Blue By You

by Rachel Gibson

  They walked for about fifteen minutes while he pointed to this and that. Then they stopped in front of a live oak. Old and gnarled and enormous, it had to be at least three hundred years old.

  He reached for her hat and tossed it on the ground. “Take off your shoes.”

  “Why?”

  He pointed up.

  “I’m wearing a skirt,” she pointed out.

  “I’ll help you. It’s not hard. When I was a kid, I nailed some steps on the other side and built a fort up there with the wood I pilfered from Dahlia Hall.”

  Blue slipped out of her shoes. “Why steal? There’s old wood all over Esterbrook.”

  “Stolen wood is always better.” He raised a hand toward the steps nailed into the tree. “You first.”

  “Are you going to look up my skirt?”

  He chuckled. “I’m going to try like hell.”

  He helped her to the first branch, and they climbed higher. Up more steps, higher to the next cluster of branches. Blue stood on the last step and peered over the top of a large platform secured in the thick limbs. “Will this hold me?”

  “Of course.” He put his hand on the seat of her behind and shoved one time, pushing her onto the platform.

  She looked down at him. “Thank you.”

  He grinned. “Anytime.” He hoisted himself up and helped her to her feet.

  “Is this going to hold both of us?” If felt solid, but it had been constructed by a kid.

  “Of course. I know how to build things to last.” Leaves overhead cast lacy patterns and shaded parts of his face as he pointed to a thick branch. “Look.”

  She took a few steps and leaned her face closer. In the old bark, someone had carved a heart and placed the initials A. B. T. with T. P. P. inside.

  “Did you have a great-great-great-aunt by the name of Abigail Beatrice Toussaint?” He put his arm around her waist, and she had to admit it felt good. Safe and secure and like an anchor.

  “Yes, but Abigail joined Sisters of Charity and changed her name to Sister Mary Benedicta.” Blue lifted her fingers and traced the letters. “Whose T. P. P.?”

  “Thomas Paul Pennington.”

  “They were in love. Lovers do you think?” She looked up into his face. His beautiful face.

  “Probably. This tree would have been about half the size it is now.”

  “Does everyone in your family know about this?”

  “I don’t believe so. Thomas died in the war, and I don’t think anyone saw it until I was about ten and climbed up in this tree to build my fort.”

  “I wonder if my aunt joined Sisters of Charity after your uncle died.”

  He shrugged. “I never investigated it. We lost a lot of family in the war, and we’re not absolutely sure when Thomas died.”

  “That’s sad.” Blue traced the heart with her fingers. “And tragic.”

  He looked at her out the corners of his eyes. “Are you getting all girly?”

  She nodded. “And romantic.”

  He slid his arm farther across her waist and brought the front of her skirt to rest against his zipper. “Me too.”

  “You’re feeling girly?

  “Romantic.” Against her pelvis, she could feel just how romantic he felt. “You didn’t come here today to return my shirt, Blue.”

  She was pretty sure that’s why she’d come. And maybe to catch one last glimpse of him if she could. “Why did I come?”

  He lowered his face and softly kissed her lips.

  Her breath caught a little in her throat and she lifted her breasts. If she stayed, they’d have sex. She’d known it when she’d seen him by the pile of wood as she’d driven up. All hot and sweaty. If she stayed, she’d succumb to a morally corrupt Pennington, but she wouldn’t be the first. She ran her hands up his hard chest, covered in a gray T-shirt. Beneath her touch, his muscles bunched, and his breathing got deep.

  “You know what happens if you stay, cher?”

  She nodded and rose onto the balls of her feet. “Yes. I know.”

  His nostrils flared. “Are you sure you want to give me your virginity?”

  She smiled. “Are you sure you want to take it?”

  He groaned, just above a whisper, “Hell yes.” His mouth opened over hers, and his tongue swept inside. He tasted a little like beer and something else. Something she’d never had before last night. Hot, intoxicating, desire focused directly at her. She should be afraid, and she was a little. But mostly she liked the rich, luscious desire pouring from him and all through her. It warmed the pit of her stomach and made her breasts ache.

  He fed her wet kisses and reached for the top button on her shirt. His fingers brushed her bare throat and chest, and she pulled away from his mouth so she could breathe.

  He opened her silk blouse and pushed it from her shoulders. “Don’t be afraid.”

  Blue looked up into Kasper’s dark eyes as her blouse floated to the floor of the fort. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He coaxed one thin strap of her slip aside. “You don’t have to know.” The other side followed. “I know, Blue. I know how to make it good for you.”

  She stood in front of him, in the middle of a three-hundred-year-old tree, with her slip down around waist. Her hands on his shoulders curled into fists to keep from hiding herself from his gaze.

  “Do you know how many times, as a kid, I dreamed of getting a girl up here.” His thumbs brushed her breasts, and her pink nipples tightened so much she ached. “And here you are. Better than anything I could have dreamed.” He kissed her and touched her, and everything around her went all hot and steamy. The air. His hands. His mouth sliding to her breasts. He sucked one nipple, then the other, until her legs felt weak, and she and Kasper sank to their knees.

  His breath hit her face as he raised his head and pulled off his shirt. His eyes looked sleepy and shone with lust. His hard chest was covered in dark hair that tickled her sensitive nipples as he wrapped her arms around his back and kissed him. A long, tortured moan rumbled his chest and throat, and she slid her hand to his flat abdomen. She kissed and rubbed against him, tugging at the metal buttons on the fly of his pants. She was mindless, consumed with mindless greed and fiery lust and virgin innocence. Her hands shook and fumbled with the buttons until he put his warm palms over hers and finished the job. He pulled his penis from his pants and underwear and put it in her palm. Hard as steel and hotter than any flesh she’d ever felt before. He moved her hand up and down his soft shaft, and she stared down at their joined hands, fascinated by the size and width and plump head. She’d seen a penis in pictures, but she’d never held one in her hand. She knew that people had been having sex since Adam and Eve, but this looked too big. “I don’t think this is going to fit.”

  He chuckled and unzipped the back of her skirt. “It fits. I promise.” He stripped her of the rest of her clothes. “Lie down, Blue. Lie down, and I’ll make it so good, you’ll only feel pleasure.”

  She did as he told her, and he did as he promised. He touched between her legs, then spread his wet fingers across her nipples. She moaned and arched her back as he licked her breasts clean.

  “You taste good,” he whispered, and spread her legs. He moved between her knees and stroked his penis as his dark, hungry eyes looked down into hers. “You’re going to like this,” he said. He leaned forward, and the plush head of his erection touched her between her legs. It did feel good, and she moaned and bit her lip. Her eyes slid shut as he shoved inside. A stitch of pain pulled her brows together, and she sucked in a breath. His fingers brushed her slick clitoris as he pushed farther inside, giving her pleasure and pain.

  His hot breath brushed her check as he leaned over her and ran his fingers through her hair as he buried his penis inside.

  “Blue,” he whispered against her mouth. “You’re so tight. So good.” His fingers plowed through her hair. “Are you okay?”

  She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know what she felt most. The pleasure or the pain. But then he
moved, carefully, sliding out, then back in, and a fiery friction burned away the pain. “Do that again,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. And he did. Again and again. Slow at first. In and out. Telling her how good she felt. How beautiful. The hot push and slick pull and the fiery friction grew.

  “Kasper!” she called out.

  “Yes. Come for me, cher,” he breathed into ear. “Beautiful girl.”

  She couldn’t recall anything feeling this good. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need to breathe. She just wanted more. She moved with him, meeting his thrusts until the fiery friction spread from her thighs and flashed across her skin, and her whole world blew apart.

  When it was over, when it was Kasper’s turn to cry out and call her name, when his breathing tickled her ear, and his hips stopped, she felt different. When her brain cleared, and all the pieces of her world came back, she felt changed. The pieces the same yet altered somehow.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. She was the same person, only different. She’d made an adult decision. She hadn’t considered anyone else’s wishes but her own. Anyone else’s wants and needs, and the world hadn’t ended.

  He lifted his face and looked into her eyes. “Say something.”

  She was no longer a virgin and felt no regret. “How many more times can we do that?”

  He smiled, slid out of her body, then back inside. “As many as you like.”

  The answer was three. They had sex three more times in the old live oak. Three more times until the sun slipped low enough to cast the first shadows of night. Three more times until Kasper stood and helped her dress.

  “Maybe we should carve our initials into the tree like Abigail and Thomas,” she said, and zipped up the back of her skirt. Kasper glanced up into her face, then returned his attention to the front of her blouse. He concentrated on the buttons and didn’t say anything. For the first time since she’d climbed the tree, she felt like she’d been too bold. Stepped over an invisible line. Weird, considering she’d been naked most of the day. “Only without the heart, of course. More like tagging,” she assured him.

  “I don’t have a knife.” He finished the last button near the base of her throat.

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll meet you here tomorrow around noon.” He smiled and pushed her hair from her face. “You bring your gorgeous self and maybe a blanket. I’ll bring a knife.”

  At exactly noon the following day, Blue crawled up into the oak tree. She dragged a blanket with her and sat beneath the old carved heart. She waited in the muggy air, and as the sun got hotter and slid west. She waited in the heat and humidity. She waited until she knew he wasn’t coming.

  Chapter Four

  2013

  “Excuse me.” The director of tours for Dahlia Hall, Patricia, stood in the doorway of the small office Blue shared with Carolee in the converted carriage house. “Tina McCoy just clocked out.”

  Blue looked up from the spreadsheet she and Carolee were going over at Carolee’s desk. “That makes three times in the past month she’s left early.” She glanced at her watch. “Her last tour begins in five minutes.”

  Carolee frowned. “Cramps again?”

  Patricia shook her head. “A ‘weird eye’ this time.”

  If Tina didn’t make such a good Scarlett O’Hara, she would have been fired the second time she left early. “Time for you to get in the dress.” She pointed at her friend. “I did it last time.”

  “Wish I could help you out.” Carolee pointed to the stack of work on her desk. “I have to finish the month’s account receivables.” She frowned. “Sorry.”

  No she wasn’t.

  Blue sighed and headed out the door. “Fire Tina,” she said, and moved toward the big house. Tourists wandered the gardens, and she said hello before she moved through a back door and walked past the employees’ break room to the dressing room. A replica of Scarlett O’Hara’s white-and-green barbecue dress hung in a wardrobe closet. Granted, Scarlett was from Georgia, and this was Louisiana. But one thing she’d learned was that to most tourists, a Southern belle was a Southern belle, no matter what state she hailed from.

  She quickly undressed and stepped into a hoop skirt. The replica dress was lighter, had less fabric than the original, and not as many layers beneath. The costume was much more functional and zipped up the back. A dark green sash circled the waist, while a matching ribbon tied beneath her chin to keep the flat straw hat on her head.

  Blue looked in the full-length mirror one last time, adjusted her breasts in the tight bodice, and headed toward the front of the house. Right on time, she opened the big double doors, and said, “Welcome to Dahlia Hall,” with a big smile on her face.

  A cluster of about fifteen tourists stood on the white gallery. Gathered was a church group in matching T-shirts, several women Blue assumed were traveling together, a few couples in shorts and flip-flops, and one man who stood apart. Tall, dark, his hair touched the tops of his ears and back of his thick neck. Fine lines creased the corners of his dark eyes.

  Kasper Pennington. What did he want?

  Blue pushed up the corners of her mouth even higher. “I’m Miss Blue, and we’ll be spending the next hour together. If you have a question, just ask.”

  “Is Blue your real name?” someone wanted to know.

  “Yes. I’m named after one of my aunts.” She glanced at Kasper, then stepped out onto the gallery. A slight smile curved his mouth. Last night, she hadn’t known how she felt about seeing him again. Today, she was more confused than anything. Why was he at Dahlia Hall? In the last group of the day? What could he possibly want?

  Blue began the tour with a history of the land and family and original house. “When Garrard Toussaint brought his bride home, she was not impressed with the original Creole architecture and began renovations that lasted ten years and resulted in the current Creole, Greek Revival style.” As she spoke, she was very aware of Kasper’s rapt attention. On the columns and fanlight windows, but not really on her. “In 1820, the original mistress, Dahlia Toussaint, added the belvedere on the roof, so she could always have a clear view of the river.” Several times, Blue stumbled over her well-rehearsed script, and he smiled even as he ran the tip of his fingers across the shutters.

  The tour moved into the house, and Blue waited in the doorway for the last straggler to enter. Of course, it was Kasper.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked just above a whisper.

  “Apparently, I’m touring your home.” He pointed to the group in the entry. “Imagine that.”

  Yeah. Imagine that. She turned, and continued, “Like most Creole floor plans of the era, there are no hallways at Dahlia Hall. Just suite after suite. The parlors were designed with large pocket doors that could be opened to connect them all to the big foyer for special occasions, like balls or funerals,” she said, and took a glance at Kasper, who stood in the gentlemen’s parlor, studying the intricate details of the restored murals on the walls.

  They moved into the dining room, where family portraits hung on the walls. “This porcelain was brought to the house from Paris as part of Laura Blanchard’s dowry in 1850,” Blue said as she pointed to a Sheraton sideboard. She lifted her hand to a portrait hanging above the porcelain. “This is Laura.”

  A deep voice spoke from the back of the room. “Was she a first cousin?”

  Blue didn’t even have to look at Kasper to know who asked the question. “She was not.” She bit her lip to keep from smiling, recalling that time many years ago when she and Kasper had stood at a backyard barbecue arguing over whose family was more inbred. If she recalled, the answer was hers.

  For the next hour, she turned up her Southern belle charm and showed the group the big house, grounds, and slave quarters of Dahlia Hall. Usually, she enjoyed showing tourists her home. She was proud of her heritage, but this was by no means a typical group. A former lover stood in the small crowd. Her first lover. The man to whom she’d given her virginity in the cradle
of a live oak tree. The man who’d told her to meet him the next day but never showed. She wasn’t bitter about that. Not now. Like generations of Southern women before her, she lived though what was thrown at her and moved on. Whether by design or accident or act of God, she lived her life as it came at her.

  No, she wasn’t bitter, just embarrassed. Even after all these years.

  The tour ended under a live oak draped with Spanish moss at the front of the house. The image was totally staged. A Southern belle waving good-bye, the last thing the tourists saw as they jumped back in their buses and cars and minivans.

  One vehicle remained in the small parking lot. A Pennington Construction truck, and she could feel Kasper behind her, like a hot electrical current raising the hair on her arms. When the last minivan entered the highway, she turned to see him resting an arm against a low-hanging branch. The shifting shadows from the swaying moss cast patterns across his face and green polo shirt. PENNINGTON CONSTRUCTION was embroidered above the left breast pocket of his shirt, tucked into a pair of Levi’s.

  “Can I help you with something?”

  He stared into her eyes. “You look like Scarlett O’Hara.” His gaze slid down her throat to the top of her dress. He grinned before retuning his attention upward to her hair and hat.

  Suddenly, she very aware of her breasts pushed from the tight bodice. “Did you come here to stare at my dress?”

  “No, I dropped by to say thank you for last night. The dress is lagniappe.”

  Lagniappe, a little something extra a person didn’t expect. Something appreciated. “You could have said thank you without sticking around for the whole tour.” She moved toward him and stopped near the low-hanging branch. “You probably have better things to do than listen to my family history.”

  “I know your family history, and that part about a neighbor’s conspiring to steal Dahlia Hall land is complete and utter bullshit.”

  Blue rested her elbow next his forearm. “Depends on if you believe facts or no ’count fiction.”