ever dated Dean in the first place. “He’s a good man. You might even have liked him. We just were never right for each other.”
“And what about us, Amber?” Mac prodded softly. “Are we right for each other?”
Amber felt blood surge into her face, the guileless question calling her bluff.
“I—hope so.”
“I think you could be right for me. I know it. Being around you these few days has already changed me, made me feel like I could really start living again.”
“That’s—really?” Hope sent energy coursing through her veins. “It’s strange, that’s almost how I would describe being around you. It’s as though I’ve been adding layer upon layer of protection all these years, and then slowly it all started to smother me and I didn’t know how to get out. But when I’m with you—”
“You’re like I remember,” Mac said. “You’re in there, Amber. It doesn’t matter what you wear, or how you cut your hair—you’ll always be you. Always be the only woman I can love.”
He loved her.
He’d just said so. Amber’s mouth parted as she tried to reply, but her heart felt as though it would burst.
“You love me too,” he said gently, an ironic upturn at the corners of his mouth.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I do.”
“Breath in and out,” Mac whispered, taking one of her hands and pressing it to his lips. He kissed each knuckle in turn, his eyes never leaving her face. “Just keep breathing and you’ll be all right. Now come here.”
Finding that her body still remembered how to move in a boat, placing her feet with care so the little craft barely rocked, Amber crossed over to Mac. He steadied her with strong hands on her hips as she turned and slipped into his lap. He slid his body backward so there was room for both of them to sit on the narrow bench, though she had to wedge tightly in the vee of his legs to stay balanced.
The boat floated, turning lazy slow circles in the middle of the lake.
As hard as the bench was, as precarious their balance, it felt right. So wonderfully, completely right.
Mac’s chin rested on top of her head, and she could feel the muscles in his arms flexing as he settled back on the wooden bench, then wrapped his body around hers. Amber gazed up into the cloud-dotted sky, listening to nature’s serenade, and let her eyes slide half way shut in the contentment that came from feeling so safe, so protected in Mac’s arms.
After a moment Mac kissed her h
air gently, tentatively. The gesture might have almost been chaste, if it weren’t for the tension in his thighs against hers, for his growing arousal against the small of her back.
Mac kissed her again, and pushing her hair aside, moved slowly down to where her hairline met the nape of her neck. She felt his lips brush and then nuzzle, felt his breath on her neck, and delicious sensations played down her nerves deep into her core. She didn’t want him to stop, prayed he wouldn’t stop.
“We need to talk,” he whispered coarsely, his breath hot. Amber let her chin drop as she shrugged her shoulders into the rough planes of his face, the day’s growth of beard scraping deliciously along the sensitive skin.
“I know,” she moaned. “But if you want to talk now, I need to go back to my own seat, and—oh...”
His hand had slid under her breast, cupping it and then thumbing the nipple gently as she tried to respond. Now he had renewed his kisses, his tongue flicking down the bumps of her spine.
Mac’s other hand slid down her stomach, stopping to press her even closer to him, illustrating his desire unmistakably throbbing below her. Then he was reaching between her legs and she was straining to accommodate his searching hand, her thighs pressing against his.
“Mac,” she begged, “please, make love with me now, and talk later.”
Mac swiftly, wordlessly eased out from under her and placed the floatation cushions on the floor of the boat to form a makeshift bed. While he worked Amber tried to remember exactly how they’d navigated in the small boat so long ago. The space seemed much too small to accommodate them.
Then Mac knelt before her, drawing Amber to her knees to face him. The space was small, and their bodies melded together to fit, knees scissored together.
Their movements were tempered by the motion of the boat. Instinctively their bodies knew the limits; too much in any direction and the boat would dip to the side. Novices could not have managed the challenge, but Mac had never left the water, and Amber felt as though she were returning home.
Amber moaned as Mac kissed her again and again, her eyes, nose, skipping her parted lips to nip and inflame the sensitive skin of her jaw and neck. She arched against him, constrained even with the narrow skirt pushed up around her thighs, aching to press his body against her own, to feel the swell of his desire fitted to the cleft of her own passion.
His body, carefully balancing as he supported his weight by gripping the boat with one hand, was maddeningly just out of reach, and Amber bit her lip to keep from crying out in frustration. She ran her hands down his smooth torso, shifting slightly and leaning in to press her face against the warm skin of his shoulders, the hard line of his collarbone. Mac groaned and held her shoulders, and she could feel him trembling. She flicked a tongue out on his skin, and the earthy salt taste of him roused her senses even further.
She had to have more.
She slid back on her knees along the wooden floor of the boat, and guided Mac into a sitting position, his back leaning against the seat. With the sensitive pads of her fingers she traced a trail down the center of his chest to his belly. It was flat and hard, but the skin was warm and smooth, like no other texture in the world, and she paused to circle his navel. Then, while Mac reclaimed her lips, her tongue, with his own, she explored further with her fingers, taking him into her hand, feeling his urgency.
“Do you remember how to undress without capsizing us?” she asked throatily.
In answer he lifted his hips, thighs tensing to an iron firmness below her stilled fingers, and eased out of his shorts and briefs. Seeing him freed, the deep tan of his torso ending in a line just above the curl of ebony hair, Amber’s breath quickened.
“Your turn.” Mac slid his fingers under the thin knit fabric of her shirt and she lifted her arms up as he shoved it up and off, tossing it behind her into the prow of the boat. He circled his hands on her waist and pulled her towards him until she straddled him, her skirt bunched at her waist. He fingered the delicate lace of her bra for a moment and then bent his head to kiss along its edges.
Amber pressed his head to her, snaking her fingers through his hair. His touch was at once teasing and inflaming. It was agony, but blissful agony, as she held her breath and waited.
He unclasped her bra at last and it too went sailing over her shoulder. His mouth took her nipples in turn and teased them, swirling his tongue around in circles that left her dizzy and clinging to the wooden seat for support. The throb in her belly was turning to a dull ache of need, and when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she pushed herself up and awkwardly wriggled out of her skirt, the boat responding by tilting one way and then another in the water, dipping nearly far enough to let water in.
“Careful, skipper,” Mac said, his voice amused but his eyes sparking with fire. Her panties were easier to remove—especially when Mac’s hand covered hers as she slid them down, tracing the insides of her thighs with his burning touch.
Amber had had enough. Waited long enough. Maneuvering her knees around his thighs, she clutched Mac’s shoulders and arched against him, throwing her head back. Mac cupped his hands beneath her bottom and pulled her to him, and they met and fit together perfectly. Mac kissed her throat and rocked her closer and closer until he was deep within her, and then she took over and established her own rhythm, pleasuring herself against him with abandon.
Somehow, even exposed as they were, the middle of the lake felt like the most private place on earth, and as Mac finally let go and thrust deeply into her, Amber forgot herself and cried out. She felt the waves of sensation rocketing through her body until she could no longer stand it and, sobbing, she finally pushed away from him, but Mac held her firmly against him. Amber pounded her fists at his torso as the last few tremors wracked her while he was still deep within.
At last she fell against him, utterly drained, and they were still. Wordlessly, Mac traced lazy designs on her back, and her perspiration slowly dissolved on the cooling breeze.
It was the hard wood under her bare knees that finally caused Amber to stir. Otherwise, she might have stayed that way all night, possibly forever, the low thump of Mac’s heartbeat lulling her into a feeling of perfect happiness.
As she pulled away, rubbing the red marks on her knees and shins, and settled herself more comfortably on the wooden seat, Mac watched her with an expression that she couldn’t read. Wordlessly he followed suit, slipping his shorts back on and sitting loose-limbed across from her. Amber felt suddenly self-conscious, and though the late afternoon was heavy and humid with the setting sun, she felt something almost like a chill as she maneuvered her own clothes back on.
“I have to tell you everything now,” she said.
It was cold that night, the last night she spent in Heartbreak fourteen years before. Amber’s thin jacket wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, over the short polyester waitressing uniform.
Amber had done what she could in the ladies’ room after work, taking a minute to try to tame her hair with a comb dipped in water, slicking on a little lipstick, meting out a few drops of the precious vial of perfume that Mac had given her and rubbing it between her wrists.
Mac’s father had called right before her shift ended to tell her that Mac was going to be tied up a little longer than he thought, finishing up a job.
“I’ll come on by and pick you up,” he said. Amber was taken aback. Pete McBaine had barely spoken a full sentence to her before, much less called her on the phone.
“No, no,” she said. “I’ll catch a ride with someone.”
“All right. Stop by my office, will you?”
Hanging up, she thoughtfully twisted the thin circle of gold on a chain around her neck. What on earth had gotten into Pete? He’d never seemed concerned about her welfare before. Why now?
Slowly realization sunk in. Mac must have told his father about the engagement. That was it. He’d shared the news, and now Pete had been forced to view her as more than just another girl Mac was dating. Pete finally understood that
Amber was the one, destined to be his daughter-in-law, and decided to begin treating her that way.
A small smile danced on Amber’s lips as she thought it through, barely able to concentrate on toting up the night’s tickets. Oh, he was a quiet man, Pete was, and he might never be the father that Amber had always dreamed of. But if he was willing to accept her into the family, Amber was more than ready to overlook his shortcomings. Any crack at all in the McBaine family chill was a big change, and Amber resolved to make the most of it.
Her friend Josie flashed her a sympathetic look as she pulled her old sedan into the near-empty parking lot at McBaine Boats. Though they’d worked side by side all night, Amber hadn’t yet told Josie about the engagement. Somehow it seemed more special this way, when the only people who knew were her mother and now Mac’s parents, too.
“You’ll knock him dead,” Josie said. “If anyone could look good in these stupid uniforms, it’s you.”
Amber murmured a self-conscious good-bye and watched the car pull out of the lot, tail-lights winking as it lumbered down the country road. It was a moonless night, a promise of a cold rain in the air, and the parking lot was lit only by a single rusted street lamp. Amber saw Pete’s car, but not Mac’s, and wondered briefly where it was.
The door closing behind her with a click, Amber followed the thin yellow light coming from Pete’s door. As she hesitated before knocking, Pete called to her from inside.
“Come on in, little lady.”
She opened the door wide, fixing a smile on her face. The room was empty except for Pete, who was bent over a stack of papers. He stubbed a smoldering cigarette into an ashtray overflowing with butts, and motioned to the other chair.
The “inquisition chair”, as Mac liked to call it, the one where Pete was known to castigate his employees and work every bit of margin out of the deals he made with suppliers. Reluctantly, Amber sat, the cracked vinyl hard and unforgiving.
“Where’s Mac?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
