by Lori Wilde
“Good night.”
“Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I love you,” he whispered softly in my ear. I squeezed his hand, a lump in my throat.
“Love you, too.”
After the boys had bedded down, that only left me and Conahegg to enjoy the night.
Conahegg prodded the fire, rearranging the logs and then casually dropped down next to me. I pretended my blood didn’t suddenly run hot.
“You’re quite a trooper,” Conahegg said.
“Pardon me?”
“Most women aren’t that fond of sleeping on the ground, cooking over an open flame, sitting in the woods in the dark. Battling mosquitoes and fire ants.”
“Oh no?”
He shrugged and smiled. “Well, at least none of the women I’ve ever dated.”
“Maybe you’ve been dating the wrong women.”
“Maybe.” He picked up a nearby stick and began doodling in the sand with it, but not before I saw a faint smile flit over his lips.
The fire crackled and snapped.
I heard him exhale deeply. The sound stirred something primordial and very womanly in me.
“Listen,” I said, trying to find something else to talk about besides what kind of women Conahegg thought he ought to be dating. “Are you still convinced Rocky’s death was accidental suicide?”
Conahegg glanced over his shoulder at the row of tents behind us. “Shhh.”
I lowered my voice in deference to the kids. “Seriously, Conahegg, don’t you have doubts?”
He paused a moment before answering me. “There’s room for that when the autopsy report comes back. Until then I’m going to refrain from speculation.”
“Must be nice to be able to control your curiosity.”
“The Marines teach control.”
Control in every aspect of life? I wondered briefly, my mind veering straight for the gutter.
“So what about you, Ally Green?”
“What about me?”
“How did you come to be mother of your entire family?”
“Born with a guilt chip in my brain, I guess. I fear if I don’t take care of them, they’ll fall apart.”
“Have you ever given them an ultimatum?”
“You shouldn’t go around issuing ultimatums to people unless you are prepared to act on them.”
“You haven’t reached your saturation point.” Conahegg nodded.
“What does that mean?” I cast a sideways glance at him. There was a wistful note in his tone, a faraway look in his eyes that told me he was thinking about something in his own life.
“Time comes, Ally, you’ve got to make your own way and they’ve got to make theirs.”
“Is that right?”
“That’s right.” There was that smile again. A quick flash, then it was gone.
I admit, I was flattered by his attention. My family never listens to me. Talking to Mama is like talking to a wall; Aunt Tessa is somewhat better but not much; Sissy does the opposite of whatever I suggest.
Now, here was Conahegg, all ears and understanding. It made me feel weird and comfortable at the same time.
“What about Sistine?” he asked.
“What about her?”
“She’s giving you a few gray hairs.” He reached over and lightly touched my temples where I do have a couple of gray hairs that I’m usually pretty ruthless about plucking. His warm fingers almost seared my skin. Terrific. I had to get an observant guy who even notices my hair. “Tell me about Sissy.”
Damned if I didn’t spill my guts to him. I told him about Sissy and her boyfriends. About how upset she’d been with Tim when he’d dumped her for a male lover. How her temper had caused her to shoot Rocky when she’d found out about Darlene. I even told him about what happened to Sissy at the Metallica concert.
“My sister never got over our father’s death,” I whispered, brought my knees to my chest and hugged myself. “When he died it was as if she lost her moral compass. And I recently found out that she’d almost gotten raped.” I shuddered. “It must have been awful for her.”
“She needs counseling, Ally,” Sam said.
“I know. But how do I make her go?”
He swung his gaze toward the tent and nodded his head. “She’s got a pretty terrific son. Do you think she would do it for him?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to talk about Sissy’s shortcomings anymore. It made me feel like a failure. I leaned over and retrieved a marshmallow from the bag and thrust it onto a skewer.
I burned the marshmallow to a crisp, blew on it to cool it, then popped it in my mouth. The burnt skin crunched against my teeth, then the gooey middle stuck to them. I was in hog heaven. It had been far too long since I’d roasted marshmallows and sat before a crackling fire. I missed camping more than I realized.
“You want me to show you the real way to roast a marshmallow?” Conahegg asked.
“No thanks.” I torched another one. “I like them this way.”
“That’s only because you’ve never had Marshmallows Conahegg.”
“Marshmallows Conahegg?”
He took the skewer from my hand. “Sit back and watch the master at work.”
All right. It was nice to have him take charge although a part of me wanted to wrest the skewer away from him and tell him to go roast his own marshmallows. I don’t know what it was about him that caused so many conflicting emotions inside me, but whenever he was near, I rarely knew my own mind.
He crouched by the fire, his attention thoroughly focused on the job at hand.
My gaze strayed from his hand up his arms, to his shoulders, then down to his muscular behind and fabulous legs. In those shorts he looked hotter than the hard-body UPS guy who delivered our supplies at work. The nurses fought to sign for his packages.
I thought about kissing him. Would he be a good kisser? How was his technique? Was he one of those grab-you-and-go-at-it types? Or was he as controlled in his lovemaking as he was in every other aspect of his life? Would my knees go weak with desire? Or would his lips be a mild diversion and nothing else?
I was dying to answer those questions, but fear and common sense held me back. I couldn’t kiss him. Not here. Not with the kids a few feet away. Not when I was still uncertain of his feelings for me.
Would there ever be a right time for us?
“Here we go.” He brought me the most perfect marshmallow ever cooked. Nicely tanned on the outside with a few bubbles but no burned spots.
I reached for it.
“No, no.” He took his fingers and gently tugged the marshmallow from the skewer. “Open up.”
I parted my lips.
And then his fingers were touching my mouth. Rough manly fingers that felt too damned good against my skin and filled my head with dangerous thoughts. I snared the marshmallow between my teeth.
The marshmallow tasted exquisite. I was embarrassed by the automatic, low, sexy sound I made at the delicious flavor. I inhaled sharply and accidentally swallowed the thing whole. It lodged in my throat.
I coughed lightly, hand over my mouth, trying to be ladylike at first.
“Ally?” Conahegg loomed above me, concern and firelight sculpting shadows across the hollows of his cheeks. “Are you all right?”
I splayed a palm over my chest and tried to nod reassuringly, my neck muscles working furiously to push the marshmallow along. I must have looked like a sand crane trying to gulp down a too-big fish.
“Are you choking?” he demanded, dropping to his knees behind me.
I tried to speak but couldn’t. I raised one finger indicating he should give me a moment.
Desperately, I tried to suck in air but that only seemed to wedge the marshmallow tighter. My head was starting to ache. I could feel the veins at my temples bulging. I made a noise like, “kakakakak.”
“You are choking.”
Then before I could signal that it might be a good
time to institute the Heimlich maneuver, Conahegg’s big hands were around my waist, his fist knotted against my diaphragm.
He gave a short, explosive thrust and the marshmallow flew from my throat and landed in the fire with a hissing sound.
I inhaled deeply and wiped saliva from my chin. So much for romance.
“Thanks,” I croaked.
“No more Marshmallows Conahegg for you,” he said in a shaky voice.
After that, there was nothing to do but call it a night.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE BOYS, CHATTERING like tree monkeys, awoke before dawn. All they talked about was finding the secret underwater caves. I groaned and rolled over onto my side, my back stiff from the ground, my midsection tender from Conahegg’s impromptu administration of the Heimlich maneuver the night before.
My, Sheriff, what strong arms you have.
I was confused about my relationship with Conahegg. I wanted him and yet I didn’t. I yearned for his kisses but yet the thought of making love to such a masculine guy scared me witless.
Bottom line?
I was terrified.
Afraid to trust him. Afraid to trust myself. Afraid to let loose. Afraid of getting hurt.
Ah. There was the rub.
I’d had boyfriends before. After a fashion. I’d been kissed. I’d had sex.
But I’d never had real intimacy. I’d never snuggled next to a man confident that he was mine, that I didn’t have to worry. I’d never spilled my darkest secrets to a man, confiding to him things people didn’t even tell shrinks. I’d never whispered those three powerful words—I love you—to a man.
Part of it was because of my family. How could I get intimate with a man when my family always came first? But I’d started thinking that maybe part of the fault lay with me. Had I been using my family as an excuse, a buffer against my fears of intimacy? Maybe I needed them as much as they needed me.
The thought was revolutionary.
Most importantly, what was I so afraid would happen if I fell in love and why?
“Ally? You up?” Conahegg stuck his head in my tent, a good-morning grin on his face”.
My heart caught.
“Who could sleep with that noise?”
“Those boys are wound up tighter than fresh boot camp recruits on their first leave.”
I groaned again. “It’s too early in the morning for Marine analogies.”
The smile deepened to include his eyes. “Rise and shine.”
I lifted a hand to my tousled hair. I must look like hell. “Aye, Aye, sir.” I gave him a mock salute and crawled from my sleeping bag.
I hated not having a shower but I did sponge bathe with bottled water, a washcloth and one of those complimentary bars of soap you pick up in hotels. Neither the boys nor Conahegg bothered with even a spit bath. They were wild river men, they didn’t need no stinkin’ soap and proceeded to tell me so repeatedly. They didn’t have to say anything. I could smell them.
The boys stripped off their shirts and went around like extras on the set of Lord of the Flies. Luckily, Conahegg kept his shirt on. Undoubtedly, he didn’t want me choking on a breakfast sausage.
“Okay, troops,” Conahegg said when the sun had risen to a respectable zenith and the young heathens had gulped down the eggs and bacon he’d cooked. “Time to pack up the canoes. It’s off to the caves.”
A cheer went up and they set to work, busy as ants, folding tents, stuffing backpacks, carting ice chests. Try getting ten boys that excited about arithmetic or cleaning their rooms.
The morning sun shimmered brilliantly on the water’s surface as we cast off and I was surprised to discover that I was as excited as the kids. All my life I’d heard tales about these underwater caves. Supposedly, you entered the caves from the river but once inside you could climb out of the water and onto the rocks.
Sanchez Creek meandered through the ranch land and narrowed so much at one point that we were forced to get out and carry the canoes. Conahegg had us singing Marine songs as we marched and I realized I was having a good time.
We put back into the water a quarter of a mile later. Conahegg took the lead canoe and I had the pleasure of watching him row. His lean muscles glistened from sweat and sunscreen. His swim trunks rode his slim waist. He looked powerful as a cheetah and twice as deadly.
Once he turned his head to look back at me, and caught my eye. The pure sexual energy in his stare almost caused me to drop my oar. What did he think of me? Did he imagine me naked, in his bed? Just as I fantasized about him?
Heat swamped my body. I clung to my paddle and rowed so fast we bumped into the canoe of boys in front of us.
For another hour we were at it, then, we heard a faint rushing noise. We paddled around the bend to investigate and emerged from the creek into a wide crystal-clear pool. I hadn’t been here in a very long time.
“Cool,” the kids exclaimed. “A waterfall.”
It wasn’t a waterfall as in rain forest waterfall. Rather it was a small cliff where part of the river diverted and trickled over an outcropping of jagged rocks, forming the pool.
“Everyone listen to me,” Conahegg said. “We’re going ashore.”
“Here?” I turned and looked at him.
He held up the map. “I thought you said you knew where the caves were.”
“Well sure, of course I do,” I lied through my teeth. Couldn’t have Conahegg thinking I made claims I couldn’t substantiate. “But it’s been a long time. The terrain has changed.”
From the look on his face, I knew he knew I was lying but he had the good grace to let it go.
“Canoes to the bank.” He motioned with a finger.
We beached the canoes and got out. Conahegg gave the boys another wilderness lecture. He even took a hunting knife from his backpack and showed them how to turn a stick into a spear for hunting or fishing. They were mesmerized by his survival training stories and hung on every word.
Truthfully, he was fascinating. As he talked, it was easy to imagine him in the spit and polish military. Shoulders back, chin out, flint eyes straight ahead. Doing his duty, putting his life on the line for his country. I wondered what rank he had achieved. Let’s face it, I was practically drooling.
I watched him with the boys, and I found myself wondering why, at age thirty-five, he wasn’t married with a passel of kids of his own. I mean, many women would find him attractive if you went in for those macho, hard-ass, soldier-boy types. And he seemed to love teaching these kids and they lapped up his attention like kittens at milk.
“Okay, men, are we ready to search for the caves?” he asked.
In answer, they beat on their chests with fists and grunted manfully.
“First you must listen to me very carefully. We’re going to be taking off our life jackets because you can’t dive with them on. Is everyone a strong swimmer?”
Ten heads bobbed in unison and ten life jackets went flying through the air. Conahegg took off his shirt and I had no words to describe the beauty of his ripply chest. Suffice it to say, I was not disappointed.
He rigged his hunting knife and a waterproof flashlight to his belt. “All right. You guys stay right beside me. Ally?”
“Uh-huh?”
“You coming?”
Eleven pairs of eyes rested on me. Was I going to be a wuss and stay on the shore or was I going to be part of the gang?
“Why sure,” I said with more bravado than I felt. I shimmied out of my shorts and T-shirt, stripping down to the one-piece bathing suit I wore beneath.
I raised my head to find Conahegg’s gaze riveted on my butt and legs. Finally, those long hours on the StairMaster were paying off.
He realized I caught him in the act of ogling my body but he didn’t look away in embarrassment. He held my stare. Sunlight dappled a surreal pattern across the water, across our skins. It seemed we were the only two people alive. Never mind those pesky kids. In that moment I knew exactly what was on his mind and it didn’t have anything
to do with underwater caves or Junior Adventurers or advanced survival techniques.
More like advanced sexual techniques.
He was a bold man with bold appetites.
Yikes!
“Ready,” I said, snapping his attention back to the moment.
He narrowed his eyes, swallowed so hard I could see his jaw clench with the effort of reining himself in.
Hey, what can I say? I was flattered.
After peeling his gaze from me, Conahegg herded us to the water’s edge and gave us instructions on where to dive. The caves, according to his map, were hidden beneath the waterfall.
I was panting, overwhelmed by what had passed between us. If we had been alone, I’m certain we would have had sex right there in the grass. The urge was that damned strong.
But I forced myself to ignore my stoked libido. If he could behave so could I.
We jumped in, Conahegg leading the way. The pool, warmed by the noonday sun, welcomed us in its embrace. We dog-paddled for a bit, then Conahegg had us get into a circle and tread water.
“Stay here with Ally for a moment,” he told the boys. “I’m going to check things out first.”
We waited. The kids splashed each other. I floated on my back, enjoying the day and indulging in very naughty daydreams about me and Conahegg.
In a couple of minutes, Conahegg returned. “It’s here.” He beamed. “Come with me.”
And we did. Taking deep lungfuls of air, then diving under the water, one after the other, following the leader. We went down, down, pushing past the rocky overhang.
Then we leveled out and angled to the right. Just when my lungs were starting to ache, Conahegg veered upward and we popped like corks into the deepest darkness I have ever experienced. The sound of twelve people gasping resounded in the confines.
And then a shaft of light.
Conahegg played his flashlight along the walls of the cave. “Here’s a place where we can get up,” he said, guiding us to a large flat rock that lay half submerged, half out of the water on the cave floor.
The kids pulled themselves up and I obsessively counted heads. Eight. Nine. Ten. I relaxed.
It was at least a dozen degrees cooler inside the cave than it had been outside. My hair was glued to my face and I had to drag it from my eyes with a palm.
