'Tis the Season

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “That’s great,” Sam commented, sipping his wine. “My grandparents were married sixty-one years, and I sure admire that.”

  “Did they marry young?” Anna pushed her plate aside and rested her arms on the makeshift tablecloth. “Most couples who make it to a sixtieth anniversary were married young.”

  “I think they were about twenty. Grandma a little younger, maybe.” He chuckled. “Some of us will have trouble living long enough to equal that record. Even if I got married tomorrow, I’d have to live to a ripe old ninety-two in order to celebrate a sixtieth anniversary.”

  “I may not have a sixtieth, either. I’d have to make it to eighty-nine.” She shrugged. “I’ll have to leave the long-relationship prizes for my folks and my brother.”

  “So you’re the rebel, huh?” Sam said, teasing her a little.

  “If you make some crack about my red hair, I’ll be very disappointed in you.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He sipped his wine and gazed at her over the rim of his glass. “I don’t like stereotypes, and besides, my grandmother had red hair, and she was a gentle, loving woman.”

  “I think you just saved yourself. Maybe I’ll unfreeze the Sara Lee cake for dessert, after all.”

  He groaned. “Later. I stuffed myself with your delicious supper.”

  She pushed back her chair and picked up their plates. “You’d better not be too stuffed to play your harmonica.”

  “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  “Not on your life. Come on.” She stacked the plates and reached for her half-full wineglass. “Let’s put on jackets and sit on the back porch for a while. You’ll feel more at home there, I’ll bet, and it will be dark so you won’t be self-conscious.”

  “I don’t know why I let you talk me into bringing the thing in the first place.” He rose from the table.

  “Because you’re a good neighbor.” She grinned over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen.

  “That must be it.” He blew out the stubby candles, picked up his own wineglass and followed her. He marveled at her effect on him. In the space of a few hours, she’d coaxed him to reveal the details of his unhappy childhood and persuaded him to play the harmonica for her when he’d never played for a soul but himself.

  * * *

  As Anna put on her nylon jacket and opened the kitchen door leading to the screened porch, she wondered if she’d been too pushy to insist upon her concert. Yet she knew that Sam played well. Oddly enough, he didn’t seem to know it. She thought it was high time that he did.

  The cushions on the metal chairs were cool, the air cooler still. Only a few crickets chirped tonight, and she knew that by next weekend they might be gone for the winter. The air smelled like fall—turning leaves and ripe apples. Recently the trees had begun to change color. She looked forward to that each year, always feeling more in tune with autumn than any other season.

  Sam chose a chair a distance away from hers, but she understood his shyness.

  “It’s pretty dark out here,” he said, setting his wineglass on a small table. “I won’t be able to tell from your expression if you like what I’m playing or not, so you have to stop me the minute you get bored.” He pulled the harmonica from his breast pocket.

  “I promise.”

  He blew air through it a few times and tapped it against his palm. She suspected that he was stalling, and she continued to wait patiently, wanting the concert as much for him now as for her. At last he began, and her heart constricted with the beauty of the clear notes. She recognized a haunting theme from a recent movie but couldn’t remember the title. He’d played it on other evenings.

  Sweet, so sweet. She relaxed in the chair as the song wrapped around her. Sam had a gift, and he didn’t even recognize it. His playing spoke to her of loneliness and yearning, of tenderness and love. She realized that she knew nothing of his romantic past, but then she’d told him nothing about hers, either. Some things, though, he didn’t have to tell her. He finished the song, and she luxuriated in the feeling it left behind.

  Then he cleared his throat and tapped the harmonica against his hand again. “Had enough?”

  His words jerked her from her romantic haze. “Enough? Oh, Sam, I could listen to you forever. You have no idea how that music lulls me.”

  “Thought maybe I’d put you to sleep, you were so quiet.”

  “No, not to sleep. I just feel…comforted, somehow. Please, go on. I know, play ‘You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling’. That’s one of my favorites from listening to you this summer.”

  “I still can’t get over that.” His voice, coming to her through the darkness, sounded cozy and intimate. “Me over there, thinking I was all alone while I played, and you over here listening every weekend.”

  “I guess that’s why I feel as if I know you.”

  He didn’t answer, but she sensed a new current of emotion running between them. He was pleased that she liked his playing, she could tell, but his reaction included more than that. She wondered if he understood what was beginning to happen in the seclusion of her darkened porch.

  His next song gave her the answer. He knew. Her spine tingled as he played with an awareness that laced the music with rich meaning.

  Anna closed her eyes and pictured Sam as he’d been this afternoon, guiding the heavy chainsaw through the fallen tree, heaving the logs into the back of his truck. And now those same hands cradled a silver harmonica against his lips and created magic. She thought of his mouth, supple as it coaxed bell-like tones from the instrument, and she ran her tongue over her lips. She’d expected to enjoy his playing. She hadn’t expected it to seduce her.

  When he finished, the silence lengthened between them. She didn’t trust herself to speak, afraid that perhaps she’d indulged in a one-sided fantasy.

  He stood up, his form only a dark shadow on the other side of the porch. “It’s getting late.” His voice sounding huskier than before. “Maybe I’d better head for home.”

  She pushed herself from her chair and prayed that her legs would support her as she walked toward him. “No cake?”

  “Thanks, anyway. I…” He left the unfinished sentence dangling as he stood there, unmoving. Even in the darkness, she knew that he was looking directly at her. “The light from the window is on your hair,” he said softly.

  “Oh.” She stepped out of the light, crazy though it was to do it. Her response to him unsettled her. She suspected that he was grappling with his emotions, too. “Sam,” she began unsteadily, “I just…” She couldn’t think what to say to him.

  “Anna, I—”

  She wasn’t certain who moved first. Perhaps they’d decided at the same instant that the space between them could no longer be tolerated.

  He drew her close and she felt the beat of his heart as she gazed into his shadowed eyes. “Mmm.”

  “That about covers it,” he murmured, just before he bent his head and touched his lips to hers.

  She responded with a hunger she hadn’t known was there. Sensing it, he deepened the kiss to explore the moist secrets of her mouth. Desire began to churn within her and gain momentum with the sensuous rhythm of his tongue. Helpless before the onset of unexpected passion, she answered him with a moan of delight.

  His breathing grew ragged and his body tensed. He rubbed the small of her back and slid his hands over the soft sweat suit material covering her bottom. Slowly he pressed her forward, and when they were tightly locked together, he raised his head to gaze down at her.

  “I should have gone home,” he murmured.

  She swallowed. “I didn’t plan for this. But there’s something about your music. After listening to it all summer, and then…”

  “I don’t have that kind of excuse,” he said softly, holding her close. “I didn’t know that you existed until today.”

  She cradled his face with both hands and resisted the urge to stop talking and start kissing him again. But she had something important she had to get out, first. “In s
ome ways, you’re a fantasy figure to me, after a summer of hearing you play.”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?” His body throbbed against hers as he reached up and stroked the length of her hair. “Unless you’re disappointed with the reality.”

  “The reality overwhelms me.” She explored the smoothness of his freshly shaved jaw. “But the emotions came so quickly that I don’t trust them.”

  “Would you —” He cleared his throat. “Would you like me to go?”

  She hesitated, torn between reason and desire. “I think that’s best. I don’t want whatever is happening between us to be the result of loneliness.”

  “Neither do I. Are you lonely?”

  “I didn’t think so. I’d have labeled myself as self-sufficient and meditative. After all, I came to the country specifically to be alone.”

  Sam was quiet for a moment and finally stepped back, ending the embrace, but his tone remained gentle. “Who is he?”

  She stared at him. “What?”

  “The guy you came here to forget. Who is he?”

  She was surprised by his insight, but he’d just hit the nail on the head. “I lived with Eric Oretsky for five years, until this past March,” she said. “Have you heard of him?”

  “No. Should I?”

  “He’s well-known on the New York art scene. We met when I commissioned a painting for the home of a client. I was awed by his fame, and he was—”

  “Awed by your beauty,” Sam finished. “I can understand. When you walked around the corner of my barn this afternoon, with your hair undone and shining in the setting sun, I was pretty awed myself. Then tonight I discovered that you’re sensitive and capable as well as beautiful. Maybe your attraction to me comes from loneliness, but not mine to you. I don’t live like a monk, but nobody’s caught my attention the way you did today.”

  Her heartbeat stuttered. “Oh.”

  He shrugged. “I just want you to know that I’m not a sad, lonely country boy, despite those evening harmonica concerts. Was that part of your fantasy?”

  “Maybe,” Anna admitted.

  “I play the harmonica for a little while most nights after the chores are done. That doesn’t mean that later I don’t go out to dinner or maybe even drive to Hartford for a show. As a matter of fact, sometimes I wish that I could be a little lonelier. Not that my social life is so full, but sometimes I have to meet with clients in the evenings, since I don’t have much time during the day.”

  “Clients?” Anna decided that her estimation of Sam had been way off.

  “I’m a C.P.A.,” he said. “Or that used to be my job description. I was tired of accounting, maybe the same way you’re tired of decorating. When I had the chance to run the tree farm, I closed my Hartford office and moved out here, but I still do tax returns for several people and a few companies.”

  Her brain struggled to keep up with the changes he was making to her mental picture of him. “And here I thought you were totally immersed in the pastoral life.”

  “I’d love to be, but I can’t afford it yet. Maybe, with the publicity from the White House tree deal, I’ll be able to reduce the tax work. That’s my goal.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her. “Well,” she said, striving for a businesslike tone, “I’d like to help you achieve that by getting the house ready for the cameras.”

  “Thank you.” He put his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and gazed at her in the dim light. Finally he took a deep breath. “If you ever decide that what you felt a moment ago is something other than loneliness, I hope you’ll let me know.”

  Desire quickened in her again, and she tamped it down. She might very well be reacting to Sam this way for the wrong reasons, and she didn’t want to rush into anything. “I will. Thank you for moving the tree, and for understanding.”

  “Sure thing,” he said softly. “When would you like me to bring over the loom?”

  “Is tomorrow morning too soon?”

  “Not at all.”

  “And when would you like me to go over the house with you so that I can begin planning what has to be done?”

  He chuckled. “Is tomorrow morning too soon?”

  “Not at all.” They smiled at each other. “I like your style, Sam.”

  “But maybe you’re feeling that way because of your pre-conceived fantasy, combined with a dose of loneliness. Is that it?”

  She sighed. “I’d hate to think so, but it’s possible. My friends have been shoving men at me for months, but by coming out here every weekend, I’ve managed to sidestep their matchmaking efforts.”

  “Why didn’t you agree to any of those dates?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want to.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “But we had somewhat of a date tonight. In fact, you’re the one who asked me out.”

  She grimaced. “I know, and that’s out of character for me, too, which makes me even more concerned that I’m not responding in a healthy way. You may not live like a monk, but I might be better off if I keep living like a nun.”

  He chuckled at that. “How’s that been working out for you so far?”

  “Oh, Sam, I don’t know.” She laughed, too. “Keeping clear of men completely has been so much easier.”

  “I think that option’s out after tonight,” he said gently. “I’ll back off, but I don’t intend to go away.”

  She smiled at him. “I’m glad.”

  “Besides, we have a business arrangement. What time would you like me to deliver the loom?”

  “What’s your schedule?”

  “Light on Saturdays. None of my crew comes to work on weekends except in November and December, when the push is on. I can be here any time after sunup.”

  “Sunup. That has a nice rural ring to it.” Taking her cue from him, she thrust her hands into her jacket pockets to keep from touching him again. “I still have trouble believing you’re a C.P.A.”

  “Takes all the glamour out of it, I’ll bet.”

  “No, not really.” She didn’t add that she considered him more intriguing than ever.

  “In that case, I’ll bring my glamorous self over here, with the loom, about eight o’clock. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine. But, am I asking too much to borrow it? Now that I realize how important your grandmother was in your life, I wonder if I should—”

  “Anna.” He touched her arm with just enough pressure to stop her protestations. Then he withdrew his hand. “In the first place, I can’t imagine what harm you could do to the loom, and in the second place, I trust you completely. Your reaction to the loom, your reaction to everything, come to think of it, shows your respect for other people and their possessions.”

  “That’s a nice thing to say.”

  “Oh, I already have a storehouse of nice things to say about you, Anna Tilford, but I’m going to save them.”

  “For a rainy day?” she asked, smiling.

  “Maybe. Or a snowy afternoon, or a moonlit night.” He turned and headed for the screen door. After opening it, he paused. “Or whenever you decide that you’re not lonely, after all.” He walked down the wooden steps and across the yard to his truck.

  She opened her mouth to call him back, but hesitated. Was she being smart or foolish? Did it matter so much why she wanted him tonight? Before she could decide, he’d started the truck’s noisy engine, switched on the headlights and driven away.

  Three

  Anna set her alarm, but she woke before it went off and dressed quickly, shivering with excitement in the early-morning chill. The sun was up, and Sam would arrive soon. She scampered downstairs and started the coffee. Before it finished perking, she heard his truck in the driveway and hurried to open the front door.

  “Mornin’,” he called, dropping the tailgate with a metal clang that seemed out of place in the dew-soft air.

  Her heart began to pound. She could kid herself that she was excited about finally having a loom, but that wasn’t the truth of the mat
ter. She couldn’t forget his kiss. “Let me help.” She left the front door open so they could bring the loom through it.

  “I can get it okay. I have a system.” He glanced at her and smiled as she approached him. She wondered if he was remembering their kiss, too. “Besides, you’ll catch your death out here without a jacket.”

  “It’s not that cold.” She looked into his blue eyes and felt certain that he was remembering. Flushing, she glanced up at the loom tied securely in the bed of his pickup. “You polished it, didn’t you?”

  “Sure. In between answering the phone. It was my dust.” He vaulted onto the bed of the truck.

  “People called you after you went home last night? It was at least nine-thirty when you left.”

  “Everyone’s so excited, they can’t help themselves, I guess.” He held out his hand. “Come on up, if you’re not going back inside. You can steady it from above while I ease it down the ramp.”

  She took his warm, outstretched hand but kept her gaze averted as he helped her up beside him. She’d thought that perhaps last night had been the result of the darkness and the music, but this morning they had neither. Her reaction to him was intense, and she tried to cover it by bending to untie the soft ropes holding the loom.

  Sam slanted two wide boards from the edge of the truck bed to the ground and hopped down. “I wrapped the bottom in pieces of carpeting, so we should be able to slide this baby down the same way I got it up there. You guide from the back, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t go too fast.”

  “All right.” She helped him work the loom down without incident.

  “Now we can carry it between us into the house. It’s not heavy, just bulky. I’ll be the one to walk backward. Ready?”

  “Ready.” She picked up her end of the loom. “How on earth did you carry it alone from your house to the truck?”

  “I backed the truck as close to the door as I could and laid the boards from the sill to the truck bed,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to check their progress.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t have sense enough to realize what I was asking when I blithely suggested you bring the loom over here. I should have been there to help you get it into the truck.”