by Lynn Shurr
“Ah, ah, ah! My choice.” Nell pulled him to the fireplace and gestured to the probably faux Navajo rug in front of the hearth. “Take off your clothes and lie down.”
Joe did a mini-striptease for her, taking one button at a time, inching his zipper down. She reciprocated by slowly raising her top and slinging it aside, then shimmying out of her own jeans so her breasts in a low-cut, pretty pink bra jiggled in the process. She stood there in lacy matching panties and pushed him down using one palm. Not that she could have done it without his cooperation since he outweighed her by a hundred pounds, but when it came to sex, Joe always cooperated. He’d already erupted from the black briefs that stretched across his pelvic bones. She knelt between his knees and took them off.
“I bet I know what comes next,” he said eagerly.
“And you would be wrong. Switch places with me.”
He did. “Okay, old school then.”
“Nope. Down there, between my knees. I want some tongue.”
Joe had a tongue almost as talented as his throwing arm, but he didn’t rush to the spot. He disposed of her panties and teased his way there, starting at the navel and working down until he arrived at the swollen nub already anticipating a good licking. He did his best, making Nell purr until she came with an unexpected upheaval that almost split his lip.
With one hand grasping the short, black curls on his head, she said, “Sorry. I guess I need to make that up to you.”
“I won’t last long, sugar. Why don’t you mount up?”
They reversed positions again. Nell rode astride. Her breasts weren’t big, but they still had a nice bounce to them when he unhooked that little pink bra. He watched their rhythm as his orgasm built, then shut his eyes and let go with a gasp. Nell collapsed on his chest. Joe rubbed her back.
“Reminds me of the first time we made love. You got right up on top and stayed there.” He’d long learned to replace the word “fucked” with “made love”. It worked so much better with women. The two of them lay there, lazy and half-asleep until a sunbeam penetrated the window and a passing tourist heading for the lodge shielded her son’s face from the sight.
“Hey, the sun is out. Guess we should have closed the curtains, but I mean who knew when the blizzard would end.” Joe put on his briefs and went to the window. “Tink, you gotta see this, cher.”
Nell got completely dressed before standing up and going to his side. The Grand Canyon capped in snow spread out before them. Small, bristly pines growing in crevices lent the scene a Christmas card look with their white branches. The late afternoon sun bought out bands of pink, gold and purple in the rocks, and every cranny glistened with snowflakes. A college girl passed on the footpath and eyed Joe’s muscular body up and down. Nell ripped the curtains shut, trading one nice view for another.
“Joe, we need to take pictures for the kids. Get dressed right now—all the way dressed.”
They bundled up and went out into the frigid air, slipped and slid to the best overlook in their athletic shoes, and took a bunch of pictures to put on their laptop in the evening when they had a Skype session planned with their family. After that, a raid of the souvenir shop for trinkets for the kids. Nell picked out Zuni fetishes appropriate for each child, a black bear for Dean, a red fox for Tommy, and two cute but not quite identical jet ravens with red berries in their beaks for their twin girls.
Joe sorted through stacks of T-shirts hoping to find one that said “We Did It at the Grand Canyon” without any luck. He asked the middle-aged sales clerk who said the National Park Service did not stock things like that and to try one of the shops outside the park, maybe one of the biker places. Given such a casual response, he suspected she’d been asked the question many times. He and Nell mushed to the rustic lodge for hot chocolate to drink before the vast fireplace and stayed on for dinner.
On the way back to their cabin, they took more digital photos of the moon over the snowy, glowing canyon and loaded them all immediately into their laptop to send home. Allowed to stay up late because of the time difference, the children, all talking at once, crowded the computer screen when they connected for a Skype visit.
“Snow, you have snow to play in, and we gotta stay home and go to school. Not fair,” Dean complained.
“Did you get those babies yet? What kind are they?” Jude asked.
“Not yet, honey. And we won’t know for a while what kind they are,” Nell answered.
“Why not?” Annie questioned in her quiet but always perceptive way.
“We’ll discuss that when your dad and I get home. How about you, Tommy? What are you doing?”
“Getting better at kicking. Wait until you see, Dad!”
“Can’t wait, son. Be home in two more weeks.”
A pair of competent hands lifted one of the twins aside. Must have been Annie since Jude would have protested loudly. Nadine’s strong face filled the screen. “We finished up our novena las’ night, so you all set with God and Mother Mary. You go get my grandbabies outta the freezer and bring them on home, you hear.”
“We’re all set up for Tuesday, Mama.”
“Off to bed, children,” Nell prompted. “Nighty-night.”
A chorus of nighty-nights echoed back. As the children departed for bed, they could see Cassie lurking behind them. She slipped in front of the screen for a moment. She looked fresh and young, perfectly made up, and beautifully clothed in a draped turquoise blouse.
“Joe, what great pictures. I’ve never been to the Grand Canyon. It would be a wonderful place to spend a honeymoon, don’t you think?”
Nell elbowed her husband aside and took over. “Yes, we sort of had a second honeymoon in front of the fireplace while the snow came down this afternoon.” She delighted in seeing Cassie blush from so far away. “Now we’re going nighty-night, too. Sleep tight, Cassie.”
Nell disconnected and looked at Joe. “Between that conniving little bitch and your mother, I think I will get drunk at the Super Bowl party tomorrow.”
Joe grinned at her, one of those wicked grins that melted the bones of so many women. “Aw, you don’t mean that, sugar. It’s just the hormones talking.”
She did mean it. Didn’t take much to get Nell drunk, she was such a little thing. Three glasses of champagne, and she grew tiddly. Two more after their favored team won left her with a hell of a headache in the morning. She had little memory of the orgy that followed. Joe, having more or less sworn off champagne after winning his first Super Bowl and conceiving Dean with the repugnant Margaret Stutes, stuck to beer and did enjoy the festivities. The aftermath, not so much.
As he steered the rented car from the snowy verge of the canyon toward Phoenix, Nell sat beside him with her eyes covered by oversized sunglasses purchased when they stopped for gas. Periodically, she rubbed a cool, damp bottle of water across her forehead. “No music,” she’d begged, unless he put on something classical or maybe easy listening. Anything else made her head throb. So, they rode along in silence, utter silence, as they passed from the uplands to the red rock region and on to the desert saguaro cactus forest outside of Phoenix. Nell slept a good part of the way, and he took care not to wake her.
Bored, Joe got out his cell phone and thumbed out a message while throwing quick glances at his sleeping wife. She did not approve of texting while driving, but he always figured his superior coordination let him get away with it. One arm relaxed on the steering wheel, he texted Howdy.
How R U and Cassie getting along?
An answer returned promptly: Better.
Good news. In what way?
Tommy likes me, so she does. Showed me her barrel-racing. She’s good.
Yes. Take her riding.
Have done. All the kids went with us.
Without kids!
Nell stirred and raised her sunglasses. Gotta go. Joe disconnected in a hurry and shoved the phone into a slot.
“Were you texting while driving? And you want more children. I could end up a widow with seven ba
bies to rear.”
He started to say he’d just kill them both in the accident, then she wouldn’t have to worry about it. The old Joe might have said something like that. Instead he sucked it up like trash talk from an opponent. The hormones and drugs she took to implant those embryos always made her bitchy, not to mention the current hangover. He ignored her show of temper.
“Say, that pie place we stopped at last time is coming up. Remember, you wouldn’t admit the first implants took, that you were pregnant, and you kept blaming bad tamales for your upset stomach when all along you had morning sickness.”
“I do recall.”
“Want to stop there again? Last chance for some hot chili before it gives you heartburn again.”
Nell swallowed. “I think I’ll pass this time. Let’s get to the hotel, order some soup, and have a nice quiet evening together.”
“Wish I could make you feel better, sugar.” His large hand crept across the space dividing them. It moved under her stretchy red top and deftly unhooked her bra. His fingertips, lightly calloused from gripping footballs, found her nipple, gently tweaked and massaged. He waited for her to swat him away, but Nell simply closed her eyes again and sighed.
“You still know all the moves, Joe Dean Billodeaux.”
“A man has to practice his skills to stay in the game, sugar.” He expected her to snap at him about calling her that as she did when she got tetchy.
“Well, it takes my mind off my headache.”
So, petting while driving—okay, but texting, no way. Entirely fine by him. If Nell felt well enough for this, the evening seemed promising. Not only the last chance for spicy Mexican or Cajun food, but for sex for some weeks to come. He wanted them to make the most of it, and they would.
NINE
The thing Nell hated most about whole implantation process was how people treated her afterward. She and Joe stayed in Phoenix for two weeks after the procedure to make sure all went well—in other words, no miscarriages since she’d lost one before by being careless. Joe grabbed her elbow at the least chance of a stumble as they toured museums and took in concerts and plays. He refused to clamber around ancient Native American ruins, citing the possibility of falls, rattlesnake bites, or crumbling adobe bricks conking her on the head. Forbidden to swim in the golf club pool while Joe played a few rounds, she basked in the sun like a desert tortoise full of eggs to be expelled and buried in the sand. No horseback riding, absolutely not, nor overland Jeep trips.
Sadistically, she made her husband sit in a high-end maternity wear shop while she tried on a panoply of clothes from tight little tops that would show off her baby bump to the tent-like dresses she knew she would need if all three babies stayed in place. Joe smiled like a happy idiot and told her to buy them all while the saleswomen fluttered around offering him coffee or bottled water or a more comfortable chair than the little-lady-seat his large frame overwhelmed. In the dressing room, her glorified shopping assistant went on and on about what a handsome, strong and understanding man she’d married.
“Don’t forget rich and famous,” Nell added with a growl.
The hormones made her emotional and insecure. All the old feelings of inadequacy she’d experienced when first married to the legendary womanizer, Joe Dean Billodeaux, surfaced again. What if she lost all these babies? What if Joe strayed while she grew big as a harvest moon and got confined to bed for the last weeks of the pregnancy? She took it out on the clerk, sending the thin, nervous woman scrambling for other sizes, other colors, and endless accessories. In the end, Nell apologized for her rudeness, but the salesperson merely said pregnant women tended to be high-strung. She understood entirely, undoubtedly soothed by a huge commission and Joe’s compliments on the clerk’s good taste. By the end of their stay in Phoenix, their luggage increased by three bags, Joe cheerfully paid the extra fee for them all.
She simply did not like being pushed and told what not to do as if she were a child herself. Joe said that just made her human like everyone else, but as a psychologist she ought to do better. Why did he have to be so damned understanding? She knew before she took the test she’d gotten pregnant again and burst into tears when the results confirmed the fact. Joe beamed and cuddled her to his great chest where she did feel safe and very well loved.
Home again the children soothed her, crammed up against her, boys on one side, girls on the other, while Nadine and Cassie got on her nerves. Her mother-in-law gave her a tour of their freezer stacked to the top with bland, nourishing foods Cajun style: gumbo dumbed down to tourist spiciness, venison stew with no garlic, smothered pork cutlets made with the mildest of onions, all contributed by Joe’s sisters and Nadine, as if Corazon couldn’t cook for them. Nell figured the supply would last the entire pregnancy.
“Now Joe, he can add his own hot sauce to all this,” Nadine said. “You the one we takin’ care of, cher heart.” How could Nell retaliate against the well-meaning?
As for Cassie, her blue eyes filled with tears, saying, “I guess you don’t need me to stay here anymore—but I’d be willing to come every weekend to help out regardless.” That, Nell could answer with a small smile. “Thanks, Cassie, we’ll be fine. Go out and enjoy yourself. You are too young to be tied down yet.”
“I guess I’ll just go say good-bye to Copperhead, then,” the girl said, referring to the barrel horse Joe kept for her to ride.
Joe had gone to check on the animals while Nell got the gourmet tour of the freezer contents. “No!” Nell said urgently, but Cassie went out the door as if she were deaf in one ear.
Nadine patted her daughter-in-law’s shoulder. “Don’t you worry about her. Howdy is out there putting down some straw. Won’t nothing happen.” Sometimes Nadine for all her pushiness could be very understanding.
“Sure. Who wants presents?” Nell said to her flock of children, but her eyes followed Cassie’s progress from the open kitchen door toward Joe in the barn.
Cassie entered the dimness of the barn and glanced around for the ever-present Howdy. That guy seemed to be everywhere when she helped out with the children on the weekends. He took the kids trail riding, inviting her along. And how could she refuse when Tommy begged her to come? The kicker coaxed her into a barrel-racing demonstration, doling out lots of compliments on her fine seat and sharp edges as she ran the cloverleaf course on Copperhead. As if she would ever fall for that line again after her experience with Bijou.
Then, she’d found him in Joe’s weight room one morning since her son insisted they find the man and ask when the next kicking lesson would be. He wore nothing but a pair of red gym shorts as he executed leg presses and extensions on one of the machines. Sweat flattened the light covering of reddish-brown hair covering his pecs and arrowing toward his groin. She imagined when newly showered and dry it would feel fluffy to the fingertips and smell of the body wash she’d come to associate with him—a grassy scent like a new-mown meadow.
His legs were objects of beauty, the shapely calves, the strong thighs, bunching for two counts and pushing back their full length for two more. He’d have stamina, lots of stamina in those quads. Unlike most football players, he had no bulk, but owned arms with long, smooth muscles and a chest and belly of flat planes most men would envy if they didn’t play for the Sinners.
She stayed back while Tommy charged ahead and got right in the man’s face. “Whatcha doing?”
“Strengthening my legs. I do this routine every other day and practice kicking in between.”
“Should I be doing that?”
“Not on machines, not at your age, but you can do squats on your own.”
He stood up, clear of the apparatus, to show Tommy a squat. They did a few together. Howdy didn’t appear to be trying to impress her as he stretched out his arms, folded his knees, and rose fluidly up and down, but he did.
“Whoa now, pardner. Easy does it. You don’t want to rush the exercises. Usually I do these with weights. You can use a couple of soup cans if you want, but I’d just
rely on your leg muscles until you build up some.”
Whoa, pardner? Had he been raised by Roy Rogers and Dale Evans? She snorted at his quaintness.
“You getting a cold, Mama Cassie?” Tommy asked.
“No. Maybe a fever.” Had he actually flushed when she said that? “Look, let the man exercise. Stop bothering him.”
“He’s no trouble, ma’am. I always wanted a little brother. Let me shower, then we do can some kicking.”
Cassie knew Joe’s shower off the weight room. She used it sometimes after working out on the treadmill to strengthen her legs for riding. His soap had a stronger, more exotic and less innocent scent than whatever Howdy used. The shower stall itself could fit two and had multiple nozzles easily aimed at sore spots or elsewhere. The things she’d done with Joe’s soap and a strong stream of water while imaging herself with the quarterback made her color a little now. Howdy presented her with that stupid grin of his, probably believing she thought of sharing the bath with him. No chance of that. The man was so squeaky clean already he probably didn’t even beat off like normal guys.
“We’ll see you later.” She got the hell out of there.
Her eyes adjusted to the low light filtering through the barn. No sign of Howdy, but Joe stood by the large box stall at the end feeding carrots to his stud quarter horse, Lazy Boy.
“Glad to see me, big fellow?” he asked the huge red animal with the flashy blaze and four white socks. Lazy Boy never stopped chomping the carrots to give even a nicker of appreciation as Joe scratched the horse between the ears. What she would give to have Joe’s hands on her, right here, right now. She’d been holding in her feelings so long.
“I’m glad to see you, Joe.” Cassie advanced toward him in what she hoped was a slow and sexy gait.
“Always good to see you, too, Cassie. Thanks for helping out with my brood while Nell and me were away. You know she’s expecting again. I think all three babies took, but we won’t know for sure for a while.”
