by Vella Munn
He was going to make her say it. Was he capable of that much cruelty? “You said you were going to see April, that you had a lot to talk about. Go on. Tell her you love her. Just don’t expect me to be part of it!” Michon’s final words sounded brave, but she was aware of the undercurrent of desperation that made her voice tremble.
“I’m not going to tell April I love her.”
For a moment Michon wondered if she’d been struck. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. “Why?” she asked, her voice failing her.
“Why should I? Oh, Michon, now I understand.” Chas was staring down at her. Despite her state she was aware that some of the darkness was leaving Chas’s eyes, letting the light in them shine through. His fingers on her arms were no longer punishing. Slowly, gently, he began to rub away the red marks he’d made. “You think I still love her.”
The sudden change in Chas completely unnerved Michon. Part of her wanted to flee the pain she feared would come as a result of their conversation, but his gently caressing fingers were seeping through her defenses, stripping her legs of their strength, bending her to the will of the man who’d made love to her in a wilderness cabin.
“I don’t know. I can’t think,” Michon moaned.
Fight and flight were no longer emotions she understood.
“Come on. I don’t want to stand here.” Chas placed his arm around her shoulders and led her, stumbling slightly, to the duck pond to the right of the area cleared for vehicles and canoes. They were standing at the pond’s edge when Chas put his arm around her, placing her back against his chest. For several minutes they stood without talking as a mother duck and her three babies disturbed the satin surface of the water with their soundless swimming. Michon leaned her head against Chas’s chest because she lacked the strength to handle its weight. She still didn’t know what he was going to say, but these peaceful minutes were what she needed to regain control of herself. If, she thought, that was possible, acutely aware of his fingers on her shoulder blades, the hard line of his body pressed against her spine.
“I have to talk to April,” Chas began softly. “The last time I saw her I said things I shouldn’t. She did too. It wasn’t a pretty scene.”
“What’s changed now? What do you have to tell her?”
“That I don’t want her to spend the rest of her life blaming herself for the abortion.”
Michon started. The caring tones in Chas’s voice struck a chord deep inside her. “You mean that?”
“Yes. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to admit that. Even now I’m not sure what I’m going to say. But I know April. At least I think I do. She’s ambitious. She sets high standards for herself. But she’s also sensitive and caring. That was what I fell in love with.”
At those words once again Michon found herself struggling against tears, but she didn’t let Chas know. “How do you feel about her now?”
“Concerned. Like a brother, almost. Michon, I can’t say I understand April or why she did what she did. But she’s regretting it, and it’s tearing her apart. I hope I can say the right things.”
“I—I’m sure you’ll say the right things,” Michon stumbled.
“Maybe.” Chas laughed slightly. “At least I’ll try.” He laughed again, a more convincing sound this time. “That sounds pretty adult, doesn’t it? I’ll be playing psychiatrist, telling her not to let the past destroy the present, the future. That’s pretty mature of me, if I do say so.”
Michon responded to the laughter. She turned slowly, aching arms wrapping themselves around Chas’s waist. “I never doubted you were anything but an adult,” she whispered.
“Is that so?” Was he teasing her? “You approve of a river guide as a lover?”
Michon threw caution to the wind. She still wasn’t sure what Chas’s feelings for her were, but she was going for broke. “A river guide makes the perfect lover.”
“Is that all? Just a lover?”
“What do you mean?” If she was revealing her uncertainty, her unspoken dreams, she couldn’t help it. What was said today would shape the rest of her life.
“Why do you think I asked you to come up here today?”
Confused, she blinked. “The job.”
“Oh yes, the job. There is one, all right, and I think you’d be perfect for it. But that was just an excuse to get you up here.”
“It was?”
He sighed. “I’m probably going to mess up trying to explain, but please bear with me. I’ve been going out of my mind since the last time I saw you. But I didn’t think you wanted anything more to do with me. Telling you about the job was the only thing I could think of. Wait.” He placed his finger over her lips when she tried to speak. “Please listen to what I have to say. I know others who commute to the college from here. It isn’t that far.”
“You want me to live in Shady Cove?”
“Not in town.” He sounded hesitant. “The place I mentioned over the phone?” Chas pointed at his log house. “Do you think it would work out? Michon, I want to see you become a teacher. I make enough to see you through college.”
“Chas? I—”
Instead of using words, Chas spoke with his body. His lips met hers, a gentle meeting that had the effect of spiriting Michon away from reality. No longer was she standing on the brink, with sunlight and laughter on one side and years of half-living on the other. She was nothing—nothing except putty in Chas’s arms. His hands glided up her shoulders, along her neck, until he was cupping her cheeks, holding her gently. She responded to that touch by letting her arms drop nervelessly to her sides.
Before, it had taken his iron grip to keep her next to him, but now he needed only the softest touch of fingers against cheekbones to make her a willing participant in a kiss that stripped away everything except the sun, mountains, water, and an observant family of ducks.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly the Cinderella kiss gave way to the emotions of a man and a woman. As Chas’s mouth probed for greater response, strength returned to her arms. Michon’s fingers started on his cheeks, but soon dipped lower, as if hungry for a deeper taste of him; they found a home around his waist. Her breasts beat against the tanned flesh, separated only by cloth. He drew his fingers through her hair, thumbs massaging her temples until it was all she could do to keep her breath from revealing the emotions he was stirring.
Suddenly he changed position. His arms were completely around her, holding her so close she could scarcely breathe. Her mouth ached from the sudden loss as he stared out at a point somewhere above her head.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Was he regretting their kiss? No! He wouldn’t be holding her like this if he were.
“For what you had to go through. Michon, I was a fool. If only I’d let go of the past before this. I expected so much from you.”
“I don’t understand.” A few minutes ago his words might have frightened her, but something had passed between them during their kiss that told her she was closer to Chas than maybe any other woman had ever been before.
“Don’t you? I introduced you to my world on the John Day. You didn’t have to say it, I could tell that you’d fallen in love with it. You’re as at home there as I am. I knew that made you different from April, but still I couldn’t let go. That night, when we made love, I stopped kidding myself. You weren’t someone I could forget. Michon, I’d fallen in love with you.”
Love. He was in love with her.
“But I wouldn’t admit it, would I? I wouldn’t allow our relationship to go any further. I had to let Harry’s accident act as a wedge between us. I got hung up on that grown-up business.”
“I understand now,” she tried to reassure him. “I know what happened with you and April.”
“That’s the point,” he snapped, angry at himself. “That business about my refusing to accept April’s lifestyle, which made me immature in her eyes, was nonsense. She was upset when she said it. We both said things—why couldn’t I see that?”
“Forget
it, Chas,” Michon said, clinging to him.
“I have.” He swung her around so she could see the antics of one of the baby ducks snapping awkwardly at a flying insect. “Maturity isn’t measured by only one yardstick. I have my life. She has hers. Michon, I love you. I believe you love me. You saw the deck I’m building? I was going to finish it and find some way of getting you up here before I heard about that summer job. I hoped you’d like it enough that you wouldn’t want to leave.”
“You’re building that for me?” Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t try to wipe them away. Surely Chas understood the reason for their existence.
She didn’t care! None of her heartache, her sleepless nights mattered any more. She was back in Chas’s arms. Hungry, she reached up for his kiss. “I love you,” she whispered as they met in an embrace that held no similarity to the Cinderella kiss of a few minutes ago.
Michon didn’t care that her ragged breathing gave away what she was feeling. Chas’s hands were on her, finding their way through the barrier of fabric, igniting satiny flesh to the emotions that had begun in a sleeping bag. Her own fingers found the outline of his ribs. She slipped her fingers upward until they found the tanned and smooth flesh covering muscles made strong by a lifetime spent outdoors. Her mouth was open, tongue flicking outward until it made contact. She closed her eyes, her mind, to anything except the pounding blood in her veins. A groan of pleasure began in her chest and fought its way to the surface.
“I want you,” Chas groaned. “Michon, I want to marry you. Put you through college.”
Marry! To spend the rest of her life with Chas, to brave more rivers, to learn what he meant by marathon races, to pack his equipment when he was needed for a mountain rescue, to bring wild flowers into the log home, and spend long evenings with him beside the stone fireplace? Marrying Chas Carson meant giving up her man when strangers couldn’t find their way out of the wilderness and spending her weekends and summers hundreds of miles from civilization. If they were to become husband and wife she would probably never again have a need to go inside Chantilla. Or pamper her nails or color her hair.
“I love you,” she said with the ultimate message of her heart. “I don’t ever want to leave here.”
“Ever is a long time. I want you to be sure, very sure.”
“I am.”
Soon she would talk about going back to school, going to work for the Shady Cove High School. But now those thoughts were pushed aside as Chas lifted her in his arms and started toward his home. She closed her eyes, thinking ahead to the loft bedroom and antique bed. She buried her head in his chest, listening to the pounding of his heart. She needed no marriage license to sanction their lovemaking. The formal declaration of their love would come soon, but what she—what they were both feeling—couldn’t wait.
Michon didn’t open her eyes until he set her down at the doorway leading to his bedroom. “I don’t want you to leave tonight,” he whispered.
“I have to,” she groaned. “Chas, I have a dog, remember? He’s my family. He’ll miss me.”
“Then we’ll have to go get him. Later. A dog is a good start on a family.” Chas stepped inside the room. “I think he’ll understand if you’re a little late. Michon, I want to spend some time alone with you.”
When Chas held out his arms, she entered the haven they provided. “I want that too, Chas.”
About the Author
Vella Munn claims she has only one pseudonym—“Mom.” Originally from California, Vella now resides in Oregon with her husband and two sons. She has written over fifty articles and a nonfiction book, and is a reporter for the Jacksonville Nugget.
Look for these titles by Vella Munn
Now Available:
Wild and Free
Coming Soon:
Wanderlust
The Heart’s Reward
Memory Lane
That Was Yesterday
Touch a Wild Heart
Knights in shining armor are all well and good, but real men are even better.
Italian Knights
© 2012 Sharon DeVita
It’s time for Annie Milano to start living again. Having been widowed longer than she was married, she’s ready to take the plunge and re-enter the dating scene. While she appreciates the support and protection her late husband’s best friend, Sal Giordano, has given her the last few years, Annie knows she can’t expect him to be there forever.
Sal was devastated when his best friend and partner was killed in the line of duty. Wracked with guilt over his less than brotherly feelings for his best friend’s wife, Sal is determined to prove his loyalty to them both by being her devoted friend. But when he learns Annie is ready to date again, all Sal can think of is claiming her for himself.
But before Sal can make his move, both he and Annie will have to put their pasts behind them, and realize that they were meant to be more than just friends.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Italian Knights:
“Sal?” Annie called, bumping the front door open with her hip as she juggled two bags of groceries. “Is that you?”
“Shh,” he hissed, reaching one long arm out to slam the door shut behind her.
“Sal!” Annie cried as he yanked the bags out of her arms and pulled her down on the floor beside him. “What are you doing?”
“Hiding,” he whispered, leaning up to peek out the window again.
“I can see that,” Annie complained. Craning her neck, she tried to follow his line of vision, but Sal pushed her back down and hunkered his six-foot frame closer to the floor. It was hard to squish a six-foot frame under a window ledge that was three feet high, but he was trying.
“Who are we hiding from?” Annie whispered, wondering what kind of mischief he’d gotten himself into now.
“Oh, no!” Sal groaned. “Here she comes.”
“Here who comes?” Exasperated, Annie struggled to sit up, but Sal held her down.
“Mrs. Altero,” he whispered. He was checking out the street as if he were on surveillance. “Her granddaughter’s visiting from Italy, and Mrs. Altero wants me to come to dinner to meet her.” Sal groaned softly. “I love Mrs. Altero dearly, but, Annie, I don’t think I can take any more of her cooking.”
Annie laughed softly. Mrs. Altero was the neighborhood matchmaker. She was a wonderful woman with a kind heart and a loving spirit, but she was also the world’s worst cook. No one in the neighborhood had the heart to tell her, so they just endured her gastronomic oddities in silence.
“Poor Sal.” Shaking her head, Annie clucked her tongue sympathetically. “It’s your own fault,” she teased. “Haven’t I been telling you, if you’re not careful one of those ladies who’re always chasing you is going to catch you?”
“Not me,” Sal quipped, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. “The only woman I’m ever going to have a serious relationship with is Sara Lee. I’m as slippery as greased lightning, and just as quick.” He eased himself up and peeked through the window again. “Thank God. She’s gone.” Heaving a sigh of relief, Sal relaxed against the wall and wiped an imaginary bead of sweat off his forehead.
Annie couldn’t help it, she grinned.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, the barest hint of a smile curling his lips.
“Nothing,” she lied, her smile going wider. Poor Sal. Ruggedly handsome with a head of thick, curly black hair and piercing dark eyes, he had a lazy, knock-’em-dead smile and an easygoing personality that had women everywhere throwing themselves at his feet. His rough-hewn elegance only added to his allure. No wonder little old ladies tried to feed him dinner—and their granddaughters.
“Can I get up now?” she asked, leaning on his shoulder for balance. “I’d love to play hide-and-seek with you, Detective Giordiano, but I’m in a hurry.”
“In a hurry?” Scooping up her groceries Sal rolled to his feet. “My God, Annie!” He leaned down to peer into her startled face. “What on earth did you do to your hair?”
“I g
ot it cut,” she said dryly, wondering what the devil Sal was frowning about.
“What did you do that for?” He’d known Annie for years, but he had never really noticed how beautiful she was until this very moment. Her hair had been her crowning glory, a curtain of black velvet that cascaded down her back, nearly reaching her waist. Now it framed her delicate face in a curly halo, making her eyes look larger and more luminous than ever.
“Don’t you like it?” she asked hesitantly, arching her neck to meet his gaze. Sal’s frown deepened.
“Well…I guess so. It’s…I…I’m just not used to it. And what’s your hurry?” he asked, arching one dark brow suspiciously.
Annie grinned. “I’ve got a date.”
“A date!” Sal’s brows drew together. “What do you mean you have a date? What kind of date?”
“The usual kind,” she assured him, trying to banish a smile at the stunned look on his face. “With a man.” She tried to retrieve her groceries, but he wouldn’t let go. Annie sighed in exasperation.
“Sal?” Deliberately she softened her voice. “It’s been nearly two years since Tony died. Don’t you think it’s time for me to get on with the business of living?”
In this battle of North vs. South, love is the true winner.
Southern Hospitality
© 2012 Sally Falcon
When Northerner Logan Harrington meets Southerner Tory Planchet, sparks immediately fly. Forced to leave his beloved Boston for the South—Arkansas, no less—Logan has no idea what Tory sees in the place. His assignment to write about the Rally Car circuit is preposterous, and he has no problem letting everyone, including Tory, know it.
As far as Tory’s concerned, Logan Harrington can’t leave town fast enough. From the tip of his blond head, to the bottom of his polished shoes, he screams arrogance. How could her father possibly know his family? And if Logan expected her to be a sweet Southern magnolia blossom, he was sorely mistaken. In fact, with her, he’s going to get a taste of Southern Hospitality he’ll never forget.
