River Rapture

by Vella Munn

  “The last time I was here, the house was being used for grain storage,” Chas explained as they neared the two-story structure that had lost at least half of its shake roofing. A scruffy tree of some sort grew close to one end of the house. Michon couldn’t decide whether the tree was holding the wall up or the other way around.

  “The mice must have liked that,” Michon replied. Like it or not, there was no way she could think of avoiding the fact that April had been part of that last time on the John Day.

  “They did. But they had to fight every other rodent for miles around.” Chas released Michon’s arm and looked into an opening that had once been a window. “No more grain. Now it’s time for the cattle to take over.”

  “There are cattle in there?”

  “Not now. But they take shelter here during a storm. Wouldn’t you?”

  Michon looked up. The window and door frames were still in place, but the light in the interior came from the spaces now exposed on the roof, as well as gaps that had developed in the walls because the wooden side boards had dried and shrunk over the years. “It’s hard to believe that a family had once called this proud old wreck a home. It’s coming full cycle, isn’t it?” she observed softly, torn between a feeling that she was touching history and the distraction of Chas’s presence. “I mean, once these timbers were trees. Before much longer they’ll return to the earth.”

  “That’s an astute observation. A proud old wreck. Are you a philosopher?”

  “Not usually,” Michon admitted. She ran her hand lightly over the door frame, wincing slightly because of the thousands of splinters jutting out of the dark wood. “I get that way sometimes when I’m listening to music or giving my life serious thought.”

  “Do you do that often? Think seriously about life?” Michon turned so she could face Chas as she answered. “I didn’t use to. But I seem to be doing a lot of that lately. There’s more space to think, now that I’m away from the city, from my job. But I’m not reaching any decisions I hoped I would.” She stopped, instinctively drawing back from any further glimpses into her inner thoughts. “What do you think, Mr. Carson? A coat of paint, a little wallpaper. It’ll be like new in no time.”

  Chas didn’t answer. Instead he took her hand and led her inside. It was darker than Michon thought it would be, and she stayed close to Chas until her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. The house was little more than a dark cavern, with a few sagging walls where separate rooms used to be. The ceiling which had served as the floor for the second story had collapsed. That left the building with inordinately high ceilings and gave Michon a glimpse of the dormers that might have once been the bedrooms for a long-dead family.

  “I love it,” she whispered. “I want to take pictures before we leave.”

  “You love it?” Chas sounded as if that was the last thing he expected her to say. “It’s just a pile of decaying lumber.”

  “Oh, no.” Michon shook her head to emphasize her point. “Chas, don’t you feel the ghosts of the people who used to live here? The history? They’re still here, still living out their lives. They’re gone now, but they’ll return after we leave. There’s no present here. Time has been suspended.” She stopped, glancing at Chas. “Don’t mind me.”

  “I like that,” he said softly. “I didn’t know anyone else felt the way I do about these old places.”

  “I’m glad you brought me here.” Michon had been able to concentrate on things other than Chas for the past couple of minutes, but his presence was once again invading her senses. They spoke the same language, at least about what the old building meant to them.

  “I wanted to. April would never come inside.”

  “Don’t!” Michon flattened her fingers against Chas’s mouth, pressing harder than she should have. “I don’t want to hear about April.”

  Gently Chas pulled her fingers from his lips. “I’m sorry.” His hands were sandwiching Michon’s fingers, warming her.

  Michon looked up into his eyes, saw how dark his pupils had become, and shrank back instinctively. Whatever Chas’s thoughts, they were deep, maybe deeper than she wanted to know.

  “Are you afraid?” he whispered. “Of me?”

  “No. Maybe it’s this place,” Michon stammered. “The ghosts.” That was a lie. What she was afraid of was herself, her responses to him.

  “I’m not interested in ghosts.” Chas’s voice had become husky. “Michon, do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  She shook her head. Should she walk away? Could she? “Please don’t tease. You said that before, when I looked like a drowned rat.”

  “No, you didn’t. You looked natural. Like I like a woman to look. Not at all like the first time I met you. You were wearing all that makeup then. I couldn’t tell where the real you was.”

  Michon ran a nervous hand through her hair. “Well, this is the real me, all right,” she laughed self-consciously. “This is about as natural as I can get.” Her jeans had dried on her and now clung to every inch of her form.

  Chas responded by taking her in his arms, locking his arms behind her, and wrapping her tightly in his grip. She was pressed against his chest, helpless and totally willing to stay where she was. His chest rose and fell, and Michon had the feeling that he would be content for them to stay as they were forever.

  It wasn’t a thinking, rational Michon who responded to the touch of the man in the dark, dying building with her. When she lifted her lips for his kiss, she was acting out of instinct, a woman reaching for a man who had become terribly special to her.

  Their lips met, lips that tasted and tested and slowly became surer of what was happening between them. Chas’s hands were around her waist as her own arms reached for his neck. She felt the strength in his forearms and thought fleetingly of a girl being lifted in her grandfather’s arms. She felt secure in his grip in a way she didn’t believe herself capable of. But this was more than security.

  Michon didn’t try to hide the fact that her pulse had quickened and it was impossible for her to control the rate of her breathing. Her body ached to press itself against his. It was only with great will that she hid her desire. She sucked in air deeply, needing oxygen to cool the heat that was flaming in her cheeks, spreading through her body. Was she still standing on the old house’s earthen floor, or had she suddenly taken wing, been transported out of the everyday world?

  It was Chas. He was the one who was doing this to her. His presence was enough to make her lose touch with the scent of old boards, the ache in her tired legs. She clung to him, needing him, wanting what he was capable of doing to her. The world of Chantilla, of Paul, of her apartment, didn’t exist.

  The words “I love you” flirted briefly with her consciousness, but now was not the time to wonder where the words had come from. Later, maybe. Chas’s arms had tightened around her waist, his fingers finding the soft outline of her ribs under the blouse. Her breasts found a home against his chest. She stifled a moan only by pressing her lips more firmly against Chas’s, by opening her mouth slightly. Her flesh, separated from his by layers of fabric, had been sparked by something that came from both within and outside her. She felt physically weak and yet filled with a strength she didn’t know herself capable of. Michon was a thousand miles from the cool employee who could discuss the benefits of a raw silk dress with a woman with the money to purchase the garment. This Michon knew or cared nothing except that she wanted—needed—to have the fabric barrier torn away.

  As if he sensed her need, shared it, Chas gently pushed up the hem of Michon’s blouse until his strong fingers were caressing soft flesh. This time there was no way Michon could keep her animallike moan locked within her. The civilized woman she thought she was melted away and was replaced by a primitive creature, hungry for adult sensations. She knew what it meant to be a woman. But until now she hadn’t known how overriding that power could be. The first slivers of light from the moon had found their way through the openings in the ancient roof, but Michon felt no
shame as Chas undid her buttons and brought his lips down to flick across the line of her collarbone.

  Michon sobbed softly, pressed her body against his hard one, and surrendered completely to the emotions flaming through her no longer weary flesh. She’d been touched before, been awakened. But her response had never been this complete before. She was nothing, nothing except a woman in the arms of a man.

  Chas lifted his head to look at her as her blouse slipped off her shoulders and slid to the ground. His eyes in the shy moonlight were burning coals. He slid his hands from her shoulders to her hands, laced their fingers together, and gently pulled her to him again. Only her flesh-colored bra stood between her and nakedness.

  “I’ve wanted to do this. Ever since—” He didn’t finish.

  “Don’t talk,” Michon whispered. She felt no shame with her blouse at her feet, her body telegraphing its emotions. This was what she’d been born for, why she’d become a woman. She might not possess a perfect body, but it was full and ripe, one capable of giving and receiving pleasure. What did it matter that they were hundreds of miles from civilization, hidden from the others by a house that might not make it through another winter? This moment, these feelings, were all that mattered or existed.

  Because there was no fighting her need, Michon leaned toward him, pressing her breasts against his chest, surrendering to the wash of emotion that started in her cheeks and coursed down the length of her body. Tonight his lips belonged to her. Nothing else mattered.

  “I want you, Michon,” Chas whispered. His warm breath added to the fire she felt. “You know that.”

  “I want you too, Chas,” she replied, wondering if he knew that she’d never meant anything as much as she meant those words, tonight, spoken to him. It didn’t matter. They had to be said.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he continued. “I just want you to understand how I feel.”

  How do you feel, Chas Carson? Have you forgotten April and the secrets that go with her? Are you falling in love? Can you love again?

  Those weren’t words Michon could expose to the night air. They were, she knew, better locked inside her. Instead she relinquished her grip around his neck and brought shaking fingers to the buttons of his shirt. Undoing them was a difficult task because she could think of nothing save touching his flesh, feeling their bodies pressed together. Her legs trembled, almost deserting her. Finally she was able to push the faded cotton away from his chest. It took courage and strength she wasn’t sure she was capable of, but she brought her lips to the softly curling hairs on his chest and took them gently between her lips, toying with the hairs as a mother toys with the down on a baby’s cheek. Her tongue licked across the ridge of his collarbone. Her cheeks caressed the deeply tanned chest.

  This was it! This was what she’d been wanting from the moment Chas Carson first entered her life.

  “Don’t do that if you want me to stop,” Chas groaned in a voice she barely recognized.

  “I don’t want you to stop. Ever.”

  Chas reached behind her and freed her of her bra. As it fell to join her blouse she closed her eyes to savor the fullness of her emotions. His hands—those incredibly competent hands—were cupped around her breasts, awakening in them sensations too long denied. She felt her nipples harden until they pressed against his palms. He knew. He had to know how completely he held her.

  “God,” Chas moaned. His hands found their way to the unbelievably sensitive area on the underside of her arms, and back around to her shoulder blades. She offered no resistance as his mouth sought hers and her breasts were flattened against his chest. Her lips parted, receiving his tongue. The night air was cool on her shoulders and back and waist, but her breasts were warm and safe, heated by what she felt inside and the matching heat she sensed in him.

  They were going to make love. She wanted it, knew nothing except the needs of her body, a need that stripped away everything else. Chas Carson was a man who could give her what a woman needed; she could sense that. He would pace himself, wait for her to join him on the journey.

  And she wanted the journey. How she wanted it!

  She was ready when he found the zipper of her jeans and pushed them off her hip bones, leaving her clothed in nothing except the brief panties that covered her flat stomach.

  “Lace under denim,” Chas muttered as he fingered the elastic.

  “Do you approve?”

  “Very much.”

  “A woman has to remind herself that she’s still a woman, even out here.”

  “You talk too much,” Chas said, silencing her with his lips.

  Despite Chas’s arms around her Michon shivered in the dark. He might think it was because of the cold, but Michon knew differently. She’d been this far with a man, but it had never overwhelmed her like this before. In the past she’d been in control of her emotions, knowing she still had the power to direct the experience, to keep her wits about her. Her heart had never ruled her head.

  But tonight, here, with Chas, she was losing control. Giving her soul to him completely.

  She didn’t care. It was what she wanted. Needed.

  The sound that split them apart barely reached her. She would have ignored it if Chas hadn’t stiffened, muttered a curse, and released her to reach for his shirt.

  Chapter Nine

  Chas was already down by the community campfire by the time Michon found her clothes, and with nerveless fingers, made herself presentable. The sounds of excited voices gave strength to her feet. She ran quickly back to the opening.

  It took Michon less than a minute to assess the situation, thanks to bits and pieces of information gleaned from the campers. One of the girls had evidently left a cast-iron skillet on the fire, and another had burned her hand trying to remove it without a hot pad. Chas had hauled the girl down to the river and stuck her hand in the icy water to kill the pain, his quick action happening even as Michon was still reeling from the loss of his presence.

  Michon made her way through the crowd of teenagers and knelt beside the injured girl. If anyone was taking note of her disarray or the fact that both she and Chas had been in the same abandoned building she was too preoccupied to worry about that. “Shanna?” Michon addressed the girl she’d been talking to earlier that evening. “How is it?”

  “Okay, now. I couldn’t think of anything except to blow on it. The water feels so good.” Shanna turned embarrassed eyes on Michon. “It was my own fault,” she stammered. “I was thinking of someone—something else. I didn’t even think about that skillet being hot.”

  Michon winced when Shanna turned her hand over to reveal her reddened palm. “At least there aren’t any blisters. It doesn’t look like a major burn.” Michon said in a tone she hoped would reassure Shanna.

  “Get my first-aid kit,” Chas ordered. “There’s some burn ointment in it. We’ll put it on once it stops hurting.”

  Michon straightened and hurried over to where Chas’s belongings were. She felt somewhat slighted because of the stern tone in Chas’s voice, but she tried to convince herself that he was simply acting as a group leader should in an emergency. Michon located the first-aid kit and returned it to Chas. At his orders, she dug out the ointment and gauze bandage that should be applied to insulate the burn from the air. “Try taking it out of the water now,” he told Shanna. His voice was soft and comforting, as if he were talking to a three year old instead of a careless high-school student.

  Shanna lifted her hand out of the water, but after a few seconds plunged it back in again. “Not yet,” she groaned. “Lord, that hurts. Stupid, stupid. You’d think I was smart enough to figure out that a skillet over a fire would be hot.”

  “I’ll stay with her,” Michon offered.

  Chas stared at her as he debated her offer. Finally he nodded and straightened. “Put on plenty of ointment. It should be washed with soap first,” he said as he turned to leave.

  Shanna stopped him, her voice revealing her struggle with tears. “You aren
’t mad, are you? I’m sorry. I know. I was careless.”

  “It was an accident. Accidents happen,” Chas replied. He left before Michon could decide whether she wanted to say anything to him or not.

  “Oh, boy, I’ve really done it now, haven’t I?” Shanna groaned.

  “Done what?” Michon tore her eyes from Chas’s retreating back.

  “I know the two of you had gone off somewhere together. I was thinking about that, wishing it was me and Skip, when I reached for that skillet. I interrupted something, didn’t I? That’s why he’s mad.”

  Michon ducked her head, grateful for the darkness that hid the flames rising in her cheeks. “It’s okay,” she managed. “He isn’t mad at you. I don’t know what his problem is. I’m just glad you weren’t badly burned.”

  “I wish I had been.”

  “What are you talking about? Don’t forget, the nearest hospital isn’t exactly a phone call away,” Michon reminded her in a voice that betrayed nothing of what had almost happened a few minutes ago.

  “Oh, you know what I mean. I didn’t really want to burn myself, but maybe if it were serious Skip would show me a little consideration.” Shanna stared at her palm, but didn’t lift it out of the water. “Do you know what he said when I was jumping up and down and blowing on my hand? He said only a dumb girl would pull a dumb stunt like that. And I thought he cared something for me. Call me a dumb girl, will he? Men! Who needs them!”

  “You don’t mean that,” Michon laughed despite herself. “I don’t know many women who can go through their lives without needing a man once in awhile.” Like me, now, she added silently as she admitted her body’s restless, aching messages.

  Shanna gave her a shy grin. “Of course I don’t mean it. I wouldn’t be mad at Skip if I didn’t like him. But there’s nothing wrong in letting off a little steam, is there? Look, I really mean it about being sorry I interrupted whatever the two of you were up to. He’s quite a man.”