Cupid's Bow: The First Generation Boxed Set

by Storm, Melissa

  Rip again did as he was told, and Deborah’s laughter stopped abruptly as he slipped his linen shirt off and over his head. He wondered if she was looking at his scars, but he didn’t want to ruin the lightheartedness of this moment by taking them back to that dark place. “Okay, now what?”

  Deborah tugged him by the arm. “Trust me, okay?”

  He swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  “On the count of three, we’re going to jump. It’s about a fifteen foot drop, but the water is plenty deep. You’ll love it, I promise.”

  Rip had never much cared for heights, but the war had toughened him. Besides he liked Deborah too much to say no, especially now that they were each dressed only in their undergarments.

  She let go of his right hand, but continued to cling to his left. “Take three steps forward.” She paused and waited for him. “Okay, one more.”

  He took another small step toward the cliff’s edge.

  “Okay, one and a half… Perfect. Are you ready?”

  “Yep.” His heart banged in his chest, whether from the thrill of the jump before him or the simple joy of being near to Deborah, he couldn’t say for sure. Whatever the reason, he liked it. He liked it a lot.

  “One.” Deborah squeezed his hand as if maybe she were a little bit afraid too.

  “Two.” Rip took a deep breath and readied his muscles for the jump.

  “Three.”

  And suddenly they were flying through the air, her hold on his hand the only thing anchoring him to the world. He felt incredible. He felt free, exactly as she said he would.

  Right before they splashed into the water, she let go of his hand and he opened his eyes a crack to take a peek. He only caught sight of the nearby peach blur of Deborah for an instant before they both splashed into the water below.

  Rip let himself sink as far as the dive would propel him, then he hugged his legs to his chest and allowed the water to swish and bubble around him as he sat secure within its hold. He opened his eyes and looked up at the sun, a bright spot lighting the cool darkness. Normally he would hold his breath until his lungs ached for air, if only to remind himself he were still alive, still capable of drawing in another breath, of facing another day. But today he didn’t need that reminder. Today being with Deborah was enough.

  He let go of his legs and let out a strong practiced kick to take him back to the surface.

  “Didn’t you just love it?” Her call sounded far away, but when he opened his eyes she treaded only a couple feet from him.

  He wracked his brain for the perfect way to tell her what the jump had meant to him, what she was quickly coming to mean too, but before he could find the right words, Deborah closed the small distance between them and shyly kissed him on the cheek.

  The kiss lasted only a moment, but its imprint lingered on his skin. He brought his hand up to touch the place where Deborah’s lips had been.

  “I hope you don’t think me too forward,” she started. “But I had to—”

  Rip didn’t mean to interrupt, but he couldn’t wait another second to taste Deborah’s sweet mouth with his own.

  * * *

  Maple sugar, Deborah decided. That’s what Rip’s lips tasted like. And as far as kisses went, theirs was extraordinary. Of course, she’d only ever been kissed once before, and that one had been extraordinary too.

  She pulled away and offered a shy giggle. As much as she wanted to remain locked in Rip’s embrace all day, all night, all eternity, it would hardly be proper—especially considering how few garments they each wore at the time. Letting this continue would simply be begging for impropriety, and Deborah wasn’t sure how she’d react if Rip were to make a formal proposition of her.

  “C’mon, I’ll race you back to shore.” She sent a big splash in his direction and continued to laugh as she crawled toward land as fast as her arms would take her.

  Rip pulled ahead and scrambled onto shore. “Need me to close my eyes again?”

  “I think you’d better.”

  She emerged from the lake, shivering as the cool wind tickled her thighs. Her white cotton undergarments clung to her skin, hiding neither the taut peaks of her nipples or the dark hairs between her legs. Rip faced away from her to give her the privacy she needed, and she made sure to admire his exposed form as she darted past him and back up to the top of the cliff where they had left their clothing. Though his legs were on the skinny side, his muscular arms and chest more than made up for this slight shortcoming. Despite her curiosity, she averted her eyes from the silver scarring on his torso. After all, if he'd made the effort to respect her privacy, she should do the same.

  “Can I come up yet?” he called as she fastened the last of the buttons on her dress.

  “One sec!” On second thought, Deborah unfastened her bra and slipped it through the arm hole on her dress then shimmied neatly out of her completely soaked panties. “Okay!”

  Rip reached the top of the cliff and grabbed up his clothes while she arranged her undergarments on a large flat rock that lay directly in the path of the sun’s light. He looped his arms through his shirt, but left his pants off. “Just until I dry off a bit,” he said. “Do you need to get back home, or…?” He let his question linger.

  “I’ve got no place in particular I need to be. I can keep you company while you dry.” She carefully situated herself on a smooth patch of grass, taking care to cover her legs with her skirt.

  Rip plopped down beside her and arranged his shirt over his lap. “Thanks for bringing me here. You were right, I do love it.”

  “I knew you would.” She smiled, and for a moment felt saddened she’d never gotten the chance to bring James to the cliff. “Mother says I may as well have been born with gills stuck to the sides of my head, seeing how at home I am in the water.”

  “I’ve noticed. You’ve got one hell of a breast stroke.”

  “Crawl, actually.” She blushed. “One day I hope to live right on the ocean, so I can be near the water all the time. And I want to have my very own dinghy. Maybe take a year off, and sail around the world a few times.”

  “That sounds… wonderful. But, hey, are you sure you wouldn’t get bored stuck on a tiny boat for months on end?”

  She plucked a violet from the field and twirled it between her fingertips as they talked. “Nope. Not one bit. I’ll have my writing and hopefully some good company too.”

  “Sounds like you have it all figured out.” He leaned back on his arms and sighed.

  “What? Don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “’Fraid not. Not anymore.”

  “Since…?”

  “The war, yeah. And not knowing if it’s going to be over before I can get back.”

  “You’re more than just a soldier, Sargent Rockwell. I mean no offense, but nobody is defined by one single thing. We’re each a giant cluster of likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams. You’re no different than anybody else in that way.”

  “Maybe, but you should probably call me Rip. Sargent is a tad more formal than I’d like us to be with each other.” He smiled.

  “Okay, Rip.” She smiled too. “Tell me, what’s in your cluster?”

  “I don’t know. I guess…music. I used to dream of being in a band. Only I can’t play an instrument, and I definitely can’t dance around on a stage.”

  “Can you sing?”

  “A little.”

  “Oh, please. Oh, please. Won’t you sing for me?” She clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes.

  He laughed and swept a hand through his hair. “Okay. Tell me what you like.”

  “I’ve always loved the crooners. Nat King Cole, especially.”

  “Any particular song?”

  She shook her head. “Surprise me.”

  Rip didn’t hesitate for a moment. He sang softly at first, gaining volume as he progressed through the lyrics. Saying he could sing but a little was likely the largest understatement Deborah had ever heard. The words escaped his lips and swirled about them
in a beautiful acapella symphony as he serenaded her with Mona Lisa.

  When he reached the part where Nat wonders if his lady love smiles to hide her broken heart, Rip reached a hand to her cheek and let it linger. And as he sang the words asking if she were really truly real, he let the music fade away and focused every bit of his energy onto Deborah, onto gazing into her eyes.

  And she gazed right on back. If she hadn’t fallen for him already, his song would surely have captured her interest and held on tight. The softness of his voice, the emotion he put behind the words, she’d never heard anything more beautiful in her entire life.

  Because she didn’t know what to say, she leaned in and kissed him instead.

  “So you liked it?” he asked, tucking a fallen curl behind her ear.

  “Very, very much so. You’re incredibly talented.”

  “Aww, shucks.” A slight blush rose to his cheeks and he looked away, failing to hide his embarrassment. “Now it’s your turn. Tell me about your cluster.”

  “Well, I guess it’s only fair, isn’t it?” She pushed herself up to her feet and crossed the field to retrieve her journal.

  “Well, you did start it,” Rip teased.

  She sat back down beside him and allowed him to pull her tight into his chest. “This is a poem I wrote about a year ago.” she explained. She wanted to share something happy, something beautiful—just as he had done with his song—but her words had been stilted and bleak ever since James’s disappearance.

  So she chose to read him the same poem she had shared with James. It seemed like an entire lifetime ago. After all, it was still her favorite thing she’d ever written. And though she knew the words by heart, she kept her eyes glued to the page until she’d recited every single word.

  “My love knows no man.

  My love knows only me.

  Touching, feeling, imagining what could one day be.

  My love is hungry, devouring me from inside.

  Yet still I have no partner in whom I can confide.

  To touch, to feel, to live a love so real and full.

  One day it may be, but until then, myself, I am whole.”

  When she peeked up again, Rip was staring at her, mouth agape. “Is that poem about…?”

  Heat rose to her cheeks and to the moist triangle between her legs. “Yes,” she answered pertly.

  “So you don’t—you haven’t.”

  “Of course not, silly!” She pushed at him playfully, feeling the need to gain a bit of proper distance again. “But you didn’t tell me. Did you like it?”

  “Best damn piece of literature I’ve ever seen or heard. Now please, please, come back here and give me another kiss.”

  Deborah laughed but complied all the same, and she and Rip stayed together on that grassy cliff—laughing, kissing, and sharing their passions with one another—until the Texas stars splashed onto the sky’s darkening canvas above. Then, Rip walked her back to her doorstep, and they said good-night.

  And, oh, what a good night it had been.

  Chapter 7

  Rip fell into a deep sleep after returning Deborah to her doorstep, happily exhausted from the afternoon they’d shared in one another’s company. He startled awake when the first rays of the morning’s sun exploded through his window in perfect sync with the part of his recurring dream where he watched George’s body fall to the frozen earth.

  He pushed his way through the terror to find the far happier memory of Deborah’s kiss. As much as he hated to admit it, George lived in his past whereas Deborah resided in the here and now. He refused to think about the future; after all, it was far too soon to tell which of them he’d be spending it with.

  For a moment, he felt sad as he pictured his body in a simple pine casket with an American flag draped on top, Deborah wiping away tears with a hanky as yet another suitor was lost to the war. What would become of her then? Would she turn into an old biddy never to love again, or would she continue on as if he had never existed? And what if her original man—the airman—managed to return home safe and sound? Would she marry him without thinking twice about Rip, whether or not he too managed to survive?

  So many questions, yet so few answers.

  The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed to see Deborah again. Because if their affair was meant to be short-lived, he needed to make certain he squeezed every ounce of life from it while he could. The thought of losing what he had only just gained sent Rip into another fit of short, jagged breaths. Damn, not again.

  Fresh air would help. The crisp, cool oxygen laced with morning dew, the singing larks, the constancy of the sun above, it all helped to put his mind at ease. Morning brought safety, comfort. Only the night, teeming with shadows of grim memories, held danger.

  He ran along the sidewalks, making his way toward the cliff. He had been happy there yesterday evening; he could be happy there now—calm, relaxed, outfitted with the memories of Deborah, her infectious passion for life itself.

  What he couldn’t understand was why he’d already deemed their time together a memory, as if it had already ended, as if she had come to spend one perfect day with him than vanished forever. A swatch of purple on the horizon caught his eye, bringing with it the memory of Deborah twirling that plucked violet between her fingers as they talked. Its dark petals bringing out the purple undertones in her blue eyes, their softness mimicking the smoothness of her cheek.

  He jogged over to the patch of wild grass and plucked the flower, then noticed a grouping of daisies farther out. He picked some of those too before journeying farther into the brush to gather black-eyed Susans, irises, even a few heart’s delight. In hardly any time at all, he had a fine bouquet of beautiful wildflowers, every one of which sparked a comparison to Deborah in his mind’s eye.

  He couldn’t wait another second to see her again, to prove she was still there, still interested in spending time with him. He stopped back at home to brush his teeth and hair, then headed to her home, so incredibly nervous he couldn’t quite get a handle on himself.

  “Coming!” a voice not unlike Deborah’s called in response to his knock, and seconds later an aged version appeared in the doorway. “Yes. How may I help you?” She kept one hand on the doorframe and one on the knob, tense, ready to shut him out.

  “I’ve brought these for Deborah.” He managed a smile as he pushed the flowers toward the woman he assumed was Mrs. Walker.

  “Oh, how sweet.” Everything about the woman softened, revealing a striking similarity between her and her daughter. “But Deborah isn’t home now. She’s already left for her shift at the nursing home. Would you…would you like to come in for a glass of sweet tea?”

  Before Rip could properly think her offer through, Mrs. Walker had coaxed him into the dining room and served up a glass of tea with fresh mint. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Please do,” he replied, though he found it strange that she felt the need to ask in her own home.

  “Now correct me if I’m mistaken, but didn’t you just buy the Suttons’ old place?” She sat down across from him and fussed over the pleats in her skirt.

  “I rented it for a while.”

  She nodded and stared down her nose at him. “So you aren’t planning on making this your home?”

  “No, ma’am.” He wondered if he should have said more, should have explained about the war, about questioning his place in it now that he’d met Deborah. But it was all so terribly complex, they’d have to make do with his simple response.

  Mrs. Walker sighed and fixed her inquisitive gray eyes on him. “Please allow me to be blunt. What are your intentions for my daughter?”

  It took everything Rip had to keep his breathing even. “We…Well, I—”

  “You’re a soldier, right? I’m assuming you’re aware of her previous engagement with a boy in uniform. Of course, her father and I never met him, but she was smitten all the same.”

  She flung words at him quickly, too quickly for him to word a response. “I�
��m a Sargent First Class,” he answered at last.

  “Retired? Home on leave? Discharged?” Each question hit him like a bullet.

  Rip laced his fingers together and squeezed. The last thing he wanted to do was to have a nervous breakdown in front of this woman. “Temporary leave. Shell shock,” he sputtered.

  “Well.”

  “Well.”

  They both sipped at their tea, giving Rip enough time to plan what he should say next.

  “My intentions are honest, ma’am. I like your daughter very much.”

  “She’s been hurt, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “And she wouldn’t be an easy wife to take, if a wife is what you’re after.”

  He couldn’t help but grin at the thought of Deborah as his Missus. “So far being around her is the easiest thing in the wide world,” he admitted. “Besides, I’ve often discovered easy could just as well mean boring.”

  Mrs. Walker tapped her fingers on the tabletop and scrunched her features together as she appraised him. After a few more tense moments, a giant grin broke across her face. “You know what? I rather like you, young man. What’s your name?”

  “Rip Rockwell, ma’am, and I’d like your permission to take your daughter on a date tonight.”

  “Well, Rip, you’ve got it.” She lifted her glass and stretched across the table to clink it on his. “She’ll be home from her volunteer shift around four. Stop on by anytime after.”

  “Thank you. Nice meeting you, ma’am.” Rip nodded in her direction and let himself out. He had five and a half hours to plan the perfect evening, and not a second to waste.

  * * *

  “Wear this,” Mother said, thrusting a cherry-printed party dress Deborah’s way the second she walked in the door.

  “What for?”

  Mother’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You have a gentleman caller this evening.”

  Deborah placed a hand on her hip and stared at her mother in annoyance. The last time she’d tried to fix up Deborah on a date, they had ended up so ill-suited that they hadn’t even made it to the restaurant before calling it an evening.