by Wolf Wootan
“Well, what with the time change, you must be exhausted.”
“Yes, I am. That east to west trip is a killer.”
She stood. He stood.
“Well, goodnight, Sam. It has been an extraordinary evening,” she whispered, letting him take her hand.
“Yes, it has. Goodnight, Bo. Sleep as late as you like. I’ll fix you breakfast whenever you get up.”
She thought, Breakfast! Even without the ‘bed’ part. He is patient! I was sure he was going to make a pass at me! What would I have done if he had? Hmm. What are you thinking, Bo?
Chapter 28
Saturday, June 2, 2001
Capistrano Beach, CA
Sam loved the mornings at the beach the best. That’s not to say the sunsets were not awe-inspiring. But the morning was his quiet time—time to think, time for introspection. He arose at 7:00 A.M. on Saturday, donned his favorite red swimming trunks, and started his morning swim down to the San Clemente Pier. He swam down there and back almost every morning that he was at the beach. Becky was up also, clad in a one-piece black swim suit under her flowery cover-up.
“I’ll catch you on the way back, Sam,” she had said as he headed for the water.
“Thanks, Beck. I’ll watch for you south of Poche.”
She liked swimming with Sam, even though they seldom spoke while swimming. It was some sort of silent bonding. When they were in the water, she wasn’t a child genius, and he wasn’t an insecure father. She was quite able to swim to the pier and back, but her shorter stroke slowed Sam down, so she just swam part of his return leg. She slipped out of her cover-up, grabbed her short surf board, and paddled out to join a half dozen early morning surfers who were sitting out beyond the reef north of Poche waiting for a wave. The sea was fairly calm, and the chances for a good wave were slim, but that seldom kept the surfers from bobbing around on their boards, waiting in silence—enjoying a peace that only surfers understood.
Becky kept an eye on her waterproof watch, and after awhile, grabbed an ankle-slapper wave to the beach and put her board away. Then she started her swim to meet up with Sam. She was feeling great—this was a great way to start an important day in her life: the day of her senior prom.
***
Bo awoke and stretched at 8:56 A.M. She was surprised that she had slept so well in a strange bed—and so late. The gentle roar of the surf must have worked its magic. A freight train had rumbled by behind the house about 3:00 A.M., but she had turned over and gone back to sleep at once.
She stretched out on her back and looked up at the ceiling and took stock of her situation. She was in a stranger’s house—a stranger with a 16-year-old niece/daughter/ward. Her own daughter would have been Becky’s age had she survived. When Bo was 20 years old—in college—she got pregnant, but had a miscarriage when the female fetus was 4 months along. It was a bad medical experience—it left her barren—and a worse psychological experience. The event had been a major influence in shaping her later life. Yesterday’s encounter with Becky had stirred long-buried maternal feelings. This could have been her daughter getting ready for her senior prom.
Then there was the stranger, Sam Crown, Medal of Honor recipient. He was one sexy devil! She had avoided all relationships with men since the fiery breakup with a senior FBI agent six months ago. She had caught him with one of the rookie female agents when she came home a day early from a trip to Quantico.
She had to admit that she had felt aroused a couple of times last night. She didn’t know how she would have reacted if he had come on to her again, but he had not. He was an honorable man—kept his word not to hassle her. She conjured up a picture of the two of them in bed, listening to the waves, caressing each others scars. When her nipples started to harden, she sat up and put her feet on the carpet.
Nonsense! I need whatever information he has, then I’m out of here! I don’t need any more complications in my life right now! After Monday, I’ll never see him again.
However, in the shower, she found herself lingering over her erogenous areas as she soaped herself.
She dressed in her dark blue denim shorts and a light blue tank top, then went downstairs to find Sam and Becky. She found them out on the deck sitting at one of the round, redwood tables with a blue-and-white-striped umbrella sprouting from the hole in its center. Becky’s shoulder-length, blonde pony tail was still damp from her swim. Sam had donned his usual Aloha shirt, this time covered with naked wahines.
Becky was talking a mile a minute, teenager style, and Sam was laughing. Bo stood and watched the two for a moment, some unseen finger plucking at her heartstrings. She inhaled deeply, sucking in the sea air, and then stepped out onto the deck.
“Hi, guys!” she said. “I guess I overslept!”
Sam and Becky turned in unison to look at her. Becky waved. Sam swallowed and held his breath. He was overwhelmed—again—by her beauty and sexiness. It was obvious that she was braless beneath her tank top.
Sam exhaled and said, “Good morning. Slept OK I hope.”
“Perfectly! The sound of the waves was euphoric!” she smiled as she sat next to Sam. “Cured my jet lag.”
“Want some coffee? Juice? We held breakfast till you got up. We had our morning swim,” said Sam, smiling.
“Coffee would be just great!”
“Sugar? Cream?”
“Do you have the pink stuff?”
“Sure. Coming right up.”
Sam walked over to the wet bar where a coffee machine was keeping a half pot of coffee warm. He poured some into a mug that sported a Marine Corps globe and anchor insignia. He got some pink packets out of a bowl, grabbed a spoon and returned to the table. Bo stirred a half packet of the sugar substitute into her coffee.
“How do you ever leave here to go to work?” queried Bo as she peered out at the water. The waves were bigger than when Sam and Becky had gone out earlier, and at least 30 surfers dotted the blue-green water now. A pelican dove into the water from on high and grabbed a fish for breakfast.
However this turns out, I’m glad I came here. This experience is unbelievable! thought Bo. It’s been so long since I’ve been to the ocean.
“It’s hard. But I’m not here all the time. I have a rat-hole apartment in Tustin. Also, I’m on the road a lot—depending on the assignment.”
Bo blew across the top of her coffee mug, then took a sip. “Delicious! I detect a hint of vanilla.”
“Freshly ground, too,” replied Sam. “Becky and I were just planning our day. She doesn’t want to spend all day worrying about tonight, so we thought we could pack a lunch and take the boat out for awhile. Get back here around 3 or 4 o’clock and start the transformation.”
“Transformation?” queried Bo.
“Yeah. Turning Cinderella here into a princess,” laughed Sam.
“That shouldn’t be hard,” chortled Bo. “She’s a beautiful girl! I assume you have the dress, shoes, and all the accessories?”
“Hell, I think so! Don’t we, Beck?”
“Yes! But I could use some help with my hair and stuff. And that Black Widow bra. And, some advice, you know. Do you think you could help me, Bo?”
“You mean Merry Widow bra,” laughed Bo.
“Whatever.”
“I’ll be honored to do whatever you need doing, Becky. Hair and appearance I can help you with. I don’t know if my personal advice will be any good, however. I have a bad track record when it comes to relationships!”
“Any help at all will be welcome.”
Becky thought, Something weird’s going on. She didn’t sleep with Sam last night. How unusual! Oh, well. I’m just a kid. I’m not supposed to understand adults—at least that’s what they tell me!
“Tell me more about this boat outing,” said Bo, changing the subject.
Sam replied, “My Dad has a boat in Dana Point Harbor. I’ll throw some stuff in the ice chest and we’ll go relax for a few hours. You can fish if you want. Or swim. Or nothing. Whatever.”
“Sounds like fun
.”
“Good. Now, how about some breakfast? What would you like, Bo?”
“I’m easy; I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Becky interjected, “How about one of your mushroom and shrimp omelets, Sam? You’ll love it, Bo!”
“Sounds fattening, but OK. I’ll just do some extra swimming,” shrugged Bo, winking at Becky.
“OK. I’ll go get started while you two ladies get acquainted,” said Sam as he headed inside to the kitchen. “Becky, get Bo more coffee when she’s ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bo decided to find out more about Sam while he was gone—and his relationship with Becky.
“Well, Becky, you have brains, beauty, and an idyllic life style. You must be quite happy,” she observed, intending to get Becky talking.
“I am. Thanks to Sam plucking me off the street three years ago. God knows what would have happened to me if it weren’t for Sam—and his parents, of course. They’ve been wonderful to me!”
“You were out on the street? Sam didn’t tell me that. Only about your accelerated education.”
Becky gave her a quick rundown of her pitiful B.S.—Before Sam—life.
Bo was intrigued by the poignant story. It gave her better insight into both Sam and Becky—and their relationship.
“So, Sam is your legal guardian?” Bo asked as she sipped her coffee.
“Yes. Do you have any kids?”
Bo’s heart leaped into her throat, and she fumbled for a cigarette. She had to glance away and wrestle with her sudden rush of feelings. Becky had taken over as the interrogator.
“Do you mind if I smoke, Becky?”
“Nah, go ahead.”
Finally, after lighting her cigarette, Bo answered, “No.”
Becky bored on, “Why? Too busy with your career?”
“I guess you could say that.”
That answer, of course, was not the whole truth.
***
Rainbow Amelia Trout was born on March 1, 1965 in Durango, Colorado, making her 36 years old as she chatted with Becky. No husband. No kids. The consummate “Old Maid” some said, but not to her face.
Her parents owned and operated the Durango Wilderness Camp, located on the banks of the Animas River in southwest Colorado. She was born and raised in the camp. The camp consisted of a rustic, 12,000 square foot, red cedar log Main House—or lodge—and a dozen smaller cabins for rental to tourists and adventurers. The major income was generated by arranging and supervising activities for an endless stream of tourists and thrill-seekers.
In the spring and summer, activities included white-water rafting excursions, kayaking, and fishing the various rivers and lakes; horseback riding; and guided visits to Mesa Verde National Park and the Anasazi Indian ruins in Aztec, New Mexico. Also, a ride on the Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad was a favorite.
In the fall and winter, activities became snow-related: downhill skiing at Purgatory; snowmobile excursions; cross-country skiing; dog sledding; and horse-drawn sleigh rides.
Bo was a certified instructor in both white-water rafting and skiing, and had worked for her parents during her high school years and during the summer while she attended college at the University of Colorado at Boulder. When she moved into the law school there, her times at home helping her parents diminished to an occasional weekend.
In 1985 at the age of 20, a sophomore in college, she became involved in a drunken orgy at a frat party and emerged the next day with a killer of a headache and hangover. She discovered a month later that she was pregnant. She couldn’t remember whom she had sex with—or how many of the men there—and decided to have the baby on her own. No one ever came forward to take responsibility, but she was not really romantically interested in any of them anyway.
Unfortunately, since she was actually looking forward to motherhood, she had a nasty miscarriage at the end of her fourth month. By the time the surgeons had stopped the massive bleeding, she had lost the ability to ever conceive again. She had been devastated!
By the time she graduated from law school in 1990, she had lost her desire to become just one more lawyer scrounging for business. She chose instead to join the FBI. Now, eleven years later, she wondered where the time had gone.
Her relationships with men had been spotty. Those who were looking for a lasting commitment and a family drifted away when they learned she was barren. Short term affairs were plentiful when she desired them—but, in the end, they were not very emotionally fulfilling. So she drifted in the limbo of work—one case after another. Sometimes she was rewarded with an overwhelming surge of adrenaline when the job got hairy! But that wasn’t often.
Bo had not been averse to using sex to better her position in the Bureau. She had slept with several supervisors in the hopes of getting the job of SAC in Albuquerque, New Mexico so she would be closer to home—see her parents and brother more often. It wasn’t as if New Mexico was a prime location—most men climbing the Bureau ladder used New Mexico SAC only as a stepping stone to something better. Sometimes, it was used as punishment when SACs were demoted for some infraction. She would have been happy there, but so far it had eluded her. As it turned out, she had been just an easy lay for all those smug supervisors. Six months ago was her last roll in the hay with a Bureau man. He finally had admitted he would not go out on a limb for her to get her promoted.
Screw ‘em all! she had thought. No! I don’t mean that! I’ve already screwed too many of them! Never again
!
Chapter 29
Saturday, June 2, 2001
Capistrano Beach, CA
The three of them ate breakfast on the deck at one of the umbrella-covered tables. Sam served the fluffy omelets with cantaloupe, strawberries, and wheat toast with orange marmalade. He sat a carton of orange juice and a bottle of champagne on the table, along with three stemmed glasses.
“Mimosa, Bo?” he asked.
“The perfect accompaniment to this delicious omelet! By all means!” she smiled, her white teeth flashing.
“How about you, Beck? Straight orange juice? Or would you like a splash of champagne in it?”
Becky beamed. “I’ll try a splash! Thanks, Sam! It’s a day to celebrate, isn’t it?”
Bo arched an eyebrow at Sam, but said nothing. He caught her expression and shrugged. It was none of her business. Becky was alone in the house a lot and could drink the plentiful bar dry if she were so inclined—but she never did. Sam figured a splash of champagne in her juice while under his supervision was responsible. That was the rule in Holland—where he had spent some time—and he thought it made sense. Several other European countries did as well.
Several seagulls soared lazily in the cerulean sky. The colors exhibited by the morning waves were simply extraordinary. The sun shining through the breakers created various shades of blue, and an occasional series of greens—from emerald to aquamarine. Bo commented on it.
Sam said, “That wave is the color of your eyes, Bo!”
“Really? You think so?” she smiled, warming to his attention in spite of herself. “Why the color changes in the waves?”
Becky leapt in and began talking about wavelengths, prisms, refraction—and other things neither Bo nor Sam understood.
Sam laughed, “I should have warned you, Bo! Don’t ask unless you really want to know!”
Becky shrugged, and giggled. “Well, it’s like the rainbow, Rainbow!”
They chatted and laughed throughout their scrumptious meal. Becky prated on nonstop about all sorts of nontechnical subjects. She was careful not to overwhelm them again with her endless store of knowledge.
The three of them cleared the table and loaded everything into the dishwasher, then began preparing for the trip to Dana Point Harbor. Sam packed the cooler while the women went upstairs to pack a large, straw bag that Sam and Becky had purchased in Tijuana on one of their shopping jaunts. Bo did not want to leave her weapon in the end table, so she went to her bedroom door and yelled out
to Becky.
“Hey, Becky! Do you have a gun safe in this house?”
Becky yelled back from her room, where she was gathering things for the excursion, “Grandpa has one, but Sam just leaves his gun on his night stand when he’s here.”
Bo walked into Becky’s room so she could talk without yelling. It was not like most teenage rooms she had seen. First of all, it was clean and neat—the bed made. But . . . there were no posters on the walls, no school memorabilia displayed. There was a desk against one wall with a computer monitor and keyboard, a printer, and a scanner arranged on it neatly. There was a small television and a stereo system. That was it. No indication that a teenager lived in it.
Bo said, “Sam just leaves his gun lying around?”
Becky was changing into a skimpy pink bikini. She answered without turning around. “Sure. Everyone in this house is trained in gun safety—and their use. If we have company, the guns get put away. And he always takes it with him when he leaves. But you’re trained, right?”
“And . . . you are?” queried Bo.
“Oh, yeah! Sam takes me to the practice range with him all the time. I’m also in his Karate class. I can kick some serious butt!” she laughed as she slipped into a pair of cutoff jeans.
Bo was yet again amazed at this girl. She did not know what to make of her.
“I think I’ll take my gun with me. I’ll just slip it in my large tote handbag.”
“Whatever,” replied Becky as she slipped a blue T-shirt over her head and slipped on her canvas boat shoes. “What size shoe do you wear? You’ll need deck shoes for the boat.”
“Nine medium.”
“Good. My size. Here’s a pair you can use.”
“Thanks, Becky.”
“No prob.”
***
Sam, Bo, and the cooler went in his Camaro, and Becky followed them in her VW. That way, she would not interfere with whatever plans Sam came up with later—plans that would not include a 16-year-old tagging along. Becky was a very smart girl! After all, she needed to get back home and get ready for her prom. She hoped Bo didn’t forget she was going to help her. She would never get into that fancy bra by herself!
