Carry Me Home (Paradise, Idaho)

by Rosalind James

  “Well, not because I slept with her,” he said, and she tried to remember what they’d been talking about. “I walked her home, remember? After I danced with you, walked you home, and you shot me down.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She was smiling again, because Cal had that effect on her. “I do remember that. Did you mind?”

  “Hell, yeah, I minded. But I got my kiss in the end, didn’t I? Goal-oriented, that’s what we call that. But then, you know all about that, too, don’t you? Just a different goal, maybe.”

  “Or a one-track mind.”

  “Can’t help it,” he sighed. “My mind just keeps going right on down that track. Even if you’re wearing my mother’s underwear, and princess, anytime you want to go on and change out of those, it won’t be soon enough for me.”

  She laughed. She might have a crazy stalker after her, she was being forced to escape her apartment until she and Cal could fortify it—and still, she laughed.

  “I didn’t notice it stopping you,” she said. “But you wait here, and when I come out again, I’ll be wearing my own underwear. I’m not saying you’re going to be seeing it right away, but I can put your mind at ease, in case you’re imagining it.”

  “Oh, darlin’,” he said, “I’ll be imagining it.”

  Cal did everything he’d promised. And the next day, he came over to Rochelle’s, too, gave them both some pretty good self-defense instruction, and then took them out to dinner. If there was one thing Cal was, it was thorough.

  “The only thing I miss about California and Seattle,” he said, taking a dubious bite of Senor Fred’s special enchilada, “is the ethnic food. A beef enchilada isn’t supposed to have hamburger in it. Or canned sauce on top of it. But there are still some things we do better around here. Music and beer, for two. And that was a segue,” he informed Zoe. “Since I know how you love a man who uses those two-bit words.”

  “Mmm,” she said, reflecting that fish probably wasn’t the wisest choice of dinner entrée in the Inland Northwest. “A segue to what?”

  “I’m about to smoothly invite the two of you to go dancing on Friday. They’ll have a band again, and I think you both need a distraction from recent unfortunate events. And as for you, princess—I think you need another lesson from somebody who knows how.”

  She paused with the bite halfway to her mouth, then went on and ate it, taking her time. “Uh-huh,” she said, doing her best not to read the light in his blue eyes. “That was really smooth right there, too, by the way.”

  “Well, I thought so. So, dancing?”

  “Both of us?” Rochelle asked from beside Zoe. “You going harem-style these days? Because, bud, think again.”

  He laughed. “Nope. I’m going to get Luke to come along and be your date. If you say yes, of course,” he amended quickly.

  “And does he know this?” Rochelle asked. “Because I’m not exactly getting the warm fuzzies here.”

  “He will when I tell him,” Cal said cheerfully. “So, what do you say?” he asked, looking between the two of them. “Two good-looking Jackson brothers? Pretty hard offer to refuse?”

  “I told you,” Zoe said, trying hard to look lofty and not to laugh, “you’re not that good-looking.”

  Rochelle stared at her, a startled laugh escaping, and Cal grinned.

  “My body’s all right,” he informed Rochelle. “But I’m afraid that’s where it stops. That’s all right, princess. I’ll let you be the good-looking one. Plus, if we dance real close, you won’t have to look at my face.”

  “Just feel your body, huh?” She couldn’t believe what was coming out of her mouth, but here it came anyway.

  “Well,” he said, “that works for me, yeah.”

  She didn’t have to wait, it turned out. He walked them home, looked at Zoe when they were standing outside Rochelle’s door, and said, “Want to climb up in the truck with me a minute, say good night?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said. “I do.” Because she did. She wanted to kiss him, to snuggle up close and run her hands over his shoulders and arms, to feel him holding her. So big, and so secure.

  They couldn’t do more than that, not parked on Main Street with the truck running, but it seemed she wanted whatever she could get. And Cal was generous. He gave it to her. For a good long time. He held her against him while his mouth nibbled and played, and when his lips slid around to the side of her neck and he bit down, she gasped.

  “Cal,” she said.

  “Hmm?” he asked against her skin.

  She shifted on the seat, got a hand in his hair and drew him to her. “Oh,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

  That got a laugh, and he obliged. He stayed there and teased her, found all her most sensitive spots until he had her leaning back against the door and writhing a little. Just from his mouth on her neck.

  “I need . . .” she breathed.

  “I know.” He brushed his mouth over hers again. Her lips were so sensitized they were tingling, and so was every other part of her. “I know what you need. But maybe not on Main Street.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. Not too steadily, because she was off-balance and no mistake.

  He sat back, pulling her with him, and rested his forehead against hers. “Feels pretty good, huh?”

  “Mmm,” she agreed, running a hand over his cheek, around to the short hair at the back of his neck. “Making out in a truck. Another new Idaho experience for me.”

  “Well, I’d tell you it was new for me, but you’ve just described my entire teenage courtship ritual. But I never did it with you before, and that’s fairly special. Kinda looking forward to Friday. I hope you are, too.”

  “I don’t really . . .” She backed off a little. “I don’t really have time for a relationship, though. I mean, I work a lot. A lot. Especially this year. And I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “I noticed that,” he said. “Just wait until spring work starts. You’ll see that I don’t have time, either. But I’ll make some time for you all the same. It’s all about priorities.”

  “You going to make me a priority?”

  “Seems I just can’t help it.” He stroked her hair, smiled into her eyes. “It doesn’t seem to be the mind that’s calling the shots around here.”

  “I guess the question is,” she said, “what is? The heart or the body?”

  “Couldn’t it be both?”

  “I guess.” She relaxed into his hand. “It feels like both,” she confessed. “But I’m glad you know about working a lot, too. I’ve always drawn these . . . boundaries, you know?”

  “Yep,” he said. “I know all about boundaries.”

  “But I wasn’t counting on this place. I wasn’t counting on you. Who knew I’d be such a sucker for a take-charge guy with a kind heart?”

  “I’ve moved from bossy to take-charge, huh? I kinda like that. And I like the kind heart, for sure. You’ve got a pretty good heart of your own, Professor. Seems like you’ve got just the kind of heart I like.”

  “I’ve got to say, you give it right on back to Cal,” Rochelle said.

  Zoe had said a reluctant good-bye to Cal and gone back inside, and she and Rochelle were in their pajamas now—well, Zoe’s pajamas and Rochelle’s much more elegant version of nightwear. Drinking wine and half-watching a movie on the couch, with Zoe doing her best not to think about the work she wasn’t doing.

  “Mmm. Because it’s so much fun,” Zoe agreed, smiling a little at the memory.

  “And he’s loving it,” Rochelle said. “If you’re trying to whet his appetite, I’d say you’re doing a good job of it. I don’t know how the heck you’re holding out, but it’s working. I know I’d hit that. Of course,” she acknowledged, “I’m getting a little desperate here.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Zoe turned down the volume on the TV. “I thought maybe you and Deke would go out.”
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br />   “Well, not that desperate. He’s all right, but I just can’t bring myself to break my long drought with somebody who mostly stands out for wetting his pants in the second grade.”

  Zoe laughed. “I guess that’s the downside of small towns. Knowing all their history.”

  Rochelle sighed. “All I want is tall, dark, and handsome. Plus strong and sweet, of course. And somebody who wants to settle down and have lots of sex and babies with me. That too much to ask?”

  “And a good job,” Zoe suggested.

  “Well, yeah. A job, too. Not working on his carburetor on the coffee table would be a plus, and not living in a shack. I’m prepared to be flexible on the handsome. I can even be flexible on the tall and dark. But I’m not going to compromise on the strong and sweet.”

  “Or the sex and babies,” Zoe said.

  “Well, that goes without saying. How about you? What do you want?”

  “Well . . . nothing. I mean, I’ve never wanted anything.”

  “You telling me you don’t have standards? Girl, I don’t believe that for a minute. You’ve got standards out the wazoo. Either that or you’re nuts. You’re holding out on Cal.”

  “I mean,” Zoe tried to explain, “I can’t do the settling down and babies, not now. And the problem is, I’ve always been attracted to the wrong guys. What you said. The strong, take-charge guys like Cal.”

  “And that guy’s the wrong guy,” Rochelle said dubiously.

  “For me. Because is that kind of guy attracted to a woman like me, long-term? No. He isn’t. He wants somebody younger, and less educated, and less career-oriented. Somebody to put her career second and his first. Somebody to put herself second and him first.”

  She had Rochelle’s full attention now. “And you know this how?” the other woman demanded.

  Zoe gestured impatiently with the remote. “Everywhere. Anywhere. Some Hollywood actor makes it, what does he do? Dumps his wife, the one who’s his equal, maybe the one who supported him when he was starting out, and marries somebody younger who’ll worship him. Doctors marrying their receptionists. Everyone marrying their receptionists, or their assistants, or their . . . whoever. Because that’s what that kind of guy wants.”

  “Uh-huh.” Rochelle still didn’t look convinced. “Never seemed that way to me. Always seemed like a good, strong man would want a good, strong woman.”

  “All right,” Zoe said. “My parents. My dad’s a research fellow at USC, right?”

  “I don’t know,” Rochelle said. “Is he?”

  “Yes. He is. And my mom’s main job—until they were divorced, that is, because he found somebody younger—was to take care of my dad. She was happy to do it, too. She was crazy about him, and she still is, and even that wasn’t good enough for him. He wanted somebody to take care of him and be young and hot. And he got it, too. Anyway, I work in a male-dominated field. They might talk about work/life balance, but nobody’s living work/life balance. You get ahead because you put in the hours. You focus. I have all these strikes against me anyway as a woman, not being part of the group. I can’t afford any more.”

  “And that’s all right with you,” Rochelle said.

  “It has to be, doesn’t it? Because A, the guys I want have never been the guys I get.”

  “Except Cal.”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, maybe. But that’s . . . that’s an anomaly.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rochelle said. “An anomaly.”

  “And B,” Zoe went on, “the guy I would want, even if by some miracle he wanted me? I probably couldn’t have him anyway. Not and do what I’ve spent the last ten years of my life preparing to do. So it has to be all right with me.”

  “And does Cal know this?”

  Zoe shifted her gaze to her wineglass. “I was just talking to him about it tonight. Telling him how hard I have to work right now.”

  “Well,” Rochelle said, “he works pretty hard, too. So this is just for . . . what? Fun?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m not good at relationships. They’re like clothes. They confuse me. But I just can’t help it, you know?”

  “Yep,” Rochelle said. “The heart wants what it wants.”

  “Le coeur a ses raisons,” Zoe said.

  “What?”

  “Le coeur a ses raisons, que la raison ne connaît point. The heart has its reasons, that reason knows not of.”

  “Hmm. Yeah,” Rochelle decided. “I suppose that just about covers it. Do you know any more about it than how to say it?”

  “No,” Zoe said. “I sure don’t.”

  “But then,” Rochelle said, “who does?”

  CLOTHING CHALLENGES

  Zoe had showered, was in her underwear when the knock came at the front door on Friday night.

  She jumped and stared at Rochelle, who stared back at her.

  “The guy wouldn’t knock,” Rochelle said. “He doesn’t strike me as the knocking type.”

  “No,” Zoe said with relief, feeling foolish. “Of course not.” She pulled on her robe and followed Rochelle out through the minuscule kitchen into the living room all the same, and stood with her beside the door. Safety in numbers, and if she and Rochelle didn’t like the answer they got, well, they had a response for that.

  “Who is it?” Rochelle called.

  “Cal,” they heard. “And Luke.”

  Rochelle’s hand dropped from her chest, and she flipped the deadbolt and swung the door open. “Well, damn, boys. That’s what the phone’s for, you know?”

  “What?” Cal asked, stepping inside with Luke right beside him. He shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the brass tree beside the door while Luke did the same, and Rochelle watched them do it and raised her eyebrows comically at Zoe.

  “We supposed to call you instead of knocking on your door when we’re standing outside it?” Cal continued. “This some New Age social media rule I haven’t heard yet?”

  “Well, yeah,” Rochelle said. “If one of us might have a crazy stalker after her, and you’re here this early, I’d say you are supposed to do that.”

  He looked taken aback, shot a look at Zoe. “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Why are you here?” Zoe asked, pulling the belt of her robe a little tighter around herself. “You said eight. It’s not even seven thirty.”

  “Aw, honey,” Cal complained. “What a welcome.”

  Rochelle had her hands on her hips. “It’s true that you’re not supposed to mind waiting on a woman,” she said, “but this is ridiculous. Zoe’s in her robe.”

  Cal cast a glance over the white fleece robe patterned with blue snowflakes. “Yeah,” he drawled, “and that’s pretty much setting me on fire.”

  “Hey,” Zoe objected. “It’s cold. It’s winter. Excuse me for not being in some . . . satin negligee with marabou slippers. Sorry to burst your bubble. I didn’t know you’d be showing up to criticize my lingerie.”

  “Honey, that’s not lingerie,” Cal said. “I’m pretty sure my mom has a robe just like that.”

  “So why are you here?” Rochelle asked, her toe tapping dangerously in its red cowboy boot. “Our hair isn’t done. Our makeup isn’t done. Unless you’re going for candid before-and-after shots, which wouldn’t win you one single point with me, what’s the deal? I thought you were trying to get somewhere. This is you trying?” She looked at Luke. “Do you have absolutely no influence? I mean, all right, Cal hasn’t gotten out much lately. But seems to me you could’ve set him straight, a tomcat like you.”

  Luke’s mouth opened in shock. “I am not a tomcat. When am I a tomcat?”

  “Right,” Rochelle scoffed. “You think you can just cross the state line and that’s going to keep the gossip from getting back here? I’ve got news for you, big boy. The gossip gets back. We all know.”

  Luke was spluttering a little, and Cal was laughing. “Man,” he sa
id. “I love it when the heat’s falling on somebody else. But to answer your question, we’re here to make sure the professor gets dressed right. I had a dream last night that she showed up in that black suit and I had to blow my brains out from sheer despair.”

  “You came over to help me get dressed,” Zoe said slowly. “Both of you. Now I have heard everything.”

  “Yep,” he said. “We sure did. Closet back here?” he asked Rochelle, already heading farther into the apartment.

  She raised both arms from her sides, dropped them in surrender. “Well, go right ahead,” she told his back. “Be my guest.”

  “Thanks.” Cal led the way into her bedroom, lit by the two lamps draped with pink silk scarves, one on either side of the canopied brass bed.

  “Nice place,” Luke said, looking around.

  “It isn’t,” Rochelle said, “but I do my best. I always wanted a bed like this. Of course, I used to want Cal in it, too, but I’ve changed my mind on that one.”

  “Good,” Cal said absently. He had her closet door open, was sorting through it. “You’ve got your clothes color-coded.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” she said. “Because I get to be organized, now that I’m not married to the biggest slob in the Western Hemisphere.”

  “This it?” Cal asked Luke, pulling out a dress. A red dress. A dark red dress.

  “Yep,” Luke said. “That’s the one.”

  Cal took it off the hanger, tossed it to Zoe, and she reached out reflexively to catch it. Some kind of soft material that draped easily over her arm. She was sure it had a name. All she knew was, it felt nice.

  “There you go, darlin’,” he said. “That’s your color. And that’s your dress.”