Natural Attraction

by Marisa Carroll

  “That bad, Jess?”

  “Yes, it was awful. I’m sorry, Mark. It’s just happening so fast between us. You seem to know so much about me without even asking. It’s not fair. I feel so confused. It’s upsetting.” Jessie watched Mark refasten the buttons of her shirt. She didn’t trust her shaking fingers to reciprocate the same simple task.

  “That’s one good thing about not being so young anymore. We don’t have to go rushing off to meet tomorrow head-on. We have all the time in the world to learn about each other.”

  “We do?”

  “I intend to monopolize a great deal of your time from now on—up to and including having my taxes audited to provide an excuse.”

  “My Lord, you are serious.” Jessie pushed herself up off the hard ground. Now that the sensual attraction between them had retreated to a simmering awareness lingering beneath the surface of their casual banter, Jessie found the rocky soil uncomfortable. Was she crazy for coming out with it point-blank like that?

  “You better believe it. I’m very persistent in pursuing my objectives.” Jessie should have been warned by the climbing black brow, the hint of a smile in the mobile curve of his lips.

  Mark draped her arms around his neck. He dropped a quick light kiss on the tip of her nose. The tension of the last few minutes was all gone now, sublimated into a warm, anticipating glow. She would be his someday, he was sure of it now. But he had to go slowly, one step at a time. He’d almost frightened her away with his need to make himself a part of her. He’d have to be very careful not to make the same mistake again. “This fog won’t last, but the girls will think it’s what’s delaying us.” He made his tone meaningless and teasing. “I have a suggestion….”

  “Which is, Colonel Elliot?” Jessie retorted, picking up his mood.

  “Let’s neck.”

  Chapter Four

  THE RAIN CAME QUIETLY BEHIND the fog, no more than a heavy mist at first, but by late afternoon, when Mark and Jessie returned to the camp, it was coming down in a steady concentration. For a time the girls were too busy breaking out rain gear, securing firewood stacks and watching Mark skillfully bank the fire to pay much attention to Jessie’s dreamy smile and inattention to detail. For that small blessing she was mighty grateful.

  The evening meal, cooked over the propane stove and eaten in the shelter of the kitchen lean-to, was calculated to keep the girls happy. Deep-fried clam strips, chowder made with powdered milk and fresh bay leaves, the blueberry pie Jessie had promised and managed quite well, despite having to improvise a rolling pin with an appropriately shaped, well-scrubbed sea stone provided by Nell, scavenger extraordinaire.

  They separated early, Mark and Jessie exchanging a visual caress that still managed to make her breath catch on the pulse beating hard in her throat. Nell had replenished the balsam boughs of their mattresses that morning, and the damp, heavy air filled the little tent with woodsy fragrance. Mother and daughter settled down by the light of one of the remarkably compact candle lanterns, Jessie to daydream, Nell to plan for the unlikely but secretly longed-for prospect of being stranded on the island indefinitely with only the guidance of her dog-eared wilderness primer.

  Jessie hummed an old Beach Boys tune under her breath, brushing the tangles from her hair with sybaritic pleasure. Here it seemed they were always busy; yet there was also time to do what you wanted to do. Wasn’t that what life should be like, Jessie mused in a lazy, half-philosophical kind of mood. When was the last time she’d been able to sit down with her mother and really talk, just the two of them, of things close to their hearts, on matters not essential to the smooth running of a totally female household? It was something she’d like to change when she got back home.

  And right now she could luxuriate within herself. She could lose track of man-made time in the tug and glide of the brush through her hair and think about what had passed between her and Mark earlier in the day. She could contemplate the future.

  She needed a man in her life. Equality of the sexes, women’s liberation, her own independent nature notwithstanding, it was good to be involved in a partnership again. The girls needed a male figure in their lives, too. Allowing Mark to be in control of their immediate destiny these past few days had brought back all the good memories of being married for Jessie.

  She smiled at her shadow on the tent wall as it mimicked her movements in larger-than-life-size pantomime. A few short days ago she’d been irrationally angry at Mark’s assumption of that authority. Now she could see more clearly, recall the joy of sharing the decisions, the everyday problems of life, the good times and the bad. He was a great help with the girls. She appreciated that; she hoped she could accept his contribution with more grace in the days to come.

  Being independent, a businesswoman and, with heaven’s help, a successful single parent had its advantages, to be sure. But it was a lonely job. Jessie didn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone. For her, that was a basic and fundamental truth. She wanted to spend her future with a man, a partner and a lover. A man like Mark.

  And oddly, thankfully those thoughts, Mark’s presence, his appeal and easy rapport with her daughters didn’t stir the embers of past sorrows. But it did give Jessie pause. She’d put her mourning for a lost love behind her. But was she ready for a new involvement? Her body had understood that before her brain; hence the conflicting signals between heart and head that afternoon. Again Mark had read the signs, reacted with tact and sensitivity, giving her options, not ultimatums, forging new links in the chain of friendship that was beginning to bind them.

  “Mom!” It was Ann at the tent flap with Lyn behind her, their faces lost in the shadows of hooded rainproof ponchos, that pulled her from her reverie. “We are starved.”

  “Already?” Jessie was becoming resigned to two-hour feedings. It was almost like having infants in the house again, except they required far larger portions of a more varied menu than they had sixteen years ago. “We barely finished KP an hour and a half ago.” It was pitch-dark and the sound of rain was loud on the tent roof.

  Nell strained to be heard above the drumming downpour. “Me, too. I ate all the stuff I brought along for snacks. You took the last of my Hershey bars this afternoon, remember?” A not too subtle hint.

  “Our stuff’s all gone, too,” Lyn lamented. “I didn’t think I’d be so hungry out here. I wish this place had a McDonald’s.” That it didn’t have any fast-food restaurants was one of its chief selling points in Jessie’s eyes, but she didn’t voice the thought aloud.

  “Will popcorn be an adequate substitute?” Mark’s words startled Jessie into dropping her hairbrush. She’d never get used to how quietly he moved.

  “Popcorn?”

  “I’ve been saving it for an emergency. I guess this qualifies, since both your mother and I contributed to the junk-food crisis.”

  “I love popcorn,” Nell gushed, gesturing with her book, index finger marking her place. “We don’t have any butter, though. I like mine with lots of butter.” An edge of disappointment peeked out of the statement.

  “I brought some butter-flavored salt. It’s not bad. Will that do?” Mark cajoled with a grin that sent Jessie’s pulses careening—if not her daughter’s.

  “Sure.” Nell gave him a thousand-volt, silver-plated smile in return. “We have to make do out here. Besides, it beats eating grubs and grasshoppers. That’s the chapter I’m on now: ‘How to Stay Alive Anywhere, Anytime.”’

  “Mom, shut her up,” Ann begged.

  “I’d rather starve, ‘anywhere, anytime,”’ Lyn added emphatically.

  “I wouldn’t,” Nell stated with scientific disregard of her sisters’ disdain. “Did you ever have to eat those kinds of things in the jungle, Mark?” Nell’s steamroller approach had apparently gathered as many details of Mark’s past as Jessie’s gentle probing.

  “No, thank God. But C rations aren’t all that fantastic.” Nell looked disappointed. “I did have roasted snake meat in Brazil once,” he added to
soften the blow. Nell looked impressed and opened her mouth to request further details.

  “Enough,” Jessie intervened. “You’ll spoil my appetite. Snake indeed.”

  “It’s true,” Mark insisted. “It was a bushmaster, very poisonous. We killed it when it crawled into camp.”

  “No more.” Jessie shivered. He was in all likelihood telling the truth. What a varied, interesting and dangerous life he’d led. It made hers seem so stodgy in comparison.

  “We have a couple of cans of Coke we saved,” Ann admitted in a rush of magnanimity. “We’ll get them.” The two camouflaged ponchos evaporated into the dripping gloom, leaving only Mark’s face peering in at the tent flap.

  “Enterprising trio. Have they been supplying you with contraband all week?”

  “To keep me quiet about their cache. That’s how the black market works. We’ve had munchies and soda every night.” Jessie was secretly proud of her daughters’ initiative. “I thought you might not approve, given the reason for our being here.” Jessie’s stubborn chin was high. She’d given him her explanation, not an apology.

  “Not approve? That chocolate bar this afternoon saved my life,” Mark said, grinning. The smile included his entire face, ending with sparks of light in his dancing eyes. “I was beginning to have withdrawal symptoms. Hadn’t you guessed my dark, shameful secret? I’m a chocoholic.” The theatrically whispered confession sent Nell into paroxysms of shrill giggles. “The popcorn will be ready in a few minutes. Perhaps you’d better put on a sweater or something, Jess. It’s chilly.” Mark’s tone was rough around the edges. He spoke over the top of Nell’s bright, inquisitive head as the generous child searched through her tote for an overlooked chocolate bar that might have escaped her eagle eye.

  Jessie was flustered by the abrupt change in tone, the strain she heard so clearly, until she realized he was looking directly at her breasts. She’d already changed into the white T-shirt she wore to sleep in. Her curves were outlined now in the rush of cool, wet air from the open tent flap.

  “Thanks, I’ll do that.” She didn’t blush, but it took a direct effort of will.

  They ate apples and popcorn in the kitchen lean-to while Mark told stories of the early days in New England that the girls had never heard before. He confessed a little reluctantly that he’d gleaned them from old Mr. Peavy when he was taking over Meanderings from the former owner. At that point Nell embarked on a ghost story that Ann and Lyn were bound by sibling honor to top. Jessie hid her surprise at their not retiring immediately to the privacy of their tent and dredged up an old scenario from her Girl Scout days that involved a one-armed mass murderer, terrifying massacres in out-of-the-way places, and ended up having the narrator grab the nearest person as she hissed the frightening punch line in the unsuspecting ear.

  Nell screamed right on cue. Even the twins caught their breath before giggling derisively at their less-sophisticated sister. But Mark’s offering was best of all: involving pirate curses, phantom clipper ships, ghostly revenge and pieces of eight. It sent the Meyer women off to bed in a mood of scary, shivering delight that made sleep a long time coming.

  Unfortunately, by the time the rain dwindled to a spotty drizzle and was finally chased away by a fresh breeze the next afternoon, the mood was long gone. The girls were bored and restless. Nell was whiny, the twins glum and testy by turns. As soon as the sun popped from behind ragged, gray-edged clouds, Mark assumed the role of taskmaster and sent them off on various errands guaranteed to work off some of their frustrated energy and bad temper.

  “Thanks for taking them off my hands,” Jessie confessed. “I can take only so much of them, all at once, in confined spaces, when they’re in that mood.”

  “No problem. I spent a lot of time with my brother and sister before our parents died. I enjoy doing things with your daughters. I like kids; I always have. Especially girls.” He was wearing army fatigues, cut off and neatly hemmed just below the pockets. Jessie was careful to avoid staring at the long, corded length of his thighs. Often now he’d dropped details of his boyhood into the conversation. Jessie was pleased he felt comfortable enough in her company to do so. “They just need a firm hold on the reins.”

  Mark waited, expecting Jessie to bristle at what she must construe as a slur on her parenting, not a compliment to her handling of a rough situation. A few days ago she would have done that, but today she only looked thoughtful and nodded. Maybe he was making progress, getting past some of the prickles, getting her to look at things more lightly. He found he wanted to take her strain away so she could enjoy her daughters as she should. He wanted to be there with her to share that enjoyment and far more.

  “I’m going to take that statement at face value.” She cocked her head to the left and surveyed him seriously. “I don’t think you said that just because you need us all in a good mood.”

  Mark leaned on the handle of the short camp ax he’d been using to split driftwood into smaller, more manageable pieces for the fire. “I’m glad. I meant it as a compliment. Not that I wouldn’t be above a little judicious flattery if I thought it would keep things going more smoothly.”

  “Scowling, teenage faces on the cover won’t sell magazines.” Jessie met him one on one, not backing off in confusion and a welter of hurt feelings.

  “Exactly, Jess. For Meanderings I can be very charming.”

  “For any reason,” she replied boldly and turned back to her camera with a smile. He laughed at her final sally and returned to his wood chopping. He was right about needing them in a good mood, of course, Jessie admitted to herself later. But he seemed to be enjoying the lazy stress-free days as much as she was.

  It was very nice to think no further than your next meal, to wander over the hilly, rocky islet in search of beach peas and bay leaves for stew. When all that was required of you was that you admire Nell’s harvest of sea-urchin roe, which provided fat “that might otherwise be lacking in a forager’s diet,” as Mark had sanctimoniously lectured before popping a large bite into his mouth. Then he nearly choked on his laughter when Ann pointed out that it would be a forager who’d run out of Hershey bars who suffered such a fate.

  For a moment, during that interchange at lunch, Jessie couldn’t help falling into a pattern of self-doubt, feeling left out of the camaraderie, thinking Mark might be chiding her for the ten extra pounds. Then she saw the rakish teasing light in his eyes and laughed as loudly as the rest at Ann’s sally. It was that memory that had helped her through their latest exchange.

  Still, the thought remained. She would go on a diet when they got back, she promised herself as she checked the focus on her telephoto lens. If she didn’t hurry, the light would change and she wouldn’t be able to capture some of the texture of sun and shadow presented by the ever-changing patterns of clouds in the sky. She did want to look her best, she realized. For herself and for Mark.

  Somehow that self-admission, small in itself but indicative of larger things, made everything brighter. Jessie looked up, smiling serenely. The wind caught at her hair and whipped it into her eyes. She brushed it away, narrowing her gaze against the sudden sparkle of sun on the sea. It wasn’t just that the sun had come out from behind the clouds. It wasn’t just the brisk sea air, the insistent soothing beat of the surf or the sighing of the wind in the spruces. It was Mark’s presence that made Jessie feel young and desirable and so very much alive.

  “Mama! Mama, come quick. It’s Nell!”

  Apprehension blossomed in Jessie like a thorned vine, twining around her heart, squeezing her throat and shutting off her breath. Ann never called her Mama anymore. And her voice was high and strained, her face tight and pinched with fear. “Ann, slow down. What’s happened? Where are Lyn and Nell?”

  “At that old quarry. We told her not to do it. Oh, hurry and come. Maybe you can talk her down.”

  “Talk her down? Told her not to do what?” Instinctively Jessie turned to Mark. He’d stopped his work at the sound of Ann’s voice. Now he grabbed his
shirt as he looked up to see the stricken faces regarding him. The ax bit into solid wood, its handle quivering in the sun. Funny, how such small things linger in your brain when you’re scared, Jessie found herself thinking. That’s what she’d remember about this moment forever, the quivering ax handle. She dragged her attention back to Mark as he grabbed her shoulders.

  “Jessie, what’s wrong?”

  “It’s Nell. I don’t know the details.” She drew courage from his calm, no-nonsense attitude, managing to keep her voice steady.

  Ann, too, became less agitated, more coherent. “Nell is stuck on a ledge at that old quarry. We were getting more cattail hearts for a salad. She saw some of that stuff…sheep sorel?” Mark nodded, urging her on as they walked swiftly in the direction of the abandoned granite quarry. “That’s the stuff you said made such good soup, isn’t it?” Jessie wanted to scream for Ann to get to the point but she didn’t. “We told her not to do it, Mom, honest, but you know she doesn’t listen to us.”

  “It’s not your fault, honey. But couldn’t you have been a little more emphatic about it?”

  “Mom!” Frustration poured out of Ann’s voice. Jessie didn’t add to it. What good would it do? It wasn’t Ann’s fault, anyway. It was hers, for letting them go off unescorted.

  “Where is she exactly?” Mark’s voice was authoritative. Ann responded to it and so did Jessie, breaking off her self-castigation.

  “On the far side. On a little ledge. I don’t know how she even got up there. Lyn stayed with her. Down below, I mean.” She looked frightened, white and shaking, near to tears once again. “Mom, it’s almost straight down from where she’s standing.”

  Jessie wanted to run to her child, but Mark touched her arm, halting the first step of her headlong flight. “You can’t do Nell any good with a broken ankle. Slow down.” His face was concerned but composed.