The slapping of their thighs, the bulging hot flesh of breasts spurred him on. He never wanted his pumping to end. She pulled herself to a tripod, balancing herself on her forearms her rear supported by her bent knees. Jameson kneeled to her, holding her tight against him, rocking his hips and plunging in deeper.
He lifted her up, arms across her breasts, leaning her against his chest. He gripped her hips and worked her body up and down on him while she squeezed her own breasts. Delicious moans came from her nearly spent body. He could tell she was ready.
“I’m gonna come now, sweetheart.”
“I’m ready, Jameson. I’ll always be ready for you.”
Morning came too soon. He was exhausted and neither of them had gotten very much sleep. Every time one of them turned in bed or reached for the other it became a new lovemaking session. He wore her well on his body as the morning light brightened the room without mercy.
He was sporting a huge headache from the champagne. She got up quickly and closed the curtains, grinning from ear to ear.
“What? You got something you want to get off your chest?” he asked.
“Kendra was right.”
“About what?”
“She told me to come back, that if it worked,” she slid under the sheets, grabbing his left leg with her thighs and rubbing her sex up and down against him, “that the makeup sex would be awesome.” She stretched the word awesome out into several beats, sliding up and down, pressing the petals of her sex just enough so he could feel every little piece of her.
“Honestly, Lizzie, I can’t remember a single time when the sex wasn’t awesome. I’m gonna miss that, sweetheart.”
She climbed atop him, her breasts touching his. Her blonde hair hung down over her forehead as she adjusted her pelvis, finding his stiff cock and then getting herself stuck on it.
Life couldn’t get any better, he thought. Her beautiful body played itself out on him, an instrument of infinite beauty. Unafraid, passionate, and all his.
The good-byes were quick. Neither one of them wanted to stay the extra day, and after Thomas heard about the fiasco with the lady in the room, he told Jameson to just split and he’d try to keep his prospects alive.
“I owe you, after all. I’m going to make it right, Jameson.”
“No more surprises. It’s not about the music or the money. It’s about the friendship. Honest. If we don’t have that, we have nothing.”
“You’re right, of course.” Thomas gave Lizzie a peck on the cheek. “Find me one just like you.”
“Thought you and Monica sort of were an item, from the wedding and all.”
“I love her spunk and her style. But sweetheart, she’d kill me with her appetites.” He glanced at Jameson and shrugged. “Sorry if that was TMI as they say.”
Everyone laughed. After what had occurred in their motel room, there really wasn’t any such thing anymore, Jameson thought.
“I’ll send the limo back to you, and thanks.”
“Hey, asshole,” Thomas said as they were getting into the back seat. “This time, do me a favor and tip the goddamned driver. Your lady knows how it works. What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
Lizzie kept him from answering, placing her hand over his mouth. “Absolutely nothing!” she shouted.
They laughed about it all the way to the airport. Luckily they were able to change their flights and travel together. Lizzie informed the sailors she wouldn’t be returning with them on Sunday. She also placed a call to Christy and gave her the PG version of their big night, and let her know when they’d be there to pick up Charlotte.
The two of them settled in, fell asleep and next thing they knew, the plane was touching down in San Diego. They picked up Jameson’s truck and drove straight to Kyle’s house.
Charlotte cried when she had to part with Stephie.
Kyle shook his head. “Those two? Inseparable. They were holding hands nearly the whole time. Like they were sisters. It was really cute.”
Brandon was sulking in the corner. “What’s the matter with you?” Jameson asked.
“Oh, he got a time out. Kinda swore at his sister and of course they ran inside and told Mom. He sort of feels ganged up on with Charlotte here.
“Brandon, thank you for protecting the ladies,” Jameson said. “I have it on good authority you want to learn how to play guitar. When we get back, I’m gonna spend some time getting something you can play and start you on some lessons. You up for that?”
“Yes sir, Jameson, sir. That would be super cool.” His demeanor changed immediately. He looked at his dad. “May I be excused to go to my room?” he asked Kyle.
“You may. Tonight you’re helping your mom with the dishes.”
“Who’s cooking,” Brandon asked.
“I am because your mom isn’t home from work yet.”
“Ah, man.” Brandon feigned getting shot in the stomach.
“Get to your room, son.” The boy complied. “I guess that’s not a very good testament to my cooking skills.”
Jameson chuckled. “You burn stuff? I could see him objecting to that.”
“Nah. I just use a lot of pans.”
Wednesday came. Jameson and Lizzie had been up since three o’clock, just to be sure they could say a private and passionate farewell before the light of morning came. He was being picked up by Fredo in the old beater green forestry truck. None of them liked leaving their nice vehicles in the lot for long deployments, so men were either dropped off or rode together.
Lizzie waived to Fredo.
“Come on, lover boy. No time for songs. Just give her a nice pat on her ass, and let’s get this truck going,” Fredo bellowed loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.
“I’ll call you when I can. We can probably do Skype, but have to wait to be sure it’s safe.”
“I understand. No worries here. I’ll have my phone with me 24/7 and I’ll keep it charged up. I’ll never nag you even if you call me at 3 AM.”
“That’s my girl. Bye, sweetheart.” He hated giving her the last kiss they’d have for several months. He wiped away her tears. “It will go by fast. Be good.”
“Roger that, my love. Be safe. Come home to me, Jameson.”
The horn in the pickup blared, and several men in the vehicle started pounding on the sidepanels of the doors.
“That’s a promise.”
He hopped in. He was as nervous as the first time he jumped solo at midnight. He hoped his world would still be here when he came back. That’s what he was going over to fight for, after all. It was all in the hands of the men he sat behind and next to. These guys were his family now.
He put the lid on the urn of his emotions and his love for his family, and set it aside, but close by so he could look at it often.
Chapter 20
‡
A week after Jameson deployed, Lizzie took Charlotte up to Sonoma County, at the invitation of Devon and Nick. It was helpful to go over the day-to-day workings of a real winery, that actually had a winemaker. Initially, Devon and Nick took the responsibility, but they soon discovered the costs of their mistakes could pay for a good winemaker. They hired someone who came highly recommended by their mentor at Davis. The young chemist was looking to get his first of hopefully many gold medals.
“My first bottling venture we exploded half the crush,” Nick said.
“And we had some great sparkling vinegar with the rest of it,” added Devon.
Lizzie enrolled Charlotte in the reading camp run by one of the local charter schools. It was required she help with the classrooms one day per week, so on the other days, she began looking for work at a tasting room, and on her off days she volunteered at Frog Haven. Although the property was still in escrow, the estate was paid every penny of the fifty thousand option money, and they were well on their way to obtaining a loan to be able to transfer title into their own names.
Frog Haven winery also had plans to make beer, and Lizzie helped Amy and Zak plant nearly
a half-acre of hops plants. Zak had a handful of good farm workers who migrated from winery to winery, and they completed the late pruning, staking, repairing broken water lines and building a drying shed for the hops. They also had to build twenty-foot trellises for the hops.
“You guys really going to call it Frog Piss Beer?” she asked Zak.
“Aye!” Zak answered. “It be in green bottles as well, me lady!”
Since they were very small, almost as if they were a microwinery, they would prepare, process and ferment their grapes elsewhere and pay a pro rata share of the operating expenses of a nearby winery in exchange. This would be the case until they had enough money saved to build their own processing facilities, tasting room, and fermentation tanks.
The physical work in the fields was difficult, but Lizzie had no trouble sleeping at night, often turning in early and leaving Charlotte up with Nick and Devon to play with the baby and study her reading assignments.
One night, Charlotte crawled into bed with her. She put her little arms around Lizzie.
“What’s up, Pumpkin? You hear something scary?”
“I miss Daddy.”
Lizzie hugged her tight. “So do I. But he’ll come home soon. I talked to him today.”
“You did?”
“Yes, ma’am. We got to see each other’s face on my tablet. He looks good. He just had come in from work, so he was dirty, like me when I get done.”
“Can I talk to him next time?”
“I’m working on that.” Lizzie didn’t know how to explain that it was recommended children not be put on the conversations since they weren’t sure the communication was secure. “Maybe we can give you a funny hat and disguise and surprise him, what do you think?”
“Like dress-up!”
“Exactly. He’d like that, I think.”
“Okay, Mommy.” She snuggled next to her but didn’t fall asleep. Her restless little body churned in the bed, her legs getting tangled in the sheets.
“What’s up, Charlotte? Is something upsetting you?” Lizzie looked at the clock. It was after midnight.
“Nick told Devon he didn’t want to be killed.”
A blinding flash hit Lizzie. Her daughter had overheard something between Nick and Devon they didn’t realize she’d heard.
“And you’re worried about Daddy.”
“I don’t want him to die, Mommy. I want him to come home.”
She understood from several of the wives what an impact the men leaving had on the children, especially when someone didn’t come home. Thankfully that wasn’t very often, but the wives felt they didn’t have time to grieve because they had to be strong for their kids.
But this was the plight of every spouse of someone who served. The families paid the price too. She couldn’t imagine what would have happened if she hadn’t stayed and given Jameson the chance to explain about the Nashville trip. What if Charlotte had gone with her, too?
Charlotte was courageous, one of the strongest children Lizzie had ever seen even taking into account she was her daughter. But she rarely showed fear. Had the same excitement for life Jameson had. She was a participator, loved to be with people and interact. The strong bonds she formed with people, even other children, were very important to her. In that respect, she was exactly the same.
“Charlotte, our job is to go on and try not to worry or think about those things. We say little prayers, and in that way we help Daddy come home. We expect he will come home, although we understand sometimes soldiers don’t. But we don’t worry about that unless we have to. In the meantime, sweetheart, we just remember how nice it will be to see him again, okay?”
She kissed the top of Charlotte’s head. As her daughter turned her face, Lizzie felt the wetness on her nightgown.
Charlotte had been crying.
She would have to have a conversation with Nick and Devon. Just like she’d told Jameson, Charlotte’s ears were world class, and she was way smarter than she ever let on. The family wasn’t united today, but she did have Charlotte, and that was one of the biggest blessings she could count on.
Amy was on the phone when Lizzie arrived at Frog Haven Vineyards.
“But we don’t have a winemaker yet. We’re just getting started.” She walked back and forth in the kitchen, the cordless phone to her ear. She was frustrated. “Why can’t we make the entry and then fill in the name of the winemaker later? Or do you just want it to read Zak Chambers, since we’ll be harvesting soon?
Lizzie looked at her paperwork on the kitchen counter. Amy was entering a barrel tasting contest, which was gutsy since they didn’t have anything to taste. Her admiration for Amy went up several notches.
“Okay, fine. I get it. We’ll see you next year.” Amy put the phone down and rubbed her temples.
“Good try. I would have thought that would be a long shot,” said Lizzie.
“I know. I just was trying to get some things together to help entice someone to join us. We need a winemaker, and not a garage vintner, know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do. But imagine how the other participants would feel if they were up against something that wasn’t even created yet. What if something happened and you had no grapes.”
“That never happens. I mean, it would have to be a wildfire or something.” Amy bent back and cracked her back. “Oh, God. Something else to worry about.”
“Where’s Zak?”
“Oh, he’s outside.” She picked up a flier and slipped next to Lizzie. “I got this. Mr. Zapparelli is doing a big benefit for the Healdsburg schools. He loves children’s choirs and anything that has to do with literacy. He’s having a children’s reading and songfest at the winery. All the sales that day will be donated to the schools.”
Lizzie took the flier. Mr. Zapparelli’s distinctive horn-rimmed glasses were used as a logo, letters and notes seeming to flow from the lenses.
“First annual Vintage Read and Sing Along,” Lizzie whispered. “Wow, this is going to be a big deal.”
“I think so. We should get involved, perhaps use it as our way to make nice with the nasty neighbor.”
“I don’t get that he’s nasty. He’s just controlling.” Lizzie fingered the flier again. “But you are right about one thing, it can’t hurt for neighborly relations.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m glad, because I volunteered you for a committee.”
“Oh, really? What one?”
“Finance.”
“Finance?”
“Sponsorships. Local businesses will want to participate. He’s donating the facilities and the wine, but the food, rentals, people to cater the event, that all costs money.”
“So you want me to go begging, that it?”
“Well, I thought it would kill two birds. First, you’d get to know the local businesses, meet the patrons of Healdsburg and Dry Creek Valley. You’d also get a good list of people we could use for our grand opening, when we have one.”
Amy had been very smart about this. Lizzie agreed.
“Awesome, because they’re having a volunteers meeting this afternoon at two o’clock.”
“At the winery?”
“Yes, their Tower Room. Holds a lot of people.”
“Are you going?”
“Nope. Letting you do it.” Amy followed it up with a grin. “Your talents are wasted carrying plastic pipes around and delivering water to the crew.
“So what are you doing this afternoon?”
“I have a young man, came highly recommended, who is looking for a winemaker position. You’ll have a chance to meet him before you head off to the meeting.”
A handsome dark-haired man with enormous shoulders stepped out of a dusty old truck. He hadn’t been careful about traveling down the driveway, so rolling dust clouds appeared shortly thereafter. He didn’t notice, but Lizzie was grateful she’d stayed inside and not wandered out onto the porch with Amy. He grinned and shook Amy’s hand.
“So, you’re Sam Reynoso?” Amy said as she led him int
o the living room.
“Yes, ma’am.” He was comfortable in his own skin, Lizzie thought. He was just a couple of years older than the two women. He gave Lizzie an appreciative nod and extended his arm. “Sam. Sam Reynoso.”
Lizzie let him grip her fingers, nearly cutting off the circulation. He was used to heavy labor because his palms were callused and scratchy.
“I’m Lizzie, the designated volunteer. We run a huge operation, as you can see.”
He chuckled. “Yea, I saw the vineyard and the house, but I didn’t see the operations buildings.”
“You’re looking at them,” Amy said, referring to the kitchen. “We’re using Marvin Vineyards for the crush and fermentation.”
“Oh, good. They’re very fair. Lots of people have used them just starting out. I’ve worked with them quite a bit. What are you making now?
“Um, we haven’t really started. This will be our first season.”
“I see. You’ll have enough tonnage to make it worthwhile, then?”
“Well, that depends,” Amy said. “If you mean will we all be able to retire in Mexico or the Riviera? No. If you mean we’ll make more than we would working at a burger joint? No. If you mean we’ll have drinkable wine? Well, that answer is a resounding yes. We have friends who make good wine now.”
“Of course. Who are they?”
“Sophie’s Choice Vineyards in Bennett Valley. Nick and Devon.”
“Okay, sure.”
Sam was being agreeable. Lizzie noticed he didn’t scoff at the “wages less than a burger joint” comment either. So far, Sam was passing the test she knew was important.
“Can’t say I know them, but I’ve tasted their wine. Very passable. Getting better every year.” He glanced around the kitchen. “You do this alone, just the two of you?”
Nashville SEAL: Jameson: Nashville SEALs Page 13
