Faded Cotton (Erotic Romance)

by Lara Sweety

  “Bless this bounty, Lord...,” he continued as he watched her. A sweet smile spread across her face to match his. Satisfied, he turned his head back and closed his eyes, finishing the prayer. Applause and amen followed. Derrick figured cicadas couldn’t have started up their song any faster; the party was back in full swing in a moment.

  Derrick looked through the glass once more to find her standing there as the motion continued around her. She was still frozen, staring at him. He grinned and put a finger under his jaw, lifting it to pull his own mouth shut, silently telling her she should quit gawking. She bent her head to her chest, blushing, and pushed herself back into action, laughing at his gesture.

  The sun faded and the night breeze enticed the shadows to dance. A glow filled the darkness from party lights strung across the posts of the deck. Chinese lanterns waved their soft light from branches of a large sugar maple that graced the lawn.

  String lights dangled between boards stuck in stake pockets on the trailer. A small drum set had appeared in the middle of the impromptu stage, along with monitors and speakers. Guitars, a fiddle, and a keyboard slid from back seats and trunks. Soon, the sweet, warm sounds of modern bluegrass and country drifted into the air. A couple of teenagers were still in the pool and pulled up the ladder to dry off.

  Faded dishtowels and well worn aprons hung over the deck railing, drying in the breeze. The kitchen clanking and conversation quieted. Seats began to fill as people filtered out to find a comfortable spot on the deck or in lawn chairs.

  Laurel’s friend Darra ushered her out to the deck and stuck a cold beer in her hand. “Sit down and enjoy yourself.” She pulled the tie on Laurel’s apron to remove it. “You’ve worked as hard as anyone else here.”

  Settling into a spot on the deck, Laurel relaxed. It was fun to see the crowd laugh and dance, singing at the top of their lungs to familiar songs, new and old.

  She slipped into a place of true happiness. One where no worries were allowed, no questions came to be answered, a place where only pure enjoyment, laughter, smiles, and the melodic flow of a song is allowed. She enjoyed the cool of the ice-cold long neck tipped to her lips. Time slowed. Moments like this were meant to be savored as a memory you’d want to visit often. This memory, she was sure, somehow, would fuel another.

  Derrick had been watching Laurel enjoy the band from the deck railing he had been leaning on. He recognized the song that came up as one of her favorites. The young man with the guitar was crooning the sweet lyrics, “—you take me places I've never been—.” He smiled to himself and moved to take her hand. Laurel looked up as he slid his strong fingers under hers and nodded toward the band.

  “I didn’t get a dance the other night.” She met his gaze and rose to accept his invitation.

  His right hand rested at the small of her back, her left stretched to the top of his strong shoulder, their other hands clasped gently. Their height difference drew them close together by necessity.

  Neither of them wished to share the glow in their eyes with anyone else. He held her gently, not wanting to make her uncomfortable or make a scene, both desperately trying to contain what they both knew was a fire already burning.

  Swaying together, their gaze rarely broke. She resisted the urge to lay her head on his chest by distracting herself, looking briefly toward the band. When she turned back to him, he was still staring down at her with a broad smile and liquid eyes. His strong jaw sported the handsome outline of a new goatee that complimented his rugged face. His diamond ear stud sparkled. He drew her closer and she shivered when they brushed against one another.

  She was lost in his eyes, allowing herself to wonder what his kiss would be like when the song ended and the cloud she was floating on dissolved. Thunk.

  Right man, wrong age, wrong circumstances, wrong time. What the hell was wrong with her? The battle in her brain suddenly raged as another voice told her, “You’re a grown woman, it’s between the two of you, what’s the problem?” Sitting down, she rested her head in her hands, trying to let the music and laughter drown out the argument in her head. He rested his hand on her back before he walked away.

  __________________________

  The party wound down and those that had a safe ride left; everyone else camped out. It had been nice to be surrounded by people, but now she was alone. When it was quiet, Laurel headed up the stairs to bed. She closed the door of the room she had been sleeping in the last several months and slumped against it. Looking at the bed, she knew what she had been avoiding, what had her stuck.

  Laurel pulled the black lacey gown and robe she’d bought for herself from the closet. It was part of her mourning; she knew that. Jahn had always loved seeing her in one of his old t-shirts. This was different, and she knew she needed different to move on. She stripped naked and stepped in front of the mirror.

  Thirty-eight. This is what thirty-eight and three babies looked like. It wasn’t perfect, but perfect for her. The mirror revealed what she already knew. Her hips and thighs were soft and full, strong, she had a little tummy and nice breasts. Really nice, she thought. She was healthy and tanned by the sun. Anyone that was going to love her was going to have to take the whole package. It wasn’t a bad package; it just wasn’t the body of a girl in her twenties.

  She watched in the mirror as the cool black satin and lace slid over her breasts, falling toward the floor, the robe just another layer. It felt—sexy. She hadn’t been comfortable with the idea that she could be sexy for anyone in a long time. Was it too soon?

  It was now or never. Flinging open the door, Laurel ran for the stairs, robe flowing out behind her. She turned at the bottom of the staircase and ran toward the master bedroom as the tears started to fall.

  She couldn’t live in the past anymore. A year had passed and she hadn’t dealt with losing Jahn. It was time to deal with the pain and move forward. She flung herself into their big bed, her big bed. The layers enveloped her; she pulled the sides in over her, rolling into it like a brown and white cocoon. She allowed herself to grieve, drenching the pillow, she cried herself to sleep.

  __________________________

  Laurel stopped the story. Tears were streaming down her face.

  Jen looked at her. “I’m really sorry about your husband,” she said softly.

  “It still hurts, even now. I’ll never stop loving him,” she sniffed and blew her nose. They sat in silence for a bit, neither wanting to stop the story it seemed.

  Finally, Jen broke the silence.

  “So did you fall in love with Derrick?” Jen asked gently.

  “Pour me another drink, and I’ll tell you.”

  __________________________

  Chapter 17

  Steam rising from the tile floor of the shower enveloped Laurel like fog off the Missouri River. The water’s heat relaxed her abused body. She felt beat up by the demons of loss and of loneliness. She’d fought back and the fight had drained her. It was a small victory, sleeping in her bed, instead of one of the others.

  Wrapping her hair in a towel and her body in the terry robe she was fond of, she padded out into the big bedroom, the floor cool beneath her feet. The room was special to her. She and Jahn had designed it together.

  Vacant of his warmth, it was still a beautiful design. The rustic old world Spanish influences still suited her. The dresser and nightstand were topped with granite. An armoire closed off the TV when not in use. Warm tans, browns, and soft reds made the décor inviting. The leather chaise and chair completed the look.

  As her eyes circled the room, she came back to the huge bed centered between the windows. A low footboard gave way to the rise of layers of cushion and linens. To sink into it was heaven. The top was littered with pillows. The headboard was a substantial piece in wood and iron that matched the feel of the furniture.

  The headboard held special meaning for her. Its strength had endured the grasp of passion over and over. It was designed and built with that in mind. The thought made Laurel giggle.
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  She and Jahn had both agreed that it had better be able to stand abuse. Neither of them were built like sticks, more like the Norse god and goddess that they teased each other about. They had shared a lot of laughs and kisses over the design. When he surprised her with it, complete and covered with the comforter she had chosen, she was overjoyed. So much so, she’d compelled him to try it out immediately.

  “I’ve got cows to feed,” had been his last weak protest as she pushed him back onto the new bed.

  Now the room and the big bed just looked empty.

  Laurel noticed the closet doors standing open and her clothes lining the left side.

  Derrick.

  She threw on a worn pair of jeans, a blue t-shirt and pulled her hair into her usual ponytail.

  She was shocked when she saw that the clock read after one in the afternoon. The house was quiet and clean. The equipment, crew, and guests were gone. She slipped on some flip-flops and checked the outside. Everything was clean and the horses all fed, stalls cleaned. Something was missing though.

  The truck was gone. She walked down the back drive. All the gates were in place, the tractor in the shed, the party lights put away, and the pool clean. She could see the cattle on the south ridge, but no Derrick and no truck.

  There was a storm brewing to the west. Ominous dark clouds were gathering and the wind had picked up. She usually kept up with the weather, but hadn’t checked last night. She prayed it wouldn’t be bad. No one needed another tornado.

  Surveying the entire homestead for party left overs, the only thing she could find was a stray long neck perched on a fence post on the other side of the drive. Retrieving it, she quickened her pace back to the house. Her stomach was growling. Left over barbeque and potato salad would take care of that, but she needed to check the weather radar and figure out where Derrick was.

  She grabbed her cell off the charger in the hall. Checking the radar on it, Laurel’s spine tingled. There was a nasty front headed their way. She hit the speed dial for Derrick’s phone number.

  “Derrick, where are you? There is a storm coming.”

  “Calm down, I had to run to town. Did you think I stole the truck? I thought you trusted me,” he chuckled a little.

  “I really was more concerned about you. Although I would miss Old Red if something happened to her,” she quipped, grinning.

  “Everything’s okay. I left you a note in the kitchen. Guess you missed it. I’m turning on Siddy Creek now; I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Laurel found the note.

  Laurel,

  I need to go to town. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. Horses taken care of, cows checked. Clean up done. Be back soon.

  Love,

  Derrick

  She needed to trust him. Derrick wasn’t going anywhere without telling her. He’d been good to her, good for her, and he’d done nothing but protect her—what a man did.

  Love, Derrick?

  Maybe he did love her in his own way, but was she ready for that?

  “Happy Birthday!” He startled her, deep in thought, note in hand.

  “Derrick—wait, what?

  “Darra said today was your birthday,” he smiled at her.

  “Oh wow. Some friend she is.” She noted sarcastically.

  “Hey! Everybody should celebrate their birthday,” he smiled broader yet. “What, you don’t like cake?” He mocked her frown.

  “No candles, promise?”

  “No candles on your cake. Go do your hair or whatever.” He grinned at her. She was beautiful to him just the way she was, but he needed to prepare her surprise. Damp strands fell around her face as she nodded.

  “I’ll fix something to eat.” Derrick had more in store for her than just a late lunch. He set his bags on the counter.

  “And no peeking!”

  She padded away, bare foot. “Geez, I’m a prisoner in my own house,” she said teasingly and flipped her hair.

  Well if he wants a birthday girl, he’ll get one. She dried and curled her hair and put on a blouse that complimented her. A little cleavage and make-up never hurt a girl’s self-esteem. After all, it was her birthday.

  She heard some of her slow country favorites start to play from the living room. A little Kenny, a little George—he’d been paying attention.

  “Good enough,” she smiled at herself in the mirror.

  “I’ll say.” A low full voice came from behind her.

  Laurel whirled around to see Derrick’s long frame leaning against the bedroom doorway.

  “You’re beautiful,” came from his lips.

  She reveled in the words as she drank him in.

  The snakeskin boots, the worn jeans that clung to his muscular thighs, the belt buckle centered low on his hips, the short sleeve collared shirt that was unbuttoned and almost completely untucked. Oh, dear God—wow. She shivered in appreciation.

  She could see plenty of the defined chest that led to the V of his hips. A piece of orchard grass hung from his lips, bringing attention to the five o’clock shadow on his chiseled jaw. Liquid, amber-brown eyes flowed over her like a blanket of passion. The sight of him, standing there, like that—she could barely breathe. What a man.

  She broke the silence, ducking her head to the side. “Thank you.” She blushed. Would she remember how to play the game? Did she dare?

  __________________________

  Derrick had pulled a couple of good place settings and set out dinner. The lights were off and jar candles lit in the bedroom, the kitchen, dining, and living room. He motioned for her to sit down and pulled out a chair for her. Laurel noticed a small package with a purple bow and a cake at the other end of the table.

  As the storm rolled in they enjoyed dinner. They talked about the horses, the hay, and the party.

  Laurel wanted to get rid of the old junk yard. It was too big, and the classics needed parted out. There were fences to replace and other things that needed attention.

  Small talk.

  After dinner, they moved to the leather love seat in the living room. With nothing else to do but watch it rain, they both sat relaxing to the slow country ballads on the sound system.

  “Nice mix,” she smiled.

  “I’ve been working on it for a while.” He rested his head on the back cushion.

  The slow pit-pat of rain against the windows was replaced by crashing thunder and lightning. The wind began to whip the leaves on the trees.

  “Laurel, he’s gone.” He turned to gauge her reaction.

  “I know.” Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. He waited knowing there was more. “The memories are at every turn in this house, on this farm—.” She choked up.

  “At least you have those. When my mother died, we moved the next month. Everything that was her seemed to be gone.”

  Head resting on the back of the small sofa, she sighed. “I used to blame myself, then I blamed God, and sometimes I even blamed Jahn.”

  Derrick gazed through the glass, out into the field, to the far horizon. He could see the lightning contrast against a darkening sky though the rain that was now sheeting down the windows.

  “I’m guessing you dealt with your pain by hating your father. Is that why you joined that mob, gang, whatever it was, to go against him?” She turned to him expectantly.

  “I guess so.” His hand for a prop, he rested his chin on his chest for a moment, and then lifted, looking back at her. “We never really did much though. It was mostly swagger and rebellion.”

  “So they—you never did anything to that girl?”

  “No, no. No, never.” Derrick shook his head hard. “There was a lot of tough talk, but the rumors were horrible. None of the guys actually did any of it. Some fights, yes, running around, partying, yes, but nothing else.”

  Nodding, she breathed a sigh of relief. The information blew holes in the last dam to her trust in Derrick; she welcomed it.

  “I would never hurt you, Laurel.”

  “Somehow, I think
I’ve known that from day one. Derrick, we have to be clear on where this is going. It’s not that I don’t want another man to share myself with; I just don’t know how to start. This scares me...you, scare the hell out of me.”

  She thought carefully, wanting to make him understand.

  “Making love requires trust, complete trust. It’s different than—fucking. There is a time and a place for that wild, wall-slamming, half-clothed heat. I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed that. I have, but if I’m going to move forward, I need some kind of connection with the man in my life.”

  They stared at each other for a time while the storm continued to rage, overpowering the music at times.

  “Laurel, do you trust me?” His eyes burned into her soul, flooding her with heat.

  She nodded.

  The candles flickered as lightning brightened the sky.

  “Dance with me.” He stretched out his long fingers as he stood, beckoning her to join him. She slid off the leather as he pushed the coffee table back.

  Derrick pulled Laurel close. With no audience this time, he pulled her hard against him, and she let herself melt against his strong body. There were no walls left, nothing to separate them. His hands low on her back, and hers around his neck, their hips swayed in time to the music.

  Derrick relaxed his hold on her for a moment and looked down at her.

  “Laurel, you’ve loved me from the day I walked into your life. I trust you...I will always love you.” They moved in unison, gaze fixed, locked into each other’s eyes.

  She knew what he meant. They would always love each other. It wasn’t like the love she’d had with Jahn. This was going to be different. They both knew time was marching on, that he would eventually move on and build a life; she would move on, too. At that point, at that moment, they needed what the other had to give, and each would always have a place in the other’s heart.