A HOME FOR THE HUNTER

by Christine Rimmer

  Once he reached the back parking lot, Jack leaned against the old Cadillac that belonged to Oggie and gulped in air like a man just saved from drowning. When at last he began to believe that maybe his rubbery legs would hold him upright, he straightened. Then he headed for Swan's Motel.

  But his feet didn't take him there. Instead they turned on Pine Street

  and then again on Rambling Lane

  . He broke into a run. He pounded up the long, twisting street toward the little white house with the green trim. He was breathing hard when he mounted the porch.

  The light was off. The house was dark. He imagined she was sleeping. He had no right to hope she would welcome him. But right then his need was so great that he knocked anyway.

  The porch light came on, blinding him in a cold spill of brightness. He felt naked. And then she peeked through the curtain of the window beside the door.

  Her sweet face was pale, scrubbed clean of makeup. They stared at each other. He knew he should turn and leave. He prayed she'd let him in.

  She dropped the curtain. Then he heard the lock being turned. She pulled the door open and stepped back.

  He went in.

  She closed the door behind him and turned to face him, clutching her robe at the neck. "You talked to Oggie."

  He stared at her, then accused, "You know."

  She nodded. "Oggie made me promise not to tell you. He said you didn't want to know."

  Jack heard a laugh. It came from his own mouth. It sounded a lot like a groan. "He was right. But deep down, I did know. I think I knew the minute I saw him, that first day I came looking for you. But I could pretend I didn't know. As long as no one told it straight-out to my face. As long as no one mentioned names. Places. Details. But that old bastard just couldn't let it be."

  "Oh, Jack." Her eyes were full of love. Of understanding. He hated her right then, almost as much as he yearned for her. "He wants another chance," she said. "He wants to be your father."

  "Damn it, Olivia. I'm forty-one years old. I am what I am. It's a little late now."

  "No, Jack. It's not. It's never too late."

  "Yeah, it is. Knowing the truth doesn't change who I am. It just makes it all … sadder, more pathetic, somehow."

  "Only because you let it be that way."

  "You're a damn dreamer. You always did live in a fantasy world."

  "No, Jack. I don't live in a fantasy world. Not anymore. I live in the real world, a world I'm creating. Day by day."

  Her pretty chin was held high, her blue eyes shone. He wanted to grab her and shake her until she admitted he was right, that her head was full of pointless fantasies, which she insisted on calling dreams.

  He also wanted her to reach out her hand and pull him out of the darkness in which he suffered and into the light that seemed to glow all around her.

  He knew that neither of those two things would happen. He knew that there was a hard shell around his heart. Olivia was the only one who'd seen through the shell, down into the depths of him. But she couldn't break the shell. Nothing could do that. It was too much a part of him.

  She asked the question. "Why are you here, Jack?"

  He gave her the brutal truth. "Because I want you. I'll always want you. And I couldn't stay away. Not tonight, not after listening to all those things I never wanted to hear. But I'm leaving at daylight, just as I planned." He looked at her, at all of her, from the tangle of sleep-mussed gold curls to the bare pink toes that peeked out beneath her robe. He said roughly, "I want to be inside you. One more time."

  Three steps separated them. She bridged them without seeming to move.

  "All right." Her little chin was still high. But her tender mouth quivered. Two bright spots of color stained her cheeks.

  Shame flooded through him, tempering his anger, his pain … and his desire. He hung his head. "Get smart. Don't let me use you. Send me away."

  "Shh. I love you."

  The words pierced him. He hadn't known how he had wanted to hear them until she had uttered them.

  "Say it again." His voice was like the sound of something tearing.

  "I love you."

  "Again."

  "I love you, love you, love you…"

  Her soft hand framed the side of his face. She came up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. His mouth burned at the contact. His body was on fire with need of her. Yet he forced his hands to stay at his sides. He let her do the kissing.

  She did a damn fine job of it, too. She nibbled and tasted, licked and caressed. Her scent, that scent of flowers and freshness, swam all around him. He was hard, achingly hard. He could feel his manhood, pushing at the placket of his jeans, wanting to be out and inside of her, where it was safe and warm, where heaven was.

  With a groan, though he kept his hands to himself, he pressed his hips against her. She sighed and pressed back. He thought he would die—and be happy to go.

  Still kissing him, cradling his face in her tender hands, she lifted her hips and rubbed boldly against the ridge of him. He groaned again.

  She stepped back then.

  Stunned, starved for her, he opened his eyes. If she refused him now—

  But she wasn't refusing him. "Take off your jacket."

  He did as she asked, tossing it across a chair.

  She was holding out her hand. "Come on. Let's go to bed." When they reached the bedroom, Olivia let go of Jack's hand. Then she crossed the room and turned on the little lamp on the nightstand.

  She was very frightened. But absolutely sure that she was doing the right thing. She loved this man. And if tonight was the last one they'd have together, it was better than no last night at all.

  She had condoms, which she removed from the drawer in the stand and set beside the lamp. A wave a sadness washed over her, as she thought of how she had bought them two weeks ago, so certain that she and Jack would work out their problems soon, wanting to be prepared when their moment of tender reunion came.

  Well, she was prepared, all right. But the reunion, it seemed, would never be. This was more in the nature of an intimate farewell.

  She knew he was looking at the condoms, and she gave a little shrug. "Okay, I admit it. I want you, too." She forced a smile. "I always will. And this is a better way to end it than me calling you a fool and closing the door in your face, don't you think?"

  From the shadows she could feel his eyes caressing her with heat and hunger. "Yeah. Take off the robe."

  Her body responded instantly to his command. She felt her nipples grow to hard little nubs. Down there, the luxurious heaviness, the warmth and the wetness had begun.

  "Take it off."

  She bit her lip. The robe was of thick, pink chenille, hardly the type of thing one wore when one planned a seduction. Regina had given it to her. And Jack wanted her to take it off.

  She did, not daring to look at him across the room. She paid great attention to her task as she untied the belt and dropped it to the ground. Then, one shoulder at a time, she shrugged out of the sleeves. It dropped in a pink pile at her feet. She looked down at it, as if wondering how it got there.

  Now she wore only a pink flannel nightgown, which was also a hand-me-down from Regina.

  "Come here." Jack's voice was gruff.

  She looked up then, into his eyes. And she was captured. She couldn't look away. Slowly, like a sleepwalker, she approached him. And when she stood right before him, he reached out, cupped her face and brought her mouth to his.

  The kiss was hot and consuming, as purely carnal a caress as she had ever known. His tongue swept her mouth, claiming it, leaving no room for anything there but the taste, the feel, the reality of him.

  His hands slid down her neck, out over her shoulders, rubbing, pressing. And then, swift and knowing, they were at her hips, bunching her modest nightgown, sliding it up her legs and holding it at her waist.

  She wore no panties. From the waist down, she was bare. He touched her, touched the womanly heart of her, as he went on
kissing her in that total, consuming way. He felt her wetness, her readiness, and he groaned into her mouth.

  She might have been embarrassed. But there was no space, no time, for such a trifling emotion. His need was on him, and she was ready for him.

  His mouth still locked with hers, he took her shoulders and slowly, inexorably, pushed her back, toward the bed and the nightstand and the pool of light the lamp made in the night-dark room. When they reached the bed, his hands left her, though his mouth went on tormenting hers. He fumbled with his jeans, ripping them open, shoving them out of the way, surging against her, so she felt his hardness touch her belly through the fleecy fabric of her gown.

  He fumbled on the table, still kissing her, seeming to drink her very being from her mouth. He found one of the condoms and tore it open, tossing the little foil package away. He slid the condom in place.

  "Now," he said into her mouth. "Inside you. Now."

  He took the gown and gathered it up, out of his way. Then he pushed her down, back across the bed, mouth still locked with hers. He nudged her legs apart and positioned himself between them.

  And then, in one long, deep stroke, he was inside.

  Her body opened to him easily. It was so good to feel herself expanding to take him, to have him inside, to hold him there, for as long as he would stay.

  Until daylight.

  Not long enough. But better than not at all.

  He sighed, a sigh of relief that seemed to border on pain. The sigh trailed across her cheek as he released her mouth and buried his head in the curve of her shoulder.

  "No one like you. Ever."

  She whispered, "Please…"

  He vowed, "Soon. Soon." And yet he didn't move.

  And suddenly it didn't matter. Because her completion happened, anyway, so suddenly it was as if it spun into being out of nothingness. Olivia cried aloud, pressing herself up, feeling the sparks inside, like stars bursting, sending light flooding out to every limb. He stiffened, pressing into her so hard and deep. She knew he'd reached his release as well. Their bodies moved apart, limp. They both were breathing hard.

  But then, all at once, he was kissing her again in the soft hollow of her throat. And down over her breasts, her belly. Into the bronze nest of curls. He parted her and tasted her.

  She moaned. She clutched his head. He looked up, his face cruel, ruthless with desire. "I must remember."

  "Never forget." Until daylight.

  She encircled him with her hand. He threw his head back, sent a feral cry to heaven. She stroked, faster and faster. He spilled, hot and quick, across her hand.

  They rested.

  And it started again.

  She dared to recall her vain hope from their night in Las Vegas. Maybe she would win out over time at last. Maybe daylight would never come. Maybe they could go on forever, in the velvet heart of midnight. Rising and falling. Resting. Then reaching out once again.

  He filled her, a long, gentle slide inside. He moved slowly within her. She thought of the movements of the sea, far from shore, an extended, heaving rise and fall. When fulfillment came it was like an expansion, like something that grew and increased until she could no longer contain it. It overflowed the frail vessel of her body and set the night afire in a river of flame.

  Later she lay tucked against him. His leg between hers, his arms tight around her. He reached down and found the covers, pulled them up.

  "Jack?"

  "Shh. Rest now."

  "One thing."

  "Shh."

  "Don't leave me when I'm asleep. Promise."

  "I promise."

  "You'll wake me?"

  "I will." He tucked the covers around them.

  "It's late," she said.

  He gave her the answer. "So late, it's practically early."

  They both closed their eyes. Sleep embraced them as one.

  They were together.

  Until dawn.

  But in the back room of the Hole in the Wall, Oggie sat alone. He knew he should go home to his warm bed at his daughter's house. But he hadn't the energy.

  He was tired. The plans and schemes that usually filled his mind were gone. For the first time, besides being old, he felt old.

  His eyes drifted closed.

  A sad dream engulfed him. Slowly one lone tear slid over the wrinkles on his cheek and plopped onto his gnarled hands.

  His dream turned cruel. He shuddered, and his lighted cigar dropped from his lips onto the folded newspaper that lay on the old plank floor.

  For a while the coal at the end of the cigar only smoldered, slowly scorching a black hole in the center of the front page. But then a tiny tongue of fire rose up. It flickered, died, then rose again.

  Soon enough it danced up strong and then forked out, to claim the shadows and snake in blazing ribbons along the tinder-dry floor. By the time the old man coughed and looked up, the curtain to the main room was a wall of flame.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  Olivia heard the church bell clanging madly. The long wail of a siren joined in.

  "What?" She woke fully. Jack was already rolling from the bed. "What is it?"

  He shoved his feet into his jeans, pulled them up, buttoned them. "I don't know. A fire, maybe. Or an accident." He sat down and yanked on his socks and boots.

  Olivia threw back the covers.

  "Stay here. I'll see what it is," Jack urged.

  "No way." She grabbed for a pair of jeans of her own, as well as a sweater, shimmying into them swiftly, then reaching for a pair of socks.

  He was already dressed, anxious to be gone.

  "Just a minute more," she told him as she found her socks and shoes. She jerked them on, fast as she could, then stood. "Okay. Let's go."

  She grabbed a heavy cardigan off the coatrack in the hall. Jack took his jacket from the chair in the front room. They ran out into the night, where the church bell clanged louder and another siren had joined the first one.

  Jack pointed. "Look. See the smoke. It looks like a fire. Probably on Main Street

  ."

  She glanced around for his car.

  He seemed to know her thoughts. "I didn't bring it. Come on. If you're coming, let's run for it."

  He held out his hand. She put hers inside it. They ran, the night air cold in their lungs, their breath emerging as fog into the darkness.

  Each house they passed had a light on inside. People stood on their porches. And some ran, with them, toward Main Street

  . They turned onto Pine, Jack ahead, towing Olivia along. She had a stitch in her side and nursed it. But she did her best to keep up. She wanted to see what had happened, to help if she could.

  They reached Main Street

  .

  They saw the source of all the furor at the same time.

  "My God! The Hole in the Wall."

  There were fire trucks, with the big canvas hoses already unrolled. There were four-by-fours with racks of red-and-blue lights on top. And there were people everywhere.

  Olivia forgot the stitch in her side. She ran with Jack to the section of street right in front of the bar.

  There, the night was bright as day. The heat from the flames pushed back the autumn coolness. The faces all around were lit with eerie reflected light, the expressions stunned and awed. Above, a forest service helicopter circled, blades beating.

  "I'll see if I can help." Jack left her, making his way over to where the volunteer fire crew, which included the Jones men, held the hoses and aimed them through the broken windows. The hoses spewed fat shafts of water. The water sizzled as it hit the flames. But the fire was well along, and the Hole in the Wall was aged, dry wood.

  They were trying for containment. Even Olivia could see that.

  "It's spread to the Mercantile, look there," someone said.

  Olivia looked and saw the garish light inside the brick building that meant there were flames inside of it, too.

  "Must have gone
through that center hall," someone else said.

  "Please. Keep back." It was Eden's voice. Olivia looked and saw her, her bathrobe barely meeting around her huge stomach. "Keep back. Don't worry. It's only a building. We have insurance, after all."

  "There's no one inside, then?" Nellie Anderson, who practically ran the community church, wanted to know.

  "No one. They all went home hours ago," Eden soothed.

  "Thank the Lord." Linda Lou Beardsly, Nellie's friend, clasped her hands together and tipped her head toward the sky.

  But then Delilah ran up, her black hair loose and flying. "Have you seen my father? Has anyone seen my father? He's not in his bed. I can't find my—"

  Olivia knew, with a sudden sick lurch in the pit of her stomach, where the old man must be. After all, he and Jack had met only hours before. The Hole in the Wall would have been the perfect place that time of night for a man to tell the hardest truths to his son. Quiet. Deserted. A place where no one else would hear the things they said.

  "Oh, no…" The words escaped her lips as she turned to look for Jack. He stood by the other men. And he had heard Delilah's cries.

  Jack saw Olivia. Their eyes locked. And she knew what he was going to do.

  He spoke to Jared. Jared shook his head. But Jack grabbed the other man and muttered something low and intense, as he pointed toward the place where Eden stood. Olivia knew the gist of what Jack was saying.

  You've got a wife and baby. You can't risk it. But I've got nobody. I'm going in…

  Right then, Delilah grabbed Olivia's arm. "Olivia. Have you seen him? My father, do you know where he is?"

  But Olivia didn't answer. She was watching Jack and Jared. She saw Jared nod. Jared picked up a bucket that stood near his feet and doused Jack with its contents. Then he shrugged out of his heavy fire-resistant jacket and handed it over. Jack slipped it on. Jared set his hard hat on Jack's head.

  "No! Jack, no!" Olivia yanked her arm from Delilah's grasp and shoved her way through the crowd.

  But she wasn't fast enough. Jack was already disappearing into the roiling smoke beyond the double doors, as Jared shouted orders to the other men. "Keep the hoses going in the windows, wet it down!"