A Strange Little Band

by Judith B. Glad

  i was really surprised when i got your email. :O i figured you'd go back to Colorado and forget about me. :(it's not like we're real cousins or anything. but it was great, being like in a family for that week. i've got a couple of cousins on my mom's side, but nothing like that. maybe someday i can go back and see everybody.

  gtg, but i wanna stay in touch. isn't it sweet, Gran's family having its own domain?

  Owen :)

  She typed out a quick answer, promising to write more later, when she finished her report. Even though she still believed her future and Tommy's were hanging by a thread, she was feeling a lot better than she had an hour ago. I don't exactly have a crush on Owen any more. But he's really, really nice. And not quite a cousin.

  And kinda hot.

  * * * *

  "Jeez. What a mess."

  Annie couldn't think of better words for what they were seeing. The Blue House was gone, replaced by a tangle of charred timbers, fallen walls, and shattered windows. She shifted into reverse and backed to the parking area in front of the Pink House. The journey had been tiring, with heavy rain and gusty wind all the way from Mountain Home. Hildy had offered to drive, but Annie had refused, not knowing her skill level. "Let's do it," she said, dreading having to unload the car in this weather.

  "You go unlock and start some coffee. I'll get stuff."

  Surprised, she looked over at Hildy, who shrugged.

  "I know which suitcase has your nightgown in it. Do we need anything else tonight?"

  "I guess not." Annie reached back of the passenger sear where she'd put the sack of groceries they'd picked up in Ashton. Making sure she had a good hold on it, she opened her door. "Here goes."

  She dashed to the house and managed to get the key into the lock on the second try. The air inside had a clammy feel to it, as if the place needed a good airing. She wasn't surprised. The last renters had left three weeks ago, just about the time the couple who were taking care of the houses in the compound had quit without notice. The renters had left the kitchen clean, at least.

  She reset the thermostat, got the coffee started, then unloaded the rest of the groceries, enough to last them a day or two. Hildy came in with a second load as she put the last cans into the pantry. "I put your stuff in the big bedroom. Okay if I take the little one?"

  That was the one Annie had been in last summer. "It's awfully small. You'd probably be more comfortable in the other one."

  "Yeah, but I wanted to give you some space. You know, for when Clay sleeps over."

  Annie turned around and stared, warmth suffusing her face. "When Clay...? Hildy, we're not..."

  "You don't have to pretend. I'm cool with it. Hell, Frances had herself a couple of boy toys while I was with her. Talk about air heads, both of them. But they were sure bulked up, real muscle men." She posed like a body builder. "Clay's okay. He talked to me."

  Deciding denial would only convince Hildy that she was indeed sleeping with Clay, Annie indulged her curiosity. "Your mo-- Frances brought men into the house? She didn't try to be discreet about it? That's terrible."

  "God, Annie, you are totally medieval. Frances goes through men like a knife through butter. She told me that she'd had seven lovers last year. This year she was going to beat that, or die trying."

  Curiosity overcame good manners. "What about your father. About Mr. Champion? Did he have lovers too?"

  "Les? No him and Brian were together a long time, since I was five or six. We were, like, a family." Her lips creased together and she blinked rapidly. "Brian promised he'd come see me sometime, when he's not hurting so much."

  The coffee maker gurgled out the last of its hot water. Annie took down two cups and filled them, all the time castigating herself. Had she ever taken time to ask anything about Hildy's life? No, she'd simply looked at the hair and clothes and all the piercings and decided the girl was a punk--or whatever current street slang described her. Now she looked closely. Under the tough exterior, she saw pain and loneliness and a desperate need for love and stability.

  There was a place in her heart that had ached with emptiness for more than a year. Could Hildy fill it?

  Was she strong enough, healed enough to give Hildy what she needed? A real mother, for as long as necessary.

  Only time would tell. But she was going to do her best.

  She swallowed the lump that had crept into her throat. "How do you feel about tuna sandwiches for supper?"

  "As long as you've got chips to go with."

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As he always did, Clay glanced up at the houses on the knoll as he passed. Even knowing it was futile, he clung to a small hope that Annie would be the one who came to oversee the cleanup. Charlie, the elderly wrangler, had said the Families were sending someone, but he didn't know who.

  There were lights in the Pink House. Chances were it was rented. Several nearby areas were opening to hunting this coming Friday. He'd had half a dozen calls from hopeful hunters wanting lodging. He'd hated to tell them he was closed for remodeling, but none of the cabins was in any shape to be rented, not by his standards, anyhow.

  Calling himself six kinds of fool, he pulled over into the next wide shoulder. He still had the number on his phone.

  The voice that answered on the third ring was unfamiliar. "I'm calling for Annie Ogilvie. Did I dial the right number?"

  "Oh, sure. Hold on." He winced at the clatter when the phone was dropped on a hard surface. "Annie, it's some guy," he heard the woman yell off-mike.

  "This is Annie."

  His voice caught at the sound of hers. After a second, he found it. "This is Clay. I wondered...I hoped... Where are you?"

  "I'm here. I mean I'm at the Pink House. Oh, Clay, I was going to call you as soon as we were settled."

  "I'll be there in five minutes."

  * * * *

  The cold lasted three days.

  Frank stayed four. For the first three, she was glad he was there, because she felt like hell.

  When the alarm went off Monday morning, Hetty hit the snooze button, needing a minute to decide how she felt.

  Much better, she decided. Her throat was still a bit sore, but nothing she couldn't live with. Her sinuses were clear and her ears no longer rang. She sat up and reached for her robe. It wasn't across the end of the bed where she always tossed it.

  "How d'you feel?" Frank stood in the doorway. His chin was dark with two days' beard and his morning hard-on tented his boxers in the most interesting manner.

  Omigawd! Her thighs tingled, her mouth went dry. I must be well. "I thought you'd gone home."

  "Nah. I'm staying. Feel like coffee this morning?"

  "Sure." She went to the closet, had her hand on the knob. "Wait a minute! What do you mean, you're staying? Here?"

  His answer was unintelligible. She pulled the robe on and stormed into the hall. The kitchen light was on, so she stomped in that directions. "You're not staying here!"

  Much to her regret, he'd pulled on Levi's. "Yeah, I am. Do you want hazelnut vanilla or toffee mocha?" He pulled the grinder from the cupboard. "You're out of real coffee."

  "Frank? Did you hear me? You're not staying here."

  "Hetty, I let you chase me away last summer. This time I'm in for the whole game. I'll stay as long as it takes."

  Her fists clenched in her robe pockets. It was that or pound on the counter. "Chase you away? I did nothing of the sort. You left because my mother tied to kill you."

  With a savage gesture, he switched the coffee maker on. "I didn't leave. You dumped me."

  "Oh, sure, and you kept coming back for more, didn't you. No, Frank, you didn't. When I let you out at your place last August, you didn't even say goodbye. You just grabbed your duffle, said, 'Thanks for the ride,' and disappeared. Until the other night." She swiped a hand across her face, wiping away the tears. Obviously this argument was giving her a relapse. "So what made you show up? Did you forget something? Like your copy of The Two Towers? Don't worry. It's in the
rack."

  She could see he was holding on to his temper by a thread. Good. The sooner he was gone, the better. "I've got to get ready for work. Lock the door behind you." She whirled and headed back to the bedroom. Now her nose was running too. There were no tissues in her pocket so she wiped it with her sleeve. Gross! Gotta remember to put it in the laundry.

  She set the water as hot as she could stand it and stood directly under the shower head. God! Why did he have to come back? I was learning handle it, and now I have to do it all over again. If only--

  The door slid open and he stepped inside. "Conserve water. Shower with a friend," he said in her ear as he slid his arms around her. His hands cupped her breasts, his cock nestled between her buttocks.

  "Go away."

  "Can't. I'm stuck for life." As if she was small and weak, he turned her in his embrace. "Quit fighting, Hetty. You know I'll win."

  "Only because you'll out-stubborn me," she muttered against his dripping chest. She didn't resist when he cupped her mound, slid one finger into her. But she wasn't ready to stop fighting. Not yet. "Damn it, Frank, don't you know any better than to get mixed up with a family like mine?"

  "No worse than mine. You ought to meet my Uncle Hadley. He's been in and out of jail since he was nineteen."

  His hands were busy stroking her tender, delicate tissues, driving her wild with wanting him. Hetty lost the rest of her arguments in a surge of pure rapture. All she knew was that he was lifting her, opening her, sliding inside. Her body was still singing when he drove her up again, higher, freer than before. His exultant shout pushed her over the edge and they clung together, panting, as the steaming water washed over them, slowly cooling their fever.

  "Let's get out of here before we catch pneumonia," Frank said, an eternity later. The water had gone completely cold. He untangled his legs from hers, sat back so she could rise to her feet. "Las Vegas or Portland?"

  "Huh?"

  "Do you want to get married in Las Vegas today, or have a big shindig in Portland? I vote for Las Vegas, but my sisters all say that every woman wants a big, fancy wedding."

  Her mind seemed incapable of thinking more than one word at a time. "Sisters?"

  "Three of 'em. And a brother. Two parents and a grandmother. They want to meet you. I told 'em I'd bring you to dinner next Sunday."

  She stared at him, horrified. "Do they know who broke your arm?"

  His shrug answered her question. "My mother says it was my own fault. I shouldn't have been sleeping with you at a family reunion."

  A shiver reminded Hetty she was sitting naked under a cold shower. She reached up and turned the water off. "I'm freezing." When he offered his hand, she pushed herself to her feet. She opened the door and reached for towels. Once they were both swathed, she leaned against the counter and watched as he briskly toweled his hair dry. "My mother's a drunk, Frank. That means I have a chance of being one too."

  "So? Life doesn't give guarantees. I'm willing to take the chance." He came closer, caged her within his arms when he leaned both hands on the counter. "I love you, Harriet Elizabeth Armstrong. I want to father your children and sit beside you on the rest home veranda someday, rocking in the sun and looking back on a long and misspent life."

  Hetty searched his face, wishing eyes were truly the windows to the soul some poet had called them. "I'm scared, Frank."

  "As you should be. Marriage is a scary step. I had to really psyche myself up to mention it. That's why I haven't called you since August."

  "I want to..."

  His shout of triumph echoed off the tiles. "That's all I needed to hear. We'll sort out the details later."

  His kiss, passionate and tender at the same time, somehow dissolved all her doubts and hesitations.

  * * * *

  "If we don't get out of this chair, we're going to be tied into such a knot that it'll take three men and a boy to get us undone." Annie slipped from his lap onto the soft Chinese rug at their feet. "There's more room down here." She patted the space beside her. "And it's closer to the fire." The living room of his cabin was small but cozy. There were still unpacked boxes stacked against the walls, and the furniture was shabby, all except for the thick rug that gleamed like a jewel on the scarred old wood floor.

  Instead of joining her, Clay reached forward and took her face between his two hands. "Annie, I have never wanted a woman the way I did you, that night last summer. But I'm glad we didn't... That we waited. I don't think either of us was ready then for any kind of lasting relationship. I think we are now"

  Annie returned his gaze squarely. "I think so too. In fact, now that you mention it--" She reached up, grabbed his belt, and tugged him toward her. "Now, it's a whole different ball game. Are we going to finish what we started then, or am I going to pine away while you sit there philosophizing?"

  "I'm done with philosophy. It's time for action." He slid down beside her, bearing her to the floor with him. His hands cupped her buttocks, pressing her against his aching need. Her hands tore at his shirt, pulling it free of the pants waistband and slipped underneath to caress his broad back and cling to his shoulders. She nibbled at his neck, pushing the loose collar of his wool shirt aside with an impatient chin.

  As Clay's hands ranged over her back, Annie let her lips drift lower, stopping to free each shirt button, one at a time and with innumerable tiny nibbles and feathery kisses on his smooth skin above each one. She loved the feel and the scent of his broad chest, lost herself in the sensations his hands were causing on her back and at her waist. When his shirt was completely open and free of his waistband, she nibbled one last time, just above his belt buckle, and pulled herself up onto her elbow. Her fingers traced the line of his breastbone, hovered above the buckle. She smiled teasingly into his eyes, whispered, "Are you sure we aren't rushing things?"

  Clay groaned, pulled her against him, covered her face with kisses, and worked her sweater up, baring her back to his caresses. Again she pulled free, but this time only so that he could slip the sweater free of her arms and unhook her bra. She watched the wonder grow in his eyes as he reached to cup her breasts, lowering his lips first to one then the other, sending the blood bubbling through her veins like champagne released from its cork. His teasing tongue, against erect, pulsing nipples, brought a whimper to her lips. Her hands ached to stroke his body, but she could not move them. Her entire being was concentrated upon the delicious sensation his tongue was evoking as it toyed with her flesh.

  When one of his hands found the closure of her jeans, she shuddered with the brush of his fingertips against her bare midriff. She wanted to cry out to him to hurry, to bare her body so she could experience the almost tactile sensation of his eyes upon her skin. But Clay seemed to be intent on taking his time, driving her into a frenzy of anticipation. It took him forever to open the zipper.

  She closed her eyes, the better to concentrate on the sensations of his fingertips against her belly, even through the silkiness of her briefs. Feeling his hands pushing against her jeans, she rolled from side to side, letting him slide them down over her hips. It therefore came as a complete surprise when the elastic of her briefs snapped against her waistline.

  "Open your eyes, lovely Annie. I want to see your soul," Clay whispered. He was sitting beside her, watching her.

  His hands, gentle again, slipped under the elastic, ventured downward. Annie felt herself spiraling down into the warm depths of his eyes as his hands stroked along her now bare legs. When he reached her feet, he looked away from her face and to where his hands were tracing each of her toes. He drew one finger across the sole of her foot, causing her to jerk, not because it tickled, but because it sent indescribable feelings coursing up her leg and into her abdomen. She writhed, every nerve ending in her body alert to the touch of his hands, the warmth from the fire, the scratchiness of the thick rug under her.

  Clay's lips replaced his fingers. He kissed the tip of each toe before nibbling at her instep and nuzzling one ankle. She closed her eyes
again, but was entirely aware of the progress his mouth and hands made up the length of her leg. When she felt his breath on the soft skin of her thighs, she drew her knees up, let them fall open.

  "Touch me! Touch me!" her mind cried, but she was unaware that she had voiced her need until she heard Clay whisper.

  "Yes. Oh, yes, my love." His seeking fingers found the small bud of pleasure wherein her need was centered.

  At his touch, waves of heat suffused her body. Whatever magic he held in his hands was nothing compared to that he wielded with his tongue. Carefully, with frequent retreats to let her passion ebb slightly, prolonging the delicious agony she felt, Clay brought her closer and closer to peaks she had never scaled before--had not even been aware of. The waves of heat crested, carrying Annie with them into a paroxysm of pleasure that left her mindless and limp.

  She came to herself to find Clay's head resting on her abdomen and one hand gently massaging her breasts. "Oh, my," she said softly.

  "Exactly," he said, grinning. He sat up.

  Annie saw that his slacks were still in place, realized that he had not shared her ecstasy. "Oh, Clay, I was so selfish..."

  "You were not. I love you, my darling Annie. That makes your pleasure special to me, even if I don't completely share it."

  "But..." She heard his words of love, but a niggling guilt at her selfishness kept her from awareness of their implications.

  "Hush," he said, ensuring her silence with a kiss. "I've wanted you for so long that I'll probably explode the first time you touch me." He stood up, quickly stepped out of the slacks. Annie watched as his erect penis sprang free from the confines of his boxers. Pulsing need returned as she let her eyes move over his body, broad shouldered, barrel chested, slim hipped, and altogether dear to her.

  Clay dropped to his knees and framed her face with his hands. "Did you hear me, lovely Annie? I love you. I fell in love with you last summer, and it's grown every day since."