The Harder They Fall

by Doreen Owens Malek

  “This?” she said, pushing him back against the pillows, tracing his nipple with her tongue.

  “You’re a quick... study,” he murmured.

  She trailed a row of kisses down his abdomen, her movements awkward but fervent. When she got to his hips she hesitated, lifting her head.

  “Don’t stop now,” he muttered hoarsely.

  She reached down and took him in her hand and he closed his eyes, his breath coming in bursts.

  “I’ve had such thoughts about you, touching you,” she whispered. “Some nights I couldn’t sleep, thinking about you just down the hall a few steps away.”

  “I know all about it,” he said, surging upward and flipping her onto her back, then poising himself above her.

  “Do you?”

  “I’ve wanted for a long time to do this,” he replied, bending to trail his tongue down her abdomen to the downy tuft at the apex of her thighs, imitating what she had done to him until she was digging her fingers into his scalp, trying to drag him upward.

  “What do you want?” he said, lifting his head.

  “Come inside me,” she begged. “Now.”

  He raised himself on his elbows and she ran her fingers down his back, now slick with sweat from his exertions. As he loomed above her she locked her legs around his hips, drawing him to her.

  “Did this hurt—the last time?” he asked.

  “A little,” she said.

  “I think you’re ready now,” he said.

  “I am,” she panted, impatient.

  He entered her and she surged up to meet him; they both moaned aloud with the sensation.

  “All right?” he gasped.

  “Oh, yes.”

  He began to move within her, and she fell into his rhythm, a rhythm as old as time.

  * * * *

  Helene woke in the predawn hours to find Chris lying next to her with his head propped on one hand, studying her.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi yourself.”

  “Feeling okay?”

  “Spectacular.”

  “I thought so.” He grinned. “You certainly didn’t seem to be in any pain.”

  She punched him and he doubled up, faking a reaction. “I’ll have you know you’re pummeling an injured man.”

  “You weren’t acting very injured.”

  “You can thank my marvelous recuperative powers.” He pulled her into his arms and she lay back luxuriously against his shoulder. “I can’t believe what a relief it is to just give in and do what I’ve wanted to do all along,” he said seriously.

  “All along?” she said.

  “From the first moment I saw you.”

  “Me too.” She gazed up at his clean profile, outlined against the moonlit window. “Why did you fight it so hard?”

  “You mean after Martin was dead?”

  She nodded.

  He shrugged, and she saw him struggling to put his feelings into words. “I never had anybody special,” he finally said. “Girls, sure, but nobody I felt so... strongly about, like you.”

  “Girls like Ginny?”

  “I guess.”

  “I was very jealous of her.”

  “You were?” he said, delighted. When she moved he added, “Please don’t punch me again, I bruise very easily.”

  “I’ll bet.” She paused. “I thought you were sleeping with her and I couldn’t stand it.”

  “I was.”

  Her heart sank.

  “You were?” she asked feebly.

  “Before I met you.”

  “And not since then?” Helene said happily.

  “Nope.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her I was married. You heard me, didn’t you? You were there, as I recall.”

  “Then why has she been hanging around?”

  “I guess I haven’t been acting much like a blissful newlywed…”

  “Hardly,” Helene affirmed.

  “And she could sense there was trouble.”

  “Very perceptive,” Helene commented dryly.

  “I think she was sort of sticking it out, to see which way the wind would blow.”

  “Have you known her a long time?” Helene persisted.

  “Since we were kids.”

  “Did she live near you?”

  “Down the block.”

  “She went to school with you?”

  “Hey, what is this?” he asked, tipping her chin up with his forefinger and gazing into her eyes. “Are you working for the district attorney’s office?”

  She sighed. “That was my clever attempt to get some information about your past. All I know is what Martin told me, which wasn’t much, and what Maria added since I married you, and that’s not a lot more. You never talk about it.”

  He was silent a long time and then said, “I never talk about it because I’m trying to forget it.”

  “Was it that bad?” she asked gently.

  “Before I came to the Homestead it was.”

  “Why?”

  He sat up on the edge of the bed, pulling out of her grasp, and she felt a chill.

  “Why dredge it all up now, Helene?” he said. “It’s over and best forgotten.”

  When she didn’t reply he sighed heavily and asked, “What do you want to know?”

  “Well,” she began, “Maria told me about your mother.”

  He swore under his breath.

  “Maria meant well, Chris. She was only trying to help me understand you!” Helene protested.

  “Trying to make you feel sorry for me, you mean,” he said bitterly. “I don’t need that.”

  “Of course not,” Helene said, propping herself up against the pillows and drawing the sheet up to her chin. “Do you really think pity is what I feel for you?”

  “I didn’t want you to know,” he said, ignoring her question, thrusting his hands through his hair in frustration. “You were engaged to Martin, for God’s sake.”

  “What does that have to do with it?”

  “His mother was some kind of damn socialite. She went to that school in Massachusetts, Mount Holly something…”

  “Mount Holyoke?”

  “Right, that one. And the second wife was always in the society columns, had an apartment in New York, used to go to those designer fashion shows— how does my history compare with that?”

  “Martin didn’t care.”

  “I wasn’t in love with Martin,” he said darkly.

  Her heart went out to him. “Chris,” she said gently, “my father was a convicted felon. Did you really think I would judge you on your parents’ life? Where would I be if people judged me by mine?”

  He shook his head vehemently; he saw a major difference and it was important to him that she understand. “Your father was a white collar type who got in over his head and thought a little creative financing would solve his problems. People understand that and wouldn’t blame you for it. You can’t tell me that’s quite the same thing as having the town pushover for a mother.”

  “Oh, Chris,” she said sadly; it was clear she would never be able to overcome his lifetime of shame and disillusionment with the simple expedient of logic.

  “See?” he said. “That’s what I hate, that pitying tone.”

  “That’s compassion and you should know the difference.”

  “There is no difference.”

  Helene dropped the sheet and leaned forward, slipping her arms around his neck from behind and pulling him back toward her. “Listen to me,” she whispered in his ear.

  “I’m listening,” he said, turning to embrace her.

  “I’m crazy about you, just as you are.”

  “Is that right?” he murmured indulgently, nibbling the shell of her ear.

  “And I don’t care how you got that way.”

  “You don’t care about any of it?” he said, easing her back against the bed.

  “No. I only wanted to know because I was trying to grasp why you were so defensive a
nd secretive and...”

  “Cranky?” he supplied.

  “Cranky,” she agreed, laughing.

  “There was another reason,” he said, bending to kiss her neck and then draw her to him.

  “What?”

  “Deprivation.”

  “I see.”

  “But we can remedy that,” he added, moving on top of her and allowing her to feel his arousal.

  “Let’s,” she said.

  And they did.

  * * * *

  When Helene woke again the sun was just coming up and she was shivering in the dawn chill. Chris was sprawled across her and as she moved his arm to get out of bed he said, “Whatimezit?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  He groaned. “I have to break two horses today and it’s a tough act on three hours’ sleep.”

  “You should have thought about that before you spent half the night... doing what you were doing,” she said, glancing in dismay at the pile of her wrinkled clothes on the floor. She went to his closet and rummaged quickly for a robe, which she slipped on; the sleeves tumbled over her wrists and she folded them back to her elbows.

  “I wasn’t doing it alone,” he replied, grabbing her ankle as she walked past him.

  “Chris?” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  He grinned, tugging harder on her leg.

  “For food.”

  He released her, rolling over heavily in mock disappointment and sighing loudly.

  “I’m going to the kitchen, since I’m about to pass out from lack of nourishment,” Helene said. “You’re welcome to join me if you like, of course.”

  She heard indecipherable grumbling behind her as she went down the hall, but he appeared moments later as she was setting up the percolator, his hair rumpled and his eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. He was barefoot but wearing his jeans, the snap unfastened at his waist. He dropped into a chair and slid down until he was resting on the base of his spine, his legs stretched out in front of him like a juvenile delinquent called to the principal’s office.

  “Is this your breakfast mode?” she asked him. “I don’t believe I’ve witnessed this particular performance before today.”

  “I usually reserve it for Maria, while you’re still sleeping,” he said, yawning.

  “Just think of what I’ve been missing,” Helene said in a wondering tone. She retrieved the frying pan from the cabinet under the stove and added, “Scrambled eggs?”

  “Anything,” he replied.

  “Gee, you’re easily pleased at this hour.”

  “I’m too comatose to argue.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” She got bread out of the box for toast and opened the refrigerator. “Orange juice?”

  He made an unintelligible sound.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” When the coffee steamed she gave him a cup and left him in silence for several minutes while he drank it. She set a plate before him and waited until he looked up, draining his cup and blinking.

  “Are you tracking yet?”

  He nodded.

  “You were awake enough when you were trying to entice me back into bed.”

  “That’s different,” he said grumpily, standing to refill his cup. He sat again and began to eat.

  She stared at him.

  “It’s good,” he said, glancing up at her.

  “Thank you so much.”

  He ate industriously until his plate was empty and then he pushed it aside.

  “Well?” she said.

  “You look awfully cute in that robe.”

  “Don’t let it give you any ideas.”

  “I’ve already got ideas.” He pushed his chair back abruptly and came quickly to Helene’s side of the table, bending to put his arms around her neck.

  “Christopher.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have to take a shower.”

  “I’ll take one with you.”

  “What about your horses?”

  “They can wait.”

  She got up, deftly eluding his grasp, and he trailed after her, catching hold of her robe cord. He pulled her to him by its length, unraveling the tie and dropping it onto the floor.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he answered, grabbing her.

  She squealed and the robe slid off one shoulder.

  The kitchen door opened and Maria stood on the threshold, taking in the scene. Then she clasped her hands to her breast and sighed dramatically.

  “Don’t tell me, let me guess,” she said. “You two kids are in love.”

  Chapter 6

  “Knock it off, Maria,” Chris said darkly, casting a sidelong glance at Helene and releasing her reluctantly.

  “Chris said you were going to be late today,” Helene muttered in embarrassment, hiking the robe up on her shoulder.

  “I finished my errands early. What am I, punching a clock around here?” Maria replied, looking in mute disapproval at her messy kitchen.

  “I made breakfast,” Helene volunteered unnecessarily.

  “I see that,” Maria said, starting to clear the table.

  “Well,” Chris announced, clearing his throat self-consciously, “I guess I’ll get going.” He pecked Helene on the cheek and headed down the hall to his room.

  The two women looked at one another.

  “Hmm,” Maria said, setting a plate in the sink.

  Helene grinned.

  “What happened?” Maria asked, smiling too.

  “I’m not quite sure myself. After I left the rodeo I thought he would never speak to me again, but when he came home he was... different. He apologized ...”

  Maria’s eyes widened.

  “... and really let me inside that shell for the first time, if you know what I mean.”

  Maria nodded.

  “And then one thing led to another.”

  “I told you it would, eventually. He just had to fight it out with himself first.”

  “You do know him well.”

  “Not as well as you do, now,” Maria replied mischievously, and Helene felt herself blushing.

  “How do you feel?” Maria asked, adjusting the stream of water as she rinsed the plates.

  “Happy, but afraid to hope for too much.”

  “He’s happy too,” Maria said.

  “How could you tell? He was half asleep.”

  “I’ve never seen him looking so relaxed. Like he’d taken a big chance and won.”

  “I guess he did see it as taking a chance, but he was wrong. I’m so in love with him that it was no chance at all. He couldn’t lose.”

  The object of their discussion reappeared, his hair damp from a quick shower, tucking his shirt into the waistband of his jeans.

  “I’ll come up to the house at lunch,” he said, pressing Helene’s shoulder as he passed. Then he stopped and confronted Maria, his hands on his hips.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked, with mock severity.

  “Not a thing,” she answered innocently, taking a cup from Helene’s hand.

  Chris said something under his breath and vanished through the door. They heard him calling to one of the hands from the backyard, and then he started to whistle. They both listened to the sound of it fading into the distance.

  “I haven’t heard that for a long time,” Maria said.

  “I’ve never heard it,” Helene replied.

  “And just think, you’re going to see him in the middle of the day. What a treat. For the last month he’s been vanishing at dawn and materializing again at dark like a vampire.”

  Helene giggled.

  Maria sighed, bending to load the dishwasher. “I don’t know if I can stand this much happiness around here. This house has changed from a morgue to Happy Valley overnight.”

  “Thank God,” Helene said fervently.

  “Amen,” Maria seconded, catching Helene’s hand with her free one and squeezing hard.<
br />
  “Maria,” Helene said quietly, “I don’t think I’ve told you how much your presence here has meant to me. Some days I thought I would go crazy without your sensible conversation and support.”

  “Don’t you get mushy on me now,” Maria said briskly, releasing her hand. “You told me you would help me wash those Venetian blinds in the den, and you’re not getting out of it.”

  Helene laughed, and the two women went on companionably with their chores.

  * * * *

  Maria went home at one o’clock, promising to return later in the afternoon, and Helene restrained herself until one-thirty before she went out to look for Chris. She checked her hair and makeup in the bathroom mirror and glanced ruefully at the straining waistband of her slacks. Then her impatience to see her husband—strange to think of him that way, but it was true—overcame her fading sense of propriety and she went trailing after him.

  It was another gorgeous day and she enjoyed the walk out to the stables. The ranch hands—who never saw her—stared unabashedly as she passed, especially when she waved gaily to Sam, who was polishing a saddle outside the main barn.

  “Have you seen Chris?” she asked him, as he looked up at her and then nodded cordially.

  “In there,” he replied, jerking his thumb at the wooden structure behind him.

  Helene walked around him and then slipped through the huge door, which was ajar. Inside the dim structure the horses were lined up in stalls, some snorting and shuffling, others contentedly munching hay and seemingly meditating. They reacted to her presence as she walked down the center aisle, the smells of manure and fresh hay and horseflesh overwhelming her. At the back, in an open area bordered by a tack wall studded with nails from which equipment dangled, Chris was rubbing down a weary looking horse.

  “Hi,” Helene said, suddenly feeling a little foolish, almost childish, for seeking him here.

  He looked up and smiled, and her doubts vanished like a mist at sunrise.

  “Is it that time already?” he said, glancing in dismay at his watch, which lay abandoned on a side table. He was stripped to the waist, his torso streaming with perspiration, his hair damp and matted.

  “Almost two,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” he grunted, tossing aside the cloth he’d been using and wiping his forehead on the back of his arm. He smacked the horse’s rump affectionately and the horse whinnied.