by Ruth Wind
A Gallic shrug. "Not really. I don't really like to live in Israel."
"Why?"
He gathered a breath, pursed his lips. "It's hot. I left when I was nine and spent most of the rest of my childhood in a very green, lush place, with seasons. Since then, I find I don't like the sun always shining and I don't like the desert." He glanced at her. "I think it's like your Oklahoma. There is nothing subtle about Israel."
He refilled his glass, then lifted the bottle in Lila's direction, questioning. Looking down, she was surprised to find she'd polished off the first glass rather quickly, and nodded. Why not?
Except that there was already a dangerous languor settling in her shoulders. As Samuel flipped open his lighter and bent his head toward the flame, she found herself admiring the harsh cut of his chin and the shelf of his tawny collarbone, visible at the opening of his shirt. She found her fingers closing over her palm, which she wanted to open flat along that jaw and that chest.
He glanced at her, the lid of his lighter making an audible click. For a moment he met her gaze solemnly, then blew the pale smoke of his cigarette out hard. "Do you have a chess set or something here?"
"No, I've never had any need of a game. But—" she jumped up "—I did promise you a treat."
"Ah, I'd forgotten. Pie."
"Not like any you've ever had before, I bet." She gathered her ingredients. "Are you a fan of chess?" she asked, opening a can of cherries.
"Actually it annoys me."
Lila grinned.
"It's mathematical, chess," he said. "That part absorbs me. But I often forget how much intuition is required—and I lose."
"I never thought of it like that. That must be why I'm able to play so well."
"Do you?" Faint surprise echoed in his tone.
"My father is a chess champion. He taught me when I was five years old."
"And he's a rancher?"
Lila raised her eyebrows. "Anyone ever tell you that you're a snob?" She spread butter on slices of white bread. "Yes, he was a rancher, and he was a champ. He used to go into town for chess club every Tuesday night. And you know those round-robin things they do, where one guy plays everybody else? He always won."
"Now I am very disappointed that you have no set here."
"I could probably make one." She put two slices of bread, each into two heavy iron circles attached to a long handle, then filled one side with cherries and hooked the two pieces together.
"What a contraption," Samuel commented.
"Wait'll you see how they turn out." She squatted in front of the stove and held the pie maker into the heart of the flames, turning it slowly. "When I was little, we used to get raspberries from alongside the creek and make these." After a minute she stood up and popped open the iron circles. A golden brown, perfectly round pie lay steaming in its cradle. "There's a napkin right there beside you. Watch out. It's really hot."
She repeated the process for herself and settled on the floor to eat it in front of the stove. "What do you think?"
He had already devoured the first one and gestured toward the pie maker. "May I try it?"
"Sure. No one can eat just one." Comfortably she lifted her knees. "What we need now is a guitar. You have to sing when you do things like this."
"Really?" He brushed a lock of black hair from his forehead and fitted the pie maker together. "Clever," he murmured to himself.
"Problem is, I learned all my songs in church camp, and you probably don't know any of them."
He grinned as he squatted next to her. "I might."
"No, you won't, and then I'll look silly singing out loud." The wine had definitely gone to her head, she thought. Telltale warmth spread along her neck and into her shoulders. "Better turn that now."
"What? Oh."
Lila smiled to herself, a glow of confidence growing in her chest. He'd been looking at her, those darkly elegant eyes alight with something fine and warm. Shaking her hair away from her face, she sipped her wine. "You can take it out now."
He did so, popping it open the way she had. "Where in the world did you find this little gadget?"
"A garage sale, years ago."
Instead of returning to the table, Samuel joined her on the floor. He gingerly bit into the steaming pie, and as he relished the plump, sweet taste, realized he felt revived and energetic, as relaxed as he'd been in years. "Perhaps these ought to be included in your repertoire of desserts," he said. "We could put them together in the kitchen and let the waiters carry the gadget into the dining room and fry them over a tableside flame. A scoop of some vanilla ice cream and voila! Instant sensation."
He'd been half teasing, but Lila cocked her head. "Hmm." She smacked his arm, standing up with her wine in her hand. "Not bad, Samuel. I bet it would go over like gangbusters." She licked the corner of her lip. "I could whip up something exotic for the filling, and even—" She broke off, picking up the pie maker with a meditative frown.
Samuel happily consumed his pie, admiring her lush body from yet another angle, also happily.
She narrowed her eyes. "I imagine I could find someone to make these for me. Maybe I could even have some kind of design engraved, a diamond or a flower or something, so that would come out on top." Flashing him her broad, impish grin, she added, "You're a genius."
He spread his hands mockingly. "So I've been told."
"Look at you, Samuel, sprawled out there in front of that fire. How long has it been since you felt as good as you do right now?"
Even this perception didn't disturb him. "I don't know." He lazily lifted his glass to her. "You meant to chase the gloom from my face, you said. It seems you have done so."
"So I have," she said, a tender note in her voice. "And now I'm going to clear out and let you have your bath. There are towels with the blankets, over there. If you need anything else, just holler. I'll be upstairs."
And she had almost made it to the foot of the steps when he said, "Thank you, Lila."
She paused. "My pleasure."
As sorry as he was to part company with her, she'd barely cleared the top of the stairs before he stripped and lowered himself in the warm bath, plunging even his head below the water. Instantly he felt lighter as the grime of several days soaked away. Although he enjoyed a great many aspects of the rustic cabin, the lack of a shower was a hardship. It was a deep pleasure to wash his hair with the small bottle of shampoo Lila had placed thoughtfully alongside the galvanized tub, to scrub his body with the rough sponge. As he briskly toweled himself dry in front of the fire, he thought that all he lacked to feel fully human was a shave. Perhaps tomorrow he might manage even that.
It was only then that he realized he'd brought no clean clothes down with him. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stood at the foot of the stairs. "Lila," he called.
She appeared at the top, a questioning look on her face.
"Will you look in my suitcase and toss me down a pair of trousers?"
"Uh, yes. Sure." She disappeared abruptly.
A moment later she called, "Here they come," and a pair of pants sailed down the stairs. He caught them.
"Thank you." He smiled to himself, for she'd thrown them without looking. When he had exchanged the towel for trousers, he called up, "You may return if you like, Lila."
Upstairs Lila heard the gentle note of humor in his tone and blushed. Steeling herself against whatever teasing he had in mind over her maidenly behavior, she went down.
Samuel was folding his discarded clothing, his back to her. His shoulders and chest were bare and rosy and damp. His hair was slicked back, longish in the back, and a single drop of water trailed down the strong column of his neck. As he bent to retrieve a fallen sock, she looked over his magnificent body, the curve of muscle in his shoulders, the hard lines of his arms, the firm round of his rear.
He turned, his off-center grin exactly what she had expected. All at once, the poise of years spent with unpredictable brothers reasserted itself. She lifted one eyebrow in wry a
pproval. "Maybe I should have run down here a little sooner," she said lightly.
"I'd hoped…" he said, letting the words trail into a shrug of missed chances.
"Well," she said briskly, "while you have your shirt off, sit down and let me check that wound. Did it hurt when you bathed?"
"No."
Lila bit the inside of her cheek as she approached him, vainly trying to keep her mind on the examination. The warm scent of soap emanated from his bare skin, and the faintest residue of moisture clung to his shoulders. The single line of water that ran over his neck had made a tiny pool against his collarbone. Taking a long breath, she reached out one finger to palpate the edges of the wound. "How does it feel?"
He winced and frowned at her. "It was fine until you poked it."
"I'm sorry," she said softly. More gently she opened her palm and pressed it against the heat of his shoulder, feeling the tawny rise of supple flesh. Without looking at his face she moved her hand higher, exploring a fraction of an inch at a time. "Is that better?"
"I'm not sure," he said, his voice a soft growl.
Drawn by his motionless waiting, she bent to press her lips against his shoulder, just above the wound. He tasted clean. As she lingered, a lock of wet hair touched her forehead. She moved her lips a little higher, toward the joining of neck and shoulder, and when he didn't protest, lapped a rivulet of water from his neck. "And that?" she asked.
"I don't know," he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet hers. In the fathomless black she saw a stirring of dangerous fire and warning. "Try it again."
Without the courage of wine warm in her belly, Lila would have heeded the warning, the danger in his face. But now she bent to press her mouth again to his shoulder, tasting the silken skin with the very tip of her tongue, leaving a spiral trail along the rise. When her seeking lips closed around his earlobe, she heard his breath leave him on a sigh.
Encouraged, she pressed her hand against his chest, spreading her fingers wide in the dark hair that grew in whorls over the hard curves of his ribs. One finger bumped over a tiny rigid nipple, a rise she explored while she suckled gently the new taste of his ear and neck. His beard rasped against her cheek.
He groaned harshly as her breast pressed into his arm, and he reached up to capture her wrist in a fierce hold. "I think," he said in a grumbling tone, "that will be enough."
Lila straightened, sliding her wrist through his fingers until she could press her palm into his. With her other hand she touched his face. His eyes were downcast, his expression an inflexible mask. "Why do you keep resisting this, Samuel?" she whispered.
He didn't speak for a long moment, and Lila watched him turn again into the man she had seen at the traffic light that very first day. When he lifted his eyes, they were bleak beyond measure.
Standing up, he took her face in his hands. "Because this is all an accident. We are not meant to be together." He kissed her hard, then tore his mouth away, his fingers almost painful in their hold. "God knows I want you, Lila." His breath feathered over her face, and as if against his will, he dipped to sup of her lips once more. His voice, when he spoke, was oddly ragged. "But it is not possible." His mouth tightened. "I wish it were."
Abruptly he released her and moved away, bending to retrieve his clothes as he headed for the stairs. "Goodnight," he said.
As he disappeared, Lila felt a cold doubt settle around the desire in her chest. Perhaps it was an accident they were together here, that they had met at all. If she was wise, she would heed the warning in his words and allow their relationship to remain on the plane it now occupied.
Even if that was a lie.
* * *
Chapter 8
« ^ »
The rain had stopped by morning, leaving behind a crisp blue sky and nippy air. A pale mist wavered around the bases of the trees, and a thin glaze of ice covered the pump and paths. As Lila hurried through her morning routine, drawing water and bringing in wood, her breath hung in clouds around her face. The night was going to be a very cold one if no more clouds moved in, she thought absently, eyeing the dwindling pile of wood. Neither she nor Samuel would be able to chop more. She needed to collect some later.
She left a pot of coffee on the stove, then bundled up more warmly, adding extra socks and a scarf, and headed for the beach. She paused at her circle and gave thanks, then practically skipped the rest of the way down the hill to the muddy beach.
Last night, moving alone in the unforgotten steps of a ballet, she'd felt a euphoria absent in her life since she had broken her back. Something had moved within her, something without a name or a voice, something huge and bright and alive.
Balance, she thought now. That spontaneous dance had been a celebration of balance. And Samuel, coming so quietly down the stairs, had been caught in her good relationship with the world at that moment. His kiss had been a celebration of another sort, the celebration of a man who had found hope after too many years without it.
Which was as it should be, she thought, no matter what he said to the contrary. For it was Samuel who'd finally tilted the scales of her life into balance. She didn't really understand, as she watched cold morning sun shimmer over the sea, why or how he did it. Perhaps it was simply enough that he made an appearance in her life at this point to lead her to the next step she was meant to take. Perhaps the reverse was true, that she was needed in his life.
Whichever it was, she felt there was something magical about this time here with Samuel. She didn't know how long it would last, and wasn't sure that it mattered. Sometimes it took only moments to change a life.
Picking up a silvery shell, she thought of her brother Eric, who had been driving the day her back had been broken. For years people had been surprised at her calm acceptance of his death, especially those who had known how inseparable they had been. Her family, deep in the throes of their own grief, had not understood her serenity and had attributed it to shock.
Only Granny, her father's Cherokee mother, had understood. Only to Granny had Lila been able to share her feelings about her departed brother.
All of his life Eric had been one of those rare people who walked in balance, completely at peace with everything and anything around him. When Lila, always in awe of him, tried to understand how he did it, he said, "The trick is to remember that there's light in everything." He said it so simply that Lila had looked around herself, seeing only the same landscape as always—cottonwood trees and the creek and raspberry bushes. But Eric, sticking a long piece of grass in his mouth, seemed to see the light he spoke of.
And when she'd lain on the side of the road after the accident, waiting for help, drifting in and out of consciousness, Eric had comforted her. He had knelt in the gravel to hold her hand, his eyes clear as a morning field. His smile was gentle as he spoke. "There's even more light here," he said in wonder.
Several days later, when they finally told her Eric had been killed instantly, she had realized her vision of him had been a dream. But its comfort was real. "It's okay," she told her family.
The feeling had never wavered. She missed him, but something in her trusted in that dream.
Tossing a rock toward the glittering waves, she thought she had been waiting most of her life for a glimpse of that light. Last night, dancing, she had seen a glimmer of it.
The sound of heavy panting drew her from her reverie. A dog had wandered into the rocky cove, a big malamute with a grinning face and bobbing tongue. "Hey, Arrow," Lila said. "I was wondering when you'd get around to see me."
He licked her hand and moaned softly in greeting. "How you doing, sugar?" She knelt to hug him, then grabbed a piece of driftwood and flung it hard down the beach. He raced after it, jumping madly to catch it in the air and trotted back, dropping it several feet away before he joined her again.
Lila laughed. "Just once, Arrow? Don't like the cold much, do you?" Scratching the thick fur at his neck, she continued, "Don't you know huskies are happier the colder it gets?"
&nbs
p; His almost-human moan, coupled with a definite roll of his yellow eyes, convinced her he wasn't kidding. "All right, let's go see about some bacon. Samuel won't eat it, and I certainly can't eat a whole pound by myself."
As they scrambled up the hill, Lila wondered if Samuel liked dogs. Some people didn't. But she knew from experience that Arrow was here for the duration. He belonged to a hermit deep in the woods who raised the dogs as a source of income. But, gifted with the eccentricity of such men, he often didn't sell the huskies because of some real or imagined flaw he saw in the buyer. As a result he had a dozen malamutes.
Her first summer, she'd come upon John Handy in the woods with three of the dogs, and she had been terrified. A grizzled, wild-looking mountain man with a ragged black beard and tiny, piercing eyes, he'd gruffly demanded to know her business.
But Arrow, then only a puppy, had promptly attacked her with friendliness, licking her fingers and jumping on her legs. Delighted, Lila had squatted to hug the sturdy ball of fluff. "Is he yours?"
A slit-eyed nod. "You bought the old Reden place, didn't ya?"
"Yes."
"Well, take Arrow there along for some company."
"I live in the city. He wouldn't be happy there."
"Bring him back when ya have ta go."
Those were the only words she'd ever exchanged with the hermit, but ever since, whenever she came to the cabin, Arrow would show up within a day or two. And there he would stay until she had to return to Seattle.
"I have to warn you, Arrow, we're not alone this time. But Samuel is a friend of mine and I'd like you to be nice to him."
Arrow made an agreeable noise in his throat.
Samuel was sitting at the table drinking coffee when she returned. His jaw was freshly shaved, and the scent of something baking filled the room. "Mmm," Lila said, poking her head in the door. "You've been up awhile."
