A Man for the Summer

by Ruby Laska

  “I dunno,” Joe said through a full mouth.

  The party…Junior had forgotten all about it. It was an impromptu wedding party for Taylor and Raoul, the guy she met at junior college in Sedalia, who was rumored to be from Brazil. Taylor was her brother Mason’s wife’s cousin, not to mention Trevor’s older sister. Everyone in town would be there, no doubt, as much to check out Raoul as to celebrate the young couple’s elopement.

  Normally this could be fun. No doubt her brothers Teddy and Charlie Earl and their families would be driving up for the bash, and she loved being in the thick of her family again, around all the kids and her siblings and their wives.

  Today, however, she didn’t feel much up to it.

  “What all am I supposed to bring?” she said. Nobody showed up at these things empty-handed.

  “Well, Dad’s over in Clarksville picking up the pig with Perry,” Joe said, ticking off his dad and big brother on his fingers. “Mom’s got the cole slaw going. I hate cabbage.”

  “My mom’s making cole slaw too,” Trevor said. “She says your mom puts hard boiled eggs into hers. It’s not supposed to have eggs.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  The boys glared at each other for a minute, then Joe shrugged. “Anyway, I can’t stand eggs or cabbage,” he said.

  Junior smiled and pushed the cereal box over to the boys for seconds. Kids were so great. Everything was easy with them. They liked stuff, they didn’t like stuff. They argued, they got over it.

  Why the heck couldn’t adults be like that?

  She glanced at her bowl, whose contents were now practically fuchsia, and pushed it away. She’d napped only briefly, but her body felt energized and her mind was racing, and her headache was gone.

  Blushing, she remembered the way she’d had to practically drag Griff into her bed. But he’d more than made up for his reluctance after that.

  She shouldn’t have lied to him. Well, it wasn’t lying, exactly, pretending that she hadn’t felt anything the night before. Pretending that the way he kissed her hadn’t burned right through her champagne haze and spun her heart in crazy circles.

  She wanted him again, and this time she wanted to be completely sober when he touched her. Wanted to feel again the fire that he set deep inside her, the way his hands—those incredibly strong hands, rough and somehow tender all at once—felt as they grazed and seized and caressed her body.

  “Got any Gatorade?” Joe demanded, jerking her back to reality. “It’s hot out there.”

  “Yeah,” Junior said absently. “Got a couple in the freezer. They’ll defrost while you guys are running around, but they’ll stay cold. Take ‘em with you.”

  The boys clattered out as noisily as they’d arrived, leaving puddles of juice and milk on the counter.

  Junior wanted to return to her delicious daydreaming, but there was one problem. Griff didn’t want anything to do with her. He’d only made love to her out of some sort of misguided pity, and now he was furious because she’d let it happen.

  She knew he was right to be angry. Having sex with Griff had opened up a complicated Pandora’s box of issues that would take a long time to untangle. She’d taken advantage of a man in a way that was pretty much indefensible, and she hadn’t even really figured out her own feelings about what had happened.

  But she didn’t have the energy to think about those complications right now. If only things could be as simple for her as for the kids, who spent their long summer days doing whatever they felt like, drinking Gatorade and never staying mad.

  What Junior felt like was finding her way back into Griff’s arms.

  There were worse places he could have been marooned.

  From a strictly professional point of view, that is. Griff squinted across the street at the Green Bean Café, then took a few steps down the sidewalk, changing his visual angle slightly.

  He needed Gordon. He and the photographer he always worked with had developed a kind of intuition, Griff communicating the feeling he was trying to achieve, but it was Gordon’s genius that captured his intentions on film.

  And what a picture this would make. The galvanized tin tubs planted with geraniums and six-foot-tall sunflowers were the only spots of color besides the green. The awnings, the door, the “OPEN” sign. The image might even be book cover material, but the trick was to make sure it didn’t come off too cutesy, too patronizing.

  Griff sighed. Missouri Highways and Byways was, he had to admit, a bit tougher to pull off than he’d expected. Oh, he’d found the cornfields and pickups and greasy spoons, and he could probably work them up into a competent two hundred pages, but it wouldn’t be right, wouldn’t be the whole picture.

  And Griff prided himself on getting things right.

  He needed local color. Sighing heavily, Griff dug in his pack for his notebook. Gloria may have had a point. His editor had accused him of getting a little too slick. Griff had always felt that featuring the top spots, the restaurants, night clubs, and high culture of a city, and somewhere along the line he’d quit trying to find the heart of a place, its pulse and personality.

  Readers of his books about Miami and Tokyo and other big cities generally didn’t care. But the people who shelled out fourteen bucks for Missouri Highways and Byways just might.

  The café’s screen door swung open and two familiar looking boys spilled out, followed by Junior, dressed now in a faded Grateful Dead tee shirt and a pair of yellow denim ankle pants that seemed to have been molded to her curves. Griff’s mouth went dry.

  “Hey, that’s him!” one of the boys shouted, and Junior glanced his way, her hands automatically darting out to grab the boys’ collars.

  Even across the street her eyes glinted green. Even from that distance he could see her lips part slightly, her breath caught, and the surprise etched on her face tempered by something else, something that caused his blood to simmer in his veins.

  “Hey,” he said, raising his hand in a half-wave, feeling a little ridiculous. He stuffed his notebook back in his pack and crossed over.

  Junior licked her lips, and placed her hands on the boys’ muscular, bony shoulders.

  “Manners,” she murmured through her teeth as Trevor and Joey shrugged her hand off. They glanced up at her curiously, and she wished she hadn’t had the bright idea of bringing them down for a malt after they’d tossed the softball around.

  “Griff Ross, I would like to introduce you to my nephew, Joey Atkinson, and his friend Trevor. Boys, please say hello to Mr. Ross.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  Griff gravely held out his hand. The boys stared at it for a minute before grabbing and shaking vigorously.

  He looked stiff as a board, she could see, and didn’t know the first thing about being around kids, but the boys liked being treated like an adult.

  “What are you still doing here?” Trevor asked.

  “Junior says she fixed you up already,” Joey added. “Your tooth.”

  “Mr. Ross has to have his permanent crown installed,” Junior interjected hastily. “In a week, when the lab gets it finished.”

  “Cain’t they do that up in Chicago?”

  Junior saw Griff’s eyebrow quirk up a little, and blushed. “News travels fast around here,” she said, forcing a smile.

  “What else did the lady tell you about me?” Griff asked, but his eyes lingered on hers, and Junior could feel their heat.

  “I told them you were writing a book about Missouri, and if they were lucky you might put Poplar Bluff on the map,” Junior said lamely.

  “Did you tell them I was going to be here for a few weeks, finishing up?”

  The boys turned to stare open-mouthed at Junior. This, she knew, was big news.

  “Over at the hotel?” Trevor demanded.

  “You gonna sleep during the day the whole time?” Joey said.

  Griff sighed and glanced down at the boys. “No, I imagine not. I was…recovering. I, ah, didn’t get a whole lot of
sleep last night.”

  He chanced a look at Junior, saw the color seeping into her cheeks.

  He also couldn’t help but notice her tongue dart out and wet those familiar lips, and it sent his own temperature shooting skyward.

  “I’m feeling much better now,” he said hastily, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. “But I may be working during the day and I definitely will not be able to get anything done if you and your friends insist on creating a racket outside my window.”

  “Awwww-”

  “Although without wireless I’m not sure what I’ll accomplish,” Griff continued, abandoning his attentions to the kids and addressing her.

  Junior wanted to melt into the ground. Actually, what she really wanted was to duck behind the screen door, where she could stare openly at Griff without anyone noticing.

  The deep circles had vanished from beneath his eyes, and his color was back. His hair was in place except for the one crazy cowlick in front that sent a hunk of it plunging down over his left eyebrow. He hadn’t bothered to shave and there was something about the way his dark beard shadowed his strong jaw.

  He didn’t have the year-round tan that local men wore from the time their mothers let them out of the house. He wasn’t pale, exactly, but he wasn’t the Marlboro man, either. Still, there was something rugged about him, some sort of determination –

  A memory flashed, Griff above her, his shoulder muscles sharply defined in the moonlight, that strong jaw taut with pleasure—

  “Junior’s got high-speed internet,” Joey interrupted her thoughts, and Junior was grateful, because the haze that had obscured her memories of last night were burning off like a morning fog and leaving her with a raw and burning need.

  “Is that so, Trevor,” Griff said gravely, and it was clear he was very interested in the emotions showing on her face. Junior tried to break their gaze, but it was hard to look away. It was as though he was pulling her to him with just that look of his, and Junior actually found herself leaning forward.

  She shook herself and took a big step back.

  “Can’t you just go to the library?” she said, her tone sharp.

  Griff laughed scornfully. “Yeah, right--library connections are about the slowest I’ve ever used. And this town doesn’t even have a Starbucks, or I could work there.”

  “Junior lets us use her computer,” Trevor piped up. “For Lego Island. And Internet stuff.”

  “Yeah, she hardly ever uses it anyway,” Joey added. “Dad’s been trying to teach her how to use a spreadsheet.”

  “I have learned,” Junior cut him off. “I happen to have most of my work files on that computer. I just don’t get why it’s any better than writing a check. You know, with a pen, the way people have been doing it for years.”

  “Well, if you really wouldn’t mind,” Griff said, letting his voice trail off and raising that one eyebrow. His voice lowered, too, and brought back the sensation of that low growl against her neck.

  “I don’t know. I need to do some work at home. A project. You’d distract me.”

  “What!” demanded Joey, and it was clear that none of the males present believed her for a minute. “You never work at home!”

  “Um, medical imaging,” Junior made up. “Searching online archives.”

  “Ah,” Griff said. Now amusement danced across his face. Damn him, he was enjoying himself. “Maybe I could help. I’ve spent a lot of time online.”

  “Yeah, you never can find anything online,” Joey nodded. “You always have to call us up and—”

  “Okay. Okay!” Junior gave in. “Fine. Come over when I’m at work. I work pretty much eight to five. I can get you a key but I usually leave the back door unlocked.”

  “You usually leave all the doors unlocked,” said Joey. “Hey, you know what, Mr. Ross, you ought to just stay there too. Junior’s got about a hundred extra bedrooms.”

  Griff raised those dark thick brows even higher and looked at her with open interest.

  “No kidding.”

  “And you could pay her rent,” added Trevor. “Dad says she’s in way over her head and she’s got less sense than a horse.”

  “Hey!” Joey glared indignantly at his friend, but Junior was too dazed to feel more than a fleeting sense of offense.

  “I just meant about money,” Trevor explained. “I think you’re smart about other stuff.”

  “Thanks, Trev,” Junior mumbled.

  “So…you have a room to rent?” Griff asked. His tone was formal.

  “I might,” she said, her mind whirling. Griff under her roof. Griff, sleeves rolled up, working on his book. Griff on the porch after a hard day’s work, in the swing, next to her, his thigh pressed against hers—

  “I might not though,” she added hoarsely. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea.”

  “Yeah it would,” Trevor said. “Else you’re going to lose the house, right?”

  “Trevor’s Dad works at the bank,” Junior said darkly. “And he’s a pretty smart kid. Hard to keep anything from this one.”

  Trevor beamed at the compliment, stood a little taller in his converse tennis shoes.

  “Yeah, and maybe he’d even hire you,” he went on. “You know, Junior, like a reporter or something. Except he probably doesn’t need the kind of stuff you know about.”

  “Hey, we know as much about this town as she does,” Joey said. “How much do you pay? I could show you anything you wanted to see.”

  “I actually have my research done already,” Griff said. He hesitated on the word research, and Junior felt his eyes bore into hers. Oh, my. “I’m just going to soak up a little local color while I finish up.”

  “What’s local color?” Trevor demanded.

  Junior swallowed, hard. She needed to sit down. She needed a drink of water.

  She needed another chance to devour this man whole.

  “It’s, you know, what the people are like, what we like to do, what makes Poplar Bluff special and different from other places.”

  “Well, we don’t ever do nothing but when we do the whole town’s there,” Trevor said. “We’re all gonna have a party for my sister Taylor who run off and got married. It’s tonight. Want to come?”

  “Yeah!” Joey echoed enthusiastically. ”Junior can tell you where.”

  “Or maybe,” Griff said slowly, taking her measure, “she’ll show me.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  No need to check the directions he’d scrawled down.

  He could have found the place by rolling down the window and sticking his head out in the cool night air; surely the sounds of the music and whooping could have been heard all across town.

  Griff rounded the corner and came up on a field of cars. Literally. They were parked in haphazard rows as if they’d been planted among the clods of turned earth, and there was a pile of kids’ bikes, too, that looked as though they’d been left behind rather hastily.

  Griff parked next to a truck that was easily a good couple of feet further off the ground than his rented import, and began picking his way across the moon-brightened field.

  The party spilled across the front lawn of the neat ranch house, around the side, and on into the back yard, where little white Christmas lights had been looped through all the trees. A big hand-painted sign stretched across the front windows, proclaiming “Congratulations Taylor and Raoul!!!”

  For a moment Griff experienced the kind of nervous hesitation he hadn’t felt since high school. It had been that long since he’d been unsure of the welcome he would receive, he suddenly realized.

  It was good to know that you were welcome everywhere you went. Good to have the admiration of your colleagues, the envy of your friends, the thirsty eyes of women on your well-tuned body.

  He’d worked for the privilege. When Griff left home, left behind the critical eye of his parents, he’d decided that no one ever again would tell him he wasn’t good enough. He made it his mission to beat them to it, demand more from himself than a
nyone else could, exceed everyone’s expectations. Dean’s list? Hell, he’d graduated Phi Beta Kappa and a year early. He was published nationally in his freshman year, dated the homecoming queen as a sophomore. Moved on to her sister the next year.

  Doors opened for Griff Ross, and he liked it that way.

  The trick, of course, was to be selective about the doors.

  “Who are you?”

  A trio of men in their twenties strode a jagged line toward him. They’d been laughing loudly at some shared joke, slamming each other on the back, but they silenced abruptly at the sight of Griff in their path.

  “Griff Ross,” he said, sticking out a hand, which they stared at for a minute too long before one grabbed it and gave it an unnecessarily vigorous shake.

  “What I mean is, where did you come from? Don’t believe I know you. I’m Lawrence, by the way.”

  “I’m in town doing research. For a book.”

  When no one answered, Griff started to feel increasingly uncomfortable.

  “A travel book. It’s about—”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s the one Joey was going on about,” the middle one said suddenly. “Joey’s my second cousin. I’m Trent Collins. Good to know you. So you’re moving in Junior’s place.”

  “Well, not moving in exactly but—”

  “She sure could use the dough,” the one named Lawrence said. “Doesn’t have the sense of a horse. Good gal, though.”

  This brought muffled chortles from his companions. The lascivious note was unmistakable.

  “You can say that again,” the shortest one laughed. “Real good.”

  Indignation flared up before Griff could fully process his new acquaintances’ words. They were leering and winking like a trio of village idiots, and Griff felt like taking a swing at them, even as he realized his protective instincts were remarkably misplaced. Surely she couldn’t have stooped so low as to have spent any intimate moments with these clowns.

  “Yeah, well, I guess when you put it that way I am moving in with her,” he said. “Probably tomorrow. For a few weeks anyway. We’re collaborating. On the book.”