Birds of a Feather (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

Mary Ann came to the edge of the stream and stopped. Its waters were clear and sparkling in the sunshine. “Mother always called on the highest authority she knew when speaking of Daddy. He was so impulsive and so lively I guess she thought he needed all the help he could get.”

  Mary Ann squatted down beside the stream and leaned down to dunk her hair.

  “Mary Ann, wait.” Bill stepped forward to grab her. “It’s... “

  She was already bending over, and Bill’s forward momentum tumbled them both into the stream. He clung to her shoulders as they both came up sputtering.

  “...cold,” he finished through chattering teeth.

  “Now look what you’ve done. You nature lover! Leave me—”

  He stopped her with his mouth. It came down on hers with a force that took her breath away. Even as her mind was yelling that she wouldn’t feel a thing this time, her body and her mouth were telling a different story.

  His hands reached under the cold water and pulled her hips close. With their clothes plastered to them, Mary Ann had the sensation of being naked in Bill’s arms. She forgot the iciness of the waist-deep water in the heat of his kiss.

  Somebody moaned, and she realized it was old, independent Mary Ann. The same Mary Ann who had picked up the pieces since Harvey’s death and who had only recently begun to reach out and grab life by the nape of the neck, shaking out some of the goodies for herself. The same Mary Ann who swore by her independence and vowed to do it all herself and told the whole world so and who certainly didn’t need a man—not even this one whose kiss was driving her wild.

  She moved again, pressing even closer to Bill. If she ever got out of the water, she’d have a stern talk with that old Mary Ann and get her back on the right track.

  She shivered as Bill’s lips left hers and traveled in scorching, searching caresses down the side of her neck.

  “Bill,” she said as his icy fingers cupped her face.

  Mary Ann completely forgot what she had meant to say. Bill’s black eyes burned across her and she gave herself up to delicious pleasure.

  She pressed closer, feeling his need for her in the tenseness of his shoulders and in the strain of his arms.

  She trembled with the awareness of what was happening. Bill had breached her carefully constructed barriers. She knew that within the next few seconds all her barriers would come tumbling down. She made a swift decision and pulled back from him.

  “No, Bill. I can’t. Besides, my feet are numb.”

  “Mary Ann, you are driving me crazy.” In one swift movement he lifted her and carried her to the bank of the stream.

  She felt as if she had just run the four-minute mile. She was burning and freezing at the same time. She clasped her lips between her teeth to stop them from chattering. It was a pity she couldn’t do the same thing to her heart.

  The sun was beginning to sink, and she shivered in the cool night air. Bill pulled her closer.

  “I’m sorry, Mary Ann.” He bent down and brushed her forehead with his lips, then began striding back toward camp. “Poor baby. You’ve had quite a day.” There was an edge of strain in his voice.

  “I can walk.” Her protest was not nearly as stout as she meant it to be. But then, only an ice maiden could resist that husky voice and those sexy eyes.

  The camp was just around the corner. She decided she would put up with Bill’s arms a minute or two longer and then that would be the end of Bill Benson. She’d avoid him for the rest of the retreat. She settled back and would have sworn she snuggled closer. Of course, she knew better. Feisty widows didn’t snuggle. She was certain of that.

  She risked a peek at his face. What was he thinking? Was he wishing she was Gloria, who loved beauty shops and posh restaurants and who probably looked like two million dollars all the time?

  “Bill.” She spoke softly and almost reached up to touch his face. But women intent on riding life’s wonderful merry-go-round and avoiding all entanglements didn’t do things like that. She clenched her hand into a fist and held it stiffly against her stomach.

  When he looked at her, his face was open and vulnerable and boyishly handsome. She no longer wished a big bear would carry him off.

  “Bill, you’ve lost your glasses.”

  “I always carry a spare.”

  “Oh.”

  The late afternoon sun slanted its rays across his face as he wound his way through the trees. She could see a fine stubble on his cheeks, the beginning of a five o’clock shadow. Suddenly, he stopped and studied her.

  “What am I going to do with you, Mary Ann? You’re the most unpredictable woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I don’t honestly know. A little of both, I guess. You bring out the caveman in me. I want to carry you off and devour you.”

  “You’ve already done that once today. It didn’t work,” she said with asperity. He would not get through her barriers again.

  “Are you calling that mountain trail a cave?”

  “You are forgetting the hole. The one I nearly killed myself falling into, thanks to you.” She tried to wiggle herself loose. “Why don’t you put me down?”

  “Because I enjoy holding you.” A sudden grin flashed across his face. “And you enjoy it too.”

  “That’s absurd. Of course, I don’t. Put me down.”

  “Oh, no?” His mouth descended to hers in a swift kiss.

  She held her mouth stiff for all of two seconds, and then her determination to remain aloof was replaced by a wave of desire that took her breath away.

  It was not a chaste, old-fashioned kiss. It was the kiss of two lovers, passionate, intense. Mary Ann was speechless when he finally lifted his head.

  “Oh, no?” His voice had gone husky.

  “No.” Her denial was shaky. “You’re as bad as my mother, always reading between the lines.”

  Bill rounded the last clump of trees and came into the camp clearing. He set her on her feet but still kept a grip on her shoulders. “Some lines.” He bent down and kissed her again. “I’ll see you later.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Men who kissed like that were for the birds. Her wet shoes squeaked as she marched off.

  She crawled into her tent and began to peel off her wet clothes. Her jean zipper stuck. She could have predicted that. She’d probably freeze to death and die of pneumonia to boot before she ever got out of the jeans.

  Muttering imprecations and casting dark, evil spells and predicting dire events, she hunched over her stubborn zipper. At last it opened and she peeled herself out.

  She was wet and chilly, and her hair... She didn’t even want to think about her hair. After this week she’d probably never speak to a bird again. She was beginning to hate them all. Even robins.

  She angrily jerked on a terry-cloth tunic, grabbed her toilet articles, and headed to the bathhouse. She shampooed her hair three times before she was satisfied that it was clean. Once out of the shower, she toweled her hair vigorously and put her tunic back on. Taking up her blow dryer, she glanced around the bathhouse for an electrical outlet. She looked in all the ordinary places—beside the sinks, near the paper towel dispenser. There was bound to be one somewhere. After all, she had seen electric lights in this crackpots’ paradise.

  She finally located the outlet under a sink, of all places! The cord of her dryer was not long enough to allow her to stand and look in the wavy, cracked mirror as she dried her hair. Half-squatting, with one shoulder practically under the sink, she accomplished her task. By the time she was finished she was in fine fettle. She thought she might just walk all the way back home to Sunday Cove. Anything was better than enduring the insults of these Tennessee birds.

  Two of the birders, the Cottonbys, hailed her as she walked back to her tent. They were both retired doctors from West Virginia.

  “How was your first day with the birds?” Dr. George Cottonby asked. He was a slim, spry, and lively sixty-five.

  Mary Ann had to laugh at his choice
of words. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it.”

  Dr. Janice Cottonby was two years older than her husband and looked fifty-five. The fine lines on her still-firm skin enhanced her handsome, intelligent face, giving it a look of character.

  “You couldn’t have had a better partner than Bill Benson,” she said. “He knows so much about birds. And he’s such a nice man!”

  “Yes. He’s a mighty fine fellow,” George Cottonby agreed. “It’s hard to understand how any woman could leave a man like him.”

  His wife nudged his arm in gentle reproach. “Now, George. That’s none of our business.”

  George patted her hand and smiled down at her. “You’re right. I just get carried away sometimes.” He turned back to Mary Ann. “When you’ve seen as much death as I have,” he said earnestly, “you come to value life and love even more. It seems that folks don’t care enough about each other these days. What this world needs is more commitment and less taking the easy way out.”

  Janice smiled indulgently at her beloved husband. “Now, George,” she said, “I’m sure Mary Ann doesn’t want a soapbox sermon.”

  Mary Ann reached out and touched their joined hands for an instant. What a beautiful couple!

  “Oh, no, let him talk. He’s right. Death is final and commitment is fleeting.”

  George shook his head. “Enough of an old man’s ramblings, my dear,” he said, taking his wife’s elbow. “We’re on our way up to the lodge for supper. Would you care to walk with us?”

  Mary Ann glanced at her watch. Supper was twenty minutes away. “Thanks, but I’m going back to my tent to dress before supper.”

  “See you later, dear,” Janice said as she and her husband walked off hand in hand.

  Mary Ann’s eyes misted over as she watched them disappear through the pine trees. That’s the way love should be. Growing old together. Still holding hands. Still caring.

  Twigs snapped under her feet as she walked back to her tent. Harvey had taken away her chance for that kind of love. Maybe they could have worked things out...if only he hadn’t died too soon.

  When she got back to her tent Mary Ann decided to lie in her sleeping bag for ten minutes and relax. It had been a long, traumatic day. She would just curl up under the covers for a minute and wonder what her children were doing and forget about Harvey and the birds—those monsters who had it in for her.

  She shut her eyes, and suddenly Bill’s face came to her as clearly as if he were sitting beside her. Every handsome plane, every craggy line, was crystal-clear. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to drift to sleep in the arms of a man like Bill? Somebody who would place gentle kisses on her forehead and call her “poor baby” in that deep, marvelous, bear-like voice?

  o0o

  The call of a bird will woke her. For a moment she was disoriented, thinking she was on back in Sunday Cove while laughing gulls called from the air and terns called from the sand dunes. She sat up and peered around. The olive drab walls of her tent came into focus, and she tumbled out of her sleeping bag, reaching in the gloom for her lantern. Her hand collided with it, and she tipped it over. Righting it, she snapped on the switch, flooding her tent with light. She thanked heaven for modern inventions, for plastic lanterns with switches and fluorescent tubes that substituted nicely for old-fashioned kerosene lanterns.

  Her stomach growled as she reached for her duffel bag, and she knew without looking at her watch that she had missed supper. Rats! She was starving to death after tramping through the woods after Bill all day. If she had been smart, she’d have packed some candy for this survival trip to the woods. If she had been smart, she would have stayed home in Sunday Cove, where birds had more manners. Why, not even a common old sea gull had ever done what that feathered mountain monster had done to her today.

  Her stomach grumbled again, and she tried to remember if she had seen a vending machine in the lodge. She would dress and find out. Otherwise, Harriet would have a death from starvation on her hands.

  To console herself for missing supper, Mary Ann dressed in a stunning wrinkle-free dress that had the look and feel of soft jersey. Its aqua color matched her eyes exactly, and she’d known the minute she unpacked that it would never go on the racks at her dress shop. She smoothed the dress over her hips and marveled at the beautiful things that could be done with one hundred percent polyester. She loved gorgeous clothes and wouldn’t travel anywhere without packing at least one sensational outfit.

  She quickly arranged her hair in a French twist, letting tendrils escape around her face. Draping a shawl over her shoulders, she left for the lodge.

  The wind whispered through the pines and a new moon was on the rise, filtering its silvery light through the thick tree branches. Mary Ann scanned the darkness for beady eyes. She’d do lots of things to get a pack of peanuts, but she wouldn’t tangle with furry things that had claws and fangs.

  She saw the faint glow of light as she approached the lodge and breathed a sigh of relief. One naked incandescent bulb hung over the door, and she reached out for the knob.

  “It’s locked.”

  Mary Ann jumped at the sound of Bill’s voice. “You nearly scared me to death,” she said.

  He stepped casually out of the copse of trees and walked into the small pool of light. He reached out and cupped her chin, tipping her face up so that he could look directly into her eyes.

  His lips closed over hers with aching slowness. Her shawl drifted to the ground as Bill’s hands moved to her back, caressing the bare flesh in a way that made Mary Ann forget why she had come to the lodge. It was a marvelous, forever kind of kiss, and she felt a small whisper of regret when it ended.

  “Lady, if we keep this up, I won’t be responsible for what I might do right here in a public place.” He stepped back a pace and pulled his pipe from his sweater pocket. Tamping fragrant tobacco in its bowl, he let his gaze drift over her. “I like that dress.”

  He wanted to talk about a dress?

  It was completely backless, and the front plunged almost to her navel. The sleeves were long and tightly fitting, and not a single frill or flounce marred the effect of the snug fit.

  “The dress came from my boutique in Sunday Cove.”

  He lit his pipe and took a contented puff, and she watched him carefully. He never seemed to do anything in a hurry. He was solid and deliberate and calm. Not like Harvey. Not at all like Harvey.

  Another draw on his pipe sent blue smoke wafting upward in the night, drifting toward the pale moon. Bill took his pipe out of his mouth and reached into his pocket. “I have something for you.” He took out a cellophane-wrapped sandwich.

  “Yum! Food!” She grabbed the sandwich and tore off the wrapper. “I’m starving, Bill.” She took a big bite. “Hmmm,” she murmured as she chewed.

  He watched her greedy attack on the sandwich and laughed. “I take it you like roast beef sandwiches.”

  “After following you through the woods all day, I could eat the whole roast cow. Or is it a roast bull?” Without stopping to ponder the question she took another bite. When she finished the sandwich she grinned at Bill. “Thanks, partner. That was a life saver. Where did you get it?”

  “When I saw that you weren’t coming for supper I stepped back to the kitchen and had the cooks put together a sandwich for you. We had potatoes swimming in gravy with ours. And apple pie with ice cream.” His dark eyes were sparkling with mischief as he teased her.

  “Well, why didn’t you save me some pie too?”

  He roared with laughter. “Gloria would have died before admitting hunger. She thought a healthy appetite was unladylike.”

  Mary Ann looked at him in amazement. How could he bring Gloria so casually into a conversation as if she were merely somebody he knew instead of the wife who had left him? Worse yet, left him for another man. Did it hurt to talk about her? Maybe he needed to talk about her. “

  “Tell me about Gloria,” she said softly. “Why did she leave you?”

  Bill too
k a draw on his pipe and looked up at the stars a moment before answering her. “She wanted a glamour that I couldn’t give her, so she took it where she could find it.” He spoke without bitterness. “It hurt for a while, and then I realized that she had done me a favor. It made me face a truth that had been there all along: I was not what she needed, and she wasn’t the kind of woman I really wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

  Mary Ann was silent. If she had expected anger or disgust from Bill, she had been mistaken. How could he be so calm about Gloria? She got mad every time she thought about Harvey. She looked at Bill’s clean profile in the moonlight. Maybe his calm was a cover for pain.

  “I’m sorry, Bill. I shouldn’t have dredged up painful memories for you.”

  He laughed, a sound of genuine amusement. “You weren’t listening to a thing I said. There are no painful memories. If Gloria came into this camp right now, it wouldn’t bother me. I’ve simply put the past behind me.” He blew a puff of fragrant smoke into the air. “Have you?”

  “Of course,” she said without hesitation. “I’ve filled my life with glorious adventure.” How did they get into this conversation anyway? She wished they could go back to before the roast beef. Back to the kissing. She decided that she could handle kissing nicely. Kissing was not involvement.

  “What glorious adventure?” Bill asked quietly.

  “I’m here on this fabulous, fun-filled bird-watching retreat.”

  “And you get along just fine by yourself?”

  It was a leading question and Mary Ann stiffened. What was he up to? This was no fun. She didn’t want to be analyzed.

  “Yes,” she shot at him. “What are you driving at?”

  “Frantic activity and constant avowals of independence don’t constitute a peace with the past.”

  The smoke from his pipe drifted around her. She inhaled its fragrance, thinking of slippers by the fire and cozy candlelit dinners for two. With an effort she pulled her mind out of fantasy and back to reality.

  “Why don’t you hang out a shingle, Dr. Benson?” He was opening doors that she wanted kept closed.

  “Why don’t you make peace with the past, Mary Ann?”