by Sasha Gold
After that we go outside to feel the cool night air. The sky is finally clear, a spray of sparkling stars in the black, velvet night. The river rushes somewhere below, thundering past. I can only imagine the force of the water. Somewhere it’s flooding. People are going to lose their homes. Some will lose more than that.
He tells me about his work and the companies he owns, and how he’ll be busy for months with home repairs once the flooding stops.
“Sydney and I have traveled on disaster missions before,” I tell him.
He stands behind me, his arms wrapped around me, and his chin resting on my head.
“Together?”
“Yes. Often. We’re traveling nurses. Susanna is too but this is the first time I’ve worked with her. The three of us were hired to come here because they were short-staffed. With the flooding they might ask us to stay awhile longer. Soon, though, we’ll move again, to where ever we’re needed.”
I pause for a moment trying to remember how many times I’ve moved this year. We spent two months on the Arizona border working at a clinic set up by Catholic nuns. Then we spent a week in Los Angeles, working on a vaccination drive. Two months in Appalachia where they had all those forest fires. Other places too. Since I graduated I haven’t spent more than eight weeks in one place.
“I didn’t want to come here,” I say softly. “Something inside told me it wasn’t a good place for me, but if I hadn’t agreed to come, I wouldn’t have met you.”
“You like picking up and going so much?”
“Not always. But I only have a two-year degree, not my bachelor’s. Most hospitals want nurses with four-year degrees. I didn’t have much choice. It’s hard. Stressful. I have no sick-leave. No vacation. Minimal health coverage. But when we go into an area that’s been hit by natural disaster it feels important. You know?”
I don’t expect him to understand my life. I don’t get the way he lives his life. I’ve only known him for such a small space of time but soon I’ll leave this place too. The thought makes me feel empty inside, just like I felt when I saw his workshop. The way the area was filled with all sorts of masculine projects made me see how he really is his own man. There’s no room in his life for a woman.
Some silly, foolish part of my brain hopes he might tell me, right now, how much he loves having me in his home.
“You can’t leave.” He tightens his hold on me and my stomach flips. I’m crazy about this man and if he knew how much he’d probably dive into the raging river below and race to other side.
“I can’t leave?” I’m fishing for some validation. Pathetic.
“No.” His tone is edged with irritation.
I lean against him. The night air is cold and I’m chilled. His body heat makes goosebumps spread across my arms.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because I haven’t taught you the two-step. You can’t leave until you know how to dance.”
“You better teach me.”
He turns me in his arms. “It’s not hard. You were doing all right at Fulton’s.”
“That’s because I was dancing with you. What if I’m dancing with someone else?”
Why am I such a clinging vine? This isn’t me. I’m independent. Free. My mother never missed a chance to tell me Dad had gone into the Army because I came along and he had no job, no skills. So he went to the desert and never came back. Then she was stuck with me. Everyone looks at her and tells her what a great person she is with the animal rescue stuff. They see her Birkenstocks and gardening gloves and assume she’s an earth mother. Not so. She taught me an early lesson. It’s better to push away before you’re pushed away.
Nick takes my hand and leads me back into the house and goes to the hall closet. After some rummaging he comes back with a big case that he sets down on the counter. He unsnaps the lid, lifts it and gives me a smile that chases away every cold thought in my mind.
“You’re just a kid. You probably don’t even know what this is,” he says.
“It’s a record player. I’ve seen them before.” I don’t mention that I’ve seen them on television shows, late night reruns.
He plugs it in, flips the switch and we watch as the turntable begins to spin. Returning to the closet he rifles some more in the depths.
“I have some music in here I bet you’ve never heard of.”
“21 Pilots?”
“Nope.”
“The Stones?”
He snorts.
“Lawrence Welk?”
He gives me a sharp look. “You better watch it, sassy girl. Not Lawrence Welk. Patsy Cline. I grew up with my grandmother and this was all she listened to on that record player.”
He pulls out an album, sliding the record from the protective sleeve. “She must have worn out a dozen Patsy Cline records.”
He puts the record on, gently lowers the needle to the vinyl. “This first song’s a little slow, but you’ll see that a two-step is just counting really. It’s not hard, especially for a smart girl like you.” He tightens his hold on my hand and tugs me a little closer. “You take care of people, fix them up. For you a two-step is just a walk in the park.”
We dance to every crackling song on one side of the album. He flips the record over and we dance some more. By the time the last note of the last song fades, I’m even more depressed. Patsy Cline sure knows how to belt out a sad song, I’ll give her that.
The room is quiet, just a soft hum comes from the record player. The room is almost dark. Neither of us lets go. It’s probably almost midnight and the question of bedtime looms in my mind, probably his too.
He kisses the top of my head, strokes my back and then lifts my chin to brush a kiss across my lips. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”
“Sleep with me.”
“I should let you rest. You’re probably hurting.”
I’m not hurting. Or I’m not hurting in the way he thinks I am and the only thing that would make what I feel worse is if he slept on the couch.
“Please, Nick. I want to fall asleep beside you tonight.”
His gaze is intense, scrutinizing, and I’m sure he’s looking for some sign that he’s traumatized me. I’m not traumatized, or at least I don’t think I am. My brain isn’t working at optimal levels right now. Something about Nick makes me question almost everything.
“Is that what you want?” He cups my chin. “For me to sleep with you again?”
If I’m questioning almost everything, this is one thing I’m perfectly clear on. I want him. Next to me, and everywhere else.
I nod. “I do.”
He gives me another chaste kiss. “All right, Bailey.”
Chapter Thirteen
Nick
What I should do is put on a pair of pajamas to send the message to my cock that play time is over. All I’m doing is sleeping beside her. I’m sure she’s tender and we can’t have sex so soon after I took her virginity. I might put my arms around her, but that’s as far as I’ll let things go. I hear her brushing her teeth and I decide against the pajamas and tell myself I’ll be fine in boxers.
When I get in bed, I take a fishing magazine off the bedside table and start reading about salmon fishing in Alaska. A few buddies and I go fishing every few months, guided trips in Florida mostly. We’ve talked about heading up to Alaska.
Some guy holds up a fish, grinning into the camera. Nice. The fish a monster, a Coho. Probably close to twenty pounds. Damn, what would it be like to land that beauty?
Bailey emerges from the bath room, wearing a t-shirt. Only a t-shirt. My thoughts dull as blood rushes from my brain, but I’m able to determine that it’s not really a t-shirt but a jersey. One of mine from the Pittsburg Steelers. She flips her hair over her shoulder and it reaches almost to her ass. The shirt looks like a dress on her and I think to myself I should give it to her. It was made for her.
“You a Steelers fan?” I ask. Like I care about them. I don’t, or at least not as much as I like the way she looks in their jersey.
“I am. I like TJ Harrison. My friend Sydney loves him. We watch the Steelers every chance we get.”
She circles the bed and I toss the magazine aside, no longer interested in fishing or Alaska. Her breasts bounce a little and her nipples poke against the fabric, hard little buds I need to tease with my mouth.
“Good night,” she says, slipping between the covers.
Lying with her back to me, she looks tense. Her narrow shoulders are high and stiff and I wonder why. I snap off the light and roll behind her and rub her shoulders. Sighing, she relaxes, softening beneath my touch.
“Bailey.” My voice is heavy with lust and my good intentions slip from my thoughts. I want her tonight but I want her for more than just tonight. I don’t want her stealing t-shirts from any other man. Or dancing the two-step. Or sassing. I’m a greedy bastard because I want all those things from her and not only do I not have a sweet or even reasonable personality to offer in return, I’m the man who drove her uncle to kill himself.
“Yes, Nick.”
Her voice doesn’t have a shred of attitude. If anything she sounds fragile. Worried. I could move in on her so easily right now and convince her to get naked with me. I could fuck her once or twice and again in the middle of the night because I can hear the need in her voice. Not the need to have sex but to be comforted, reassured.
“I like having you here in my bed.”
She turns in my arms and wraps around me. “Then make love to me.”
“Sweetheart, I want to, but you need to let your body rest. Maybe in the morning.”
When she nestles closer, I groan. My cock is throbbing with the need to sink into this sweet woman. She kisses my jaw. I curl my hands into fists to keep from grabbing her. She breathes softly against my neck. Fuck, this is going to be a long night.
She whispers softly. “I just got a text that we need to send a team into a town called Leandro. About a hundred and fifty miles from here.”
The fuck…she has to go? Leave? Even if I could get her into Fulton, she can’t leave.
“No,” I tell her. “Not happening.”
“The town was flooded. They need to set up a triage area for people who’ve been hurt. This is what I do.”
“Bailey, we can’t even get off the property.”
“There has to be some way.”
There is, but I don’t want to tell her. I don’t just want to keep her here, I want to keep her away from disaster areas. There’s a back way that might be passable if we don’t get more rain, but I sure as hell don’t feel like braving that so I can get her to fucking Leandro.
“Depends if there’s more rain,” I tell her. “We’ll see what happens tonight.”
Outside the window, stars twinkle in the night sky. Not a cloud as far as I can see and I’ve never been more disappointed to see stars shining.
“They’re going to text me with instructions tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning…” I feel hollowed out. Empty. All I want is to take her phone and throw it in the river. I want to get my handcuffs out and snap them around her wrists and keep her by my side. Fuck Leandro. She’s mine.
“Don’t you need to pack or anything?”
“I have two suitcases, Nick. There’s nothing to pack. I don’t have the lease on the apartment. Susanna rents it month-to-month.”
Her words twist something inside me. What sort of life is that? Living out of two suitcases? I just want to slow everything the fuck down. I can’t think about her leaving like this.
She reaches for me, pressing against me and whispering, “Nick, I want to be with you before I go.”
On one shoulder is a little devil telling me to tear the shirt from this beautiful girl and enjoy a long leisurely fuck. And on the other shoulder is a little angel bitching about how I haven’t been honest and I should just go sleep on the couch.
But there’s something else too and that’s the disbelief that tomorrow night this side of my bed will be empty. She just got here and now she’s leaving.
Lowering my head, I capture her mouth with mine and the kiss ramps up immediately. Pure animal need takes over and I pull the shirt from her. She’s naked.
Crouching over her, I thread my fingers through hers, nibble her neck and suck on the tender skin. “You came to bed without panties?”
“I planned to throw myself at you.”
“What’s stopping you? Chicken?”
She jerks her hand and I just know it’s so she can smack me for calling her a chicken. A small girly growl comes from her lips as she struggles beneath me but the moment my lips meet her breast she sinks back into the bedding. Instead of fussing she sighs and lets me have my way. In no time she arches beneath me.
“Nick…” Her voice is soft.
“Baby.”
I sink between her thighs, press against her and her breath catches. She’s tender. I know she is, but I also know that there’s no way in hell she’ll admit it. She wants to have sex but she wants more. She wants me, wants me to love her, and I want to love her, too.
I expect her to push me away because she’s so tight that I’m sure I’m hurting her. “Bailey…”
Her arms wrap around my shoulders and she laughs breathlessly. “Nick…”
“I’m tying you to my bed.” I cup her ass and drive deeper. “Keeping you here.”
Her breathing changes and she bucks and writhes. Jesus, I love the way she responds to me. It’s fast and hot but she does something to me with the small sounds that come from her lips. I press harder and she screams my name, claws my back and I follow her over an instant after.
We roll across the bed, limbs entwined and I pull her into my arms.
Don’t go…don’t go…don’t leave me…The words are right there, ready to be spoken even though I have no right to say them.
Chapter Fourteen
Bailey
In the night I get two more texts requesting confirmation I’m good to go. Sydney’s texted a few times too, telling me she’s leaving at noon and I can ride with her. They’re having trouble finding enough nurses. Area hospitals are filling and they’re having to bed patients down in hallways.
This isn’t as bad as some of the disasters we help out with. The worst was the mine collapse in Virginia. All those family members, wives and kids waiting to hear if their husband or father would make it out alive. So heartbreaking.
In the early morning hours we make love twice more. It feels different. Slow. Tender. Like a sweet good-bye, and when I fall apart in his arms for the final time, I have to keep from clinging to him and crying.
As the sun comes up, he tells me there might be a way to get me back to town.
I shower and dress in jeans and a sweatshirt. When I walk down the hallway, I’m greeted by wonderful smells. Sautéed onions, bacon, coffee.
“I’m making you an omelet,” he says over his shoulder.
My response dies in my throat as I take in the sight of him at the stove. He’s shirtless and his shoulders are broad. No, that’s not quite right. They’re heroic, and I’m not just saying that because the man is cooking. His muscles ripple and flex. I let my gaze wander down to his narrow hips and his pants. They’re leather. Black leather. He’s wearing boots.
When I don’t say anything he glances back. “We’re going on motorbike. You need to wear leathers. My sister has a pair you’re going to put on. I’ll get them back from you when you’re done with your work.”
I have no intelligible response, so I just sit on the barstool and watch him cook. I don’t know the first thing about cooking and it’s surprising to find a guy so comfortable in the kitchen. Everything he’s made has been wonderful. He flips the omelet expertly and slides in onto a plate next to some strawberries.
“This is like a bed and breakfast,” I tease, but he doesn’t smile.
His expression is grim. The intensity that sometimes lights his eyes is back. I look away and suppress a shiver. We eat in silence. After breakfast I put on leath
er pants and jacket. I’m hoping I look hot in leather but Olivia’s stuff is about two sizes too big. I’m not pulling off the look of sexy biker bitch.
I braid my hair and shove it down the back of the jacket, slip my bag over my shoulder and follow Nick out of the house. A trail leads to a barn and with each step we sink several inches into mud. This should be fun.
Nick unlocks the door and lets the door swing open. What was once a horse barn, from the looks of things, is now a garage for dirt bikes. If the workshop attached to the house wasn’t masculine enough, this is manliness on steroids. It’s not so much a garage as a shrine.
Helmets line a shelf. Framed posters adorn one wall. Bikers racing on dirt tracks or taking impossible jumps. Sunlight streams through the windows and small motes of dust swirl in the silence.
He has four dirt bikes and two motorcycles, one of which looks old. Really old. But I get the impression that if I called it old he’d object. Maybe “vintage” is the right term.
He’s looking over a bike, crouched down by the back tire to study some small detail.
“This is so nice of you,” I say, trying to make a little conversation. “I’ve never ridden on a dirt bike. But I’m a quick learner. I promise to be careful with your baby.”
I laugh a little, because I’m sure he does think his bikes are precious and I’m flattered he would let me take one out, especially in the muddy terrain. He looks up at me but doesn’t say anything. He’s just staring. Sort of mad. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t call his big, rough and tough bike a baby.
My bad.
Slowly he rises to his feet, still staring at me, his jaw clenched. Poor guy’s probably stressing about a woman crashing one of these bad boys.
“I’m sure I’ll do fine, Nick. I mean, how hard can it be?” I reach to the controls and snap a switch back and forth a few times. “It’s just a dirt bike.”
He moves quickly and swats my hand. “Don’t. Touch. My Controls.”
I pull my hand back and glare. This whole morning he’s been stand-offish and irritable. It’s possible that when I’m done in Leandro I’ll have to pack my life up and move on, again, maybe very far from here. If the agency decides to send me some place new I only get a few hours’ notice. This might be the last time I see him and he acts like I’m the biggest pain in the ass. It’s like we’ve gone back to the day we first met. That day I’d been intimidated. Not anymore.
