SUMMERS FREEDOM

by Ruth Wind

  Joel was propped on the porch railing when she came out. "Done so fast?"

  She shook her head. "I didn't get it done." She sat on the swing on his end of the porch and kicked it into a sway. "No motivation."

  "Maybe I can help," he suggested.

  You've already done enough, she thought. "No, I'm just not with it tonight." She glanced at him, lifting her eyebrows quickly once to indicate resignation. "I'll do it tomorrow."

  She definitely sounded blue, Joel thought. Beneath her eyes were shadows. He felt a pang of conscience. Tonight, he'd wanted her all to himself the instant he had seen her, and he'd used her physical attraction to him to draw her back outside with him.

  Now he saw that she had a lot to think about. The newspaper took an enormous amount of time, especially given Maggie's devotion to detail. Rarely had he ever seen a misspelled word or a clumsy headline. Page designs were well balanced, and the photos were creative. Even the quality of news covered showed a good feeling for the readers themselves—not an easy feat for a woman ten to fifteen years older than they were.

  She did it because she loved the kids, held a rare sympathy for their dramas and crises and need to be noticed. It showed in the solid relationship she had developed with Sam, who spoke of Maggie with a deep respect balanced with teasing humor.

  He took a seat on the swing next to her and put his arm around her. "Come here," he said quietly. She rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. Gently, he pressed his cheek against her hair and with slow, easy movements, massaged her shoulders.

  For a long time, they sat there together without speaking, the swing rocking back and forth in the cool evening. Joel held her pressed to his chest, smelling the scent of her shampoo mixed with the smell of the night itself. Her body fit next to his as if they'd been carved from one piece of wood.

  As she relaxed against him, he thought, finally, that everything had been worth it. If it had been necessary to undergo the struggles and dark years to reach this moment with Maggie in the mellow spring night, he would gladly endure them all again.

  With the thought, he turned to press a kiss to her forehead—and grinned to himself. Maggie had fallen asleep, cradled in his arms.

  She trusted him, like Moses did. The knowledge gave him a knife thrust of sorrow, for eventually, he would have to betray that trust. Moses asked nothing more than Joel's attention, the assurance of food and a warm place to sleep—things that must have been unimaginable to the old torn.

  Like Moses, Maggie had survived long, cold nights and a ragged hunger—in her tales of her father, he could hear the lingering pain of an emotionally battered child. That her ex-husband had also betrayed her reinforced the belief she held that men were not to be trusted.

  His chest tightened with guilt. Oh, Maggie, Maggie, he thought. I hope you'll find a way to forgive me when the moment comes.

  It was wrong. He could see that now. But as he held her in his arms, he didn't see how he could give up—not yet. For if his gamble succeeded, they would both shed the chains of the past, and his debt would be paid.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Thursday afternoon Maggie groggily opened the door to her grandmother at the usual time. "Good afternoon," she said with a yawn.

  "Thunderation, child," Anna said with concern, "you look ready for the hospital."

  Maggie kissed the cool, powdered cheek. "I'm okay, Gram. Just worked late last night." She padded into the kitchen in her robe. Once there, she blinked, trying to remember what she'd been about to do. Oh, coffee. Right.

  "I'll take care of that," Anna said, taking the filters and coffee can from Maggie's hands. "I'd tell you to go back to bed, but I know you won't do it, so just sit down and have a bear claw."

  The bear claws didn't look very appealing, for once. Maggie rubbed her face. Weariness weighed on her.

  Her grandmother frowned. "Why don't you take a vacation?"

  "I'll be all right," Maggie said. "There's just been a lot going on lately. I never seem to get it all done." To prove to her grandmother that she was fine, she served herself a bear claw and began to choke it down.

  Her statement was only partially true. Her life had been extremely busy lately, with shortages of help at the paper, the need to get Samantha ready for her trip to Denver and the constant extra work created by the Proud Fox conflict. But her exhaustion stemmed from a lack of sleep—and she hadn't lain awake at night haunted by those worries.

  She couldn't get Joel Summer off her mind.

  She also had no one to discuss her feelings with. There was no one who would understand why she was afraid of him. What, after all, could she say was wrong with him, except that she was frightened by the deeply passionate nature she sensed below his playfulness? And that he had some painful things to work through, things he wasn't willing to show Maggie. As he'd said, time would help them know each other better.

  But he frightened her in a way no man ever had. Just being with him released all the careful holds she'd kept over herself all these years.

  Galen, she thought suddenly. Galen would understand. She would call him tonight.

  "Maggie," Anna said, sitting down with two fresh cups of coffee, "I hate to bring this up, but I think you need to know that some of the church is angry at the way you're covering this rock band problem."

  Maggie straightened and reached for her cup. "That's their prerogative."

  "You have to think of Samantha, too, you know."

  "I am thinking of Samantha." She frowned. "Is there talk of keeping us out or something?"

  "Not exactly." Anna's eyelids flickered down. "But a lot of people are pretty unhappy."

  "Well, frankly, Gram, so am I." She leaned over the table, her fury rekindled. "Did you read the statistics about the riot at the ticket outlet? Seventeen kids injured. I think the whole thing has gone too far." She narrowed her eyes. "But you know what? I can't find out who's in charge of the kids who are protesting. No one will talk to me. It's beginning to seem a little weird. Why aren't there adults in charge, putting a stop to the protest?"

  Anna pursed her lips. "Maybe I can help you find out."

  "If you can find anything, I'd appreciate it." Maggie pinched a bit of pastry and popped it into her mouth. "You know," she said after a minute, "I guess it is possible that the kids just got together and decided to stage this by themselves." But she'd thought more and more lately, there was something slightly askew about the whole situation, something she felt she'd almost stumbled over several times. "I do know one thing. There's a boy named Cory who is supposed to be a spokesman or something. When I ask questions, that's whose name comes up."

  "Do you know where he goes to school?"

  Maggie shook her head. "I don't know anything about him."

  "I'll talk to some people I know at the various churches." Anna touched her hand. "It's beginning to worry me, too."

  "Thanks." Maggie smiled and turned the conversation to lighter things. "What about that great-granddaughter of yours, huh?" she said with a grin. "She made the front page of the city daily at the age of fifteen."

  "Weren't you frightened for her?"

  Maggie remembered the night, Samantha exuberantly shooting the action with no thought for safety. "Yes. But you wouldn't have stopped her, either. She's got her mama's blood in her veins, I think."

  "Her mama died when Samantha was three."

  "I know." Maggie cocked her head. "But a safe life isn't what everyone wants. I bet if you gave Samantha's mother the choice to live her life over again, she'd live it exactly the same way."

  "Some people's work is that important to them." Anna smiled at Maggie.

  "Exactly." Her appetite was returning, Maggie realized with pleasure. She selected a sticky bun, poured another cup of coffee and with a wicked smile said, "Come on, Gram. I want to know what they're saying about me at church."

  "You little gossip," Anna chided. But she leaned forward, eager to laugh about the exaggeratio
ns.

  Unfortunately, Galen was little help in understanding her reticence about Joel when Maggie spoke to him that night. Samantha had gone to a movie with David, who'd borrowed a car for the evening, and Maggie took advantage of the solitude to place her call.

  "This guy sounds terrific, Maggie," Galen said. "I think I'd just let it unfold for a while. You don't have to marry him, you know."

  At this, Maggie felt a flush of embarrassment. "It's not even a serious relationship or anything."

  "You know, sis, I hate to say it, but you need to let yourself go a little bit. Trust him. Trust yourself."

  "Oh, fine," she said with irritation. "I call you to be my champion, and you throw me right back there in the ring."

  "Don't you get lonely?" he asked in a sober voice. "I do. I'm tired of doing it all myself. We both had a pretty rotten childhood, but it doesn't have to ruin the rest of our lives."

  "At least I've sampled marriage. You're five years older than I am, and you've never even tried to get serious about anyone."

  "Sure I have. I've tried, but Maggie, I don't think I have the skills I need. You do."

  For the first time, Maggie understood that Galen had his own warped self-image to contend with. At the very thought of her sensitive, handsome brother lacking the skills to keep a marriage together, she smiled, but changed the subject. He never dealt well with her insights into his personality—a remainder of the eldest brother mentality, she supposed. "When are you coming to see me?"

  "I can't say exactly, but I'm hoping for late June. Is that good for you?"

  "Sure. I'll stock up."

  "Great. Hang in there, kid."

  "Thanks."

  As she hung up, Maggie shook her head. "Some help you were," she said aloud, staring darkly out the kitchen window. It was a few minutes past sunset, and the backyard was outlined in the silvery, soft light of dusk. The lilacs glowed an unearthly shade of pale purple, and Maggie knew just how they would smell. All at once, her bad mood dropped away and she headed outdoors.

  Settled on the picnic bench, her skirt draped over her knees, a shawl over her shoulders, she let her worries fade with the day. She didn't brood by nature, simply because it was too hard to resist the small joys she found in moments just like these. As she sat there on the hard wooden bench, she realized she probably wouldn't feel so panicked over her attraction to Joel if his appearance in her life hadn't coincided with both Samantha's annual trek to see her father and the chaos in her working life. She'd been so tired the past week that she'd found the barest thought processes difficult.

  So she let her thoughts wander where they would, watching the sky deepen from dust to night.

  When Joel soundlessly joined her in the cove made by the lilac bushes, she was able to look up at him with pleasure. "Hi," she said.

  He settled next to her on the bench and took her hand. "Hi."

  They said nothing at all for a long time, listening together to the crickets whirring in the grass. From several blocks away came the sound of traffic, engines and horns and tires, pleasantly muted. Children down the street called farewells to friends as mothers gathered them in. A breeze floated over Maggie's face, sweet and heavy with lilacs, and her hand in Joel's was comfortable and warm.

  "One of my birds died today," Joel said after a long time.

  "Oh, I am sorry," Maggie said, turning. In her serene mood, it seemed no trouble to offer sympathy. "Do you want to tell me about him?"

  He looked at her for a minute, then lifted her hand and kissed the knuckles. "Yes," he said. "I think I do."

  And so he did. It was a simple story. A red-tailed hawk, its wing torn off when it tangled with a barbed wire fence, had failed to recover after an amputation.

  "The thing that makes me sad," Joel said in his gravelly voice, "is that there wasn't any physical reason for him to die. He just gave up."

  "If he had lived, he wouldn't have flown."

  Joel nodded. His eyes swept the sky in the curiously familiar gesture Maggie had noted before. After a moment, he said, "I really liked that bird."

  With her free hand, she reached up to touch his clean jaw, turning his face to hers.

  "Silly to get worked up over a bird, isn't it?" he said with a rueful smile.

  "No," she said quietly. "It makes you all the more human."

  He touched her chin with one finger. "I wish I'd met you when I was twenty," he said, and kissed her.

  Maggie didn't resist as he slanted his mouth down hard on hers, using his free hand to cup her head as he sought comfort. And as she met the force of his kiss, she knew instinctively that he needed solace for more than the death of the bird—the secrets that lived in his eyes were tormenting him, as well. With a calm sense of release, Maggie realized she didn't need to know the sorrows to address them.

  She let her hand open on his face, feeling the feathery point where his eyelashes met and the pulse in his temple. As his lips moved, so did the tiny muscles in his cheek and jaw. Maggie reveled in all of it—the combination of his lips on hers, his face against her palm, his fingers tangled in her hair.

  As the kiss deepened, he let her hand go and lifted her with powerful arms onto his lap. With almost desperate hunger, his tongue explored her mouth, urged hers to enter his. She explored the terrain of his neck and shoulders, moving her fingers into the coarse, full hair, then down under the collar of his shirt to the heated skin.

  He used one great arm to brace her against his broad chest, and with the other hand, caressed her arm, then circled her neck as if gauging its width and finally, moved through her hair. Maggie felt an electric passion begin to glow in her nerves, a breathless anticipation in her chest.

  When he let his hand slide open over her neck and collarbone, toward the bodice of her buttoned blouse, she shivered in anticipation, and there was no thought in her mind of stopping him.

  Instead, as his hand moved to her buttons, hers fell on his, and they worked as a team, loosening garments. When his shirt was open, Maggie eagerly ran her hand over the rippling chest, her fingers spiraling with pleasure over the hard-muscled rises covered with crisp hair. His lips bruised hers, and a growl of hunger sounded in his throat.

  When Maggie rubbed the tiny nipples on his chest, feeling them harden against the friction, Joel tore his mouth from hers and burned a path over her neck. In turn, she bit his shoulder, overwhelmed with the joyous burst of passion consuming her. Never had anything felt as good as this, she thought dazedly. Beneath her, pressing into her thigh with more power than she would have believed possible, his arousal insisted it was no different for Joel.

  He pushed her almost roughly into the hollow of his elbow, his fingers raking over her bra. As he released the closure, exposing her breasts to the cool, lilac-scented night, he paused, and Maggie with him, on the brink of something unutterably magnificent. Her hands ceased and a violent trembling rocked her body as she waited, feeling his eyes upon her naked breasts.

  Suddenly he descended, his huge, dark head falling to her breasts. Maggie gasped as the lips that had so expertly kissed her now performed an exquisite craft of arousal of another sort. "You taste like morning," he whispered, suckling softly, "and dew." His mouth lazily circled her breasts, then he kissed the place between. "Like all the sunbeams that ever danced."

  He lifted his head to take her lips again, pressing their bared chests together. Holding her tightly, he said quietly, "I want you, Maggie." He nuzzled her shoulder and sighed. "But there are things I need to tell you."

  "You will, when it's time," she said, pressing her forehead against his neck. "Don't torture yourself in the meantime."

  He growled happily, squeezing her.

  Shifting away, Maggie managed to fasten her bra and buttons once more, then rebuttoned Joel's shirt. When it was done, she cocked her head. "It's strange how comfortable I am with you."

  With a gentle hand, he smoothed her hair away from her forehead. "Must be that other life."

  She smiled. "Must be."
For a few minutes more, they lingered, holding each other in the sweet night. Then Maggie sighed. "I really have a lot of work to do. I have to go in."

  "I won't keep you, then." Grasping her firmly around the waist, he stood up and swung her around before setting her on the ground.

  "You love playing Tarzan, don't you?" she said, brushing her clothes back into place.

  "As long as you're Jane." He kissed her quickly.

  Maggie laughed, then stood on tiptoes to kiss him. "And I love that—feeling small."

  A sudden crash broke the still night. Whirling toward the house, Maggie said, "What was that?"

  "We'd better check," Joel answered grimly, shoving her aside as he took the lead on the path around the house.

  As Maggie trailed behind, she was struck with the change in him. He moved with stealth and speed, cloaked with a definite aura of dangerous power. It reminded her of the night they'd met on the front porch, when he'd nearly crouched at the unexpected noise of the swing creaking. Where had he learned to be so wary? Nothing in the childhood stories he'd shared with her suggested danger, nor did she think life at a university would be fraught with unexpected pitfalls.

  They rounded the front silently, surprising two teens in black leather who were spray painting the sidewalk. Maggie stared at them in dismay for a split second, wondering how to best handle the situation. Joel indulged no such hesitation. He sprung from the shadows alongside the porch, like a leopard leaping from a tree. It was a gesture so smooth and effortless, Maggie felt her breath catch. The speed wasn't quite enough to snag the intruders, however. They raced away instantly, chains jingling, and were lost to the night.

  Belatedly, Maggie joined Joel, who stared at the painted sidewalk with a frown. "Look at this," he said.

  Scrawled in black paint on the concrete were odd symbols, together with the words Long Live Proud Fox. "What are those things?" she asked.