by Jill Barnett
I had forgotten how things passed between a man and a woman, how a man could look at you, making it clear he wanted you, and you melt away like snow under a warm body. I wanted this. I wanted him to look at me like he was, but something inside of me kept saying I was in trouble and this was wrong.
When he was looking at me that way, I couldn’t seem to think. I wanted to make a joke to break the moment, but I opened my mouth and all that came out was his name.
Chapter Twenty Eight
Rio all but dragged me into the house with him, through the front door, slamming it closed, pressing me back against it with his body. He cupped my face with his hands, turning it up toward his mouth, then he stopped, frozen, and his look changed, his eyes aware of what was happening and looking intently into mine.
“March . . . I’m sorry.” His hands fell away and he took a deep breath and stepped back, shaking his head slightly.
He was apologizing. I didn’t want an apology. I wanted him. Suddenly nothing else mattered, not age or time or anything. My breathing was fast and I felt this horrific emptiness without him close to me.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I brought you here to keep you safe. Not for this. I’m not . . . ” he paused, searching awkwardly for words. “Look. I don’t want to scare you off.”
I reached out and grabbed two handfuls of his sheepskin jacket and pulled him back to me. “Who’s scared?”
He groaned my name and lowered his head until our mouths touched, his tongue licked my lips and he tasted like coffee and man and I was so terribly hungry for that taste.
“I wanted this. I wanted you so much I ache over you,” he said against my mouth, his hand cupping the back of my head possessively.
“Me, too,” I whispered on a sigh. “Me, too . . . ” My words drifted away.
We ignited together like a range fire, fast and furious and intense, our hands tearing at each other’s clothes, him half dragging me with him, undressing each other along the way.
A shirt flung here. A sweater there. Pants unbuttoned and unzipped. My bra disappeared. His hands were inside my jeans and cupping my bare buttocks; he lifted me up and against him, walking backwards and never breaking his kiss, and then we were on a bed, struggling to kick off boots and peal down jeans, touching each other, tasting our skin and mouths and bodies.
There was more awkwardness getting our clothes off than our bodies together—that was natural and instinctive and elemental.
To be touched again. To be held. To have this. It had been so long. I thought I could never feel again, a man’s mouth on me, a man inside of me, intimately, passion that was so powerful I wanted nothing else but for him to go on, for him to fill me deeply and move over me, rocking until I just let myself go up into the ecstasy we were making together, a ride that was more than any snowmobile or amusement park, as if all the stars in the whole universe were dancing in me and around me, and I was flying, and flying and clearly aware I was not with not the man I had loved this way for so long. It was Rio Paxton who was taking me there.
It snowed all night and all the next day, then the storm moved on, the snowplows came out, and the roads were cleared. But I hadn’t gone home to Tahoe for three days. I was as comfortable in Rio’s house as I was in his arms and in his bed, in his spa tub and in his shower, and on the rug in front of the fireplace and against the kitchen counter.
I was not comfortable lying to my kids, my worrisome sons in particular, who I called from my cell phone regularly after calling the house to check the message machine and voicemail. I checked in with them, chatting casually to keep them unaware that my mountain life was really ranch life, and a newly active sex life, and to keep them from worrying about me, since Tahoe snow storms were all over the Bay Area news.
So far, so good.
On the other side of Rio’s master bedroom was his music room, the place where he worked on his songs. There was no place in his house I wasn’t welcome, he’d made that clear. He had gone to his barn office earlier and I was bored and wandered into the music room. There were a couple of soft overstuffed chairs, a huge imported Oriental rug and line of guitars in metal guitar stands and stacks of notebooks and along with beautiful ebony piano.
I sat at the keys, playing the notes scribbled in pencil across a music sheet. There was a notebook open on the bench. I picked it up and read the words written there, the verses of another song about souls broken and love lost and found, and the kind of man who had trouble finding love. Rio’s songs were like reading poetry, the depth and the fear in those words he had written.
Sometimes when I read a line, I had to stop and take a deep breath. My heart ached deeply for a man who knew that kind of pain, and understood it so clearly he could put his feelings into words, the dark emotions and sheer joys of falling in love.
I sensed he was there with me and looked up. He stood in the shadow of the doorway, leaning on the jamb, arms crossed, just watching me. I wasn’t certain how long he’d been there, and what I read in his eyes troubled me on some level.
This was all so new. I was caught up in all these feelings. I did not want to love a man again, and yet I was full of emotion. I had been here before. I knew he was beginning to fall in love with me and he wasn’t hiding it. He said it openly.
But what I felt wasn’t at stake. I read his lyrics and I thought about where I was a year ago—I was in a different place—and I knew I didn’t want to hurt this man who had been hurt before.
Could I really start all over again? Was it possible that there a new beginning for me? Now, only a year later, a year that felt like ten.
For his sanity, part of me wanted to run away as fast as I could, because I didn’t know if what was left of me was enough for someone to love. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t run when I looked at him and he was looking at me like he was. There was a glimmer of joy in me. I hadn’t felt anything close to joy and happiness for so long.
All I wanted was to run into his arms, not away from them.
Something as powerful as God’s hands held me there, that and a cowboy’s look. I put down the music book. “The words are amazing, luminous. Tell me about the song.”
“It’s about a woman who heals a broken man’s soul with her love.” He joined me on the piano bench, and began to play, singing the words he had written on the tablet from memory. When he was done and played the final note, I was leaning my head against his shoulder, unable to look at him for a minute because I was crying. My name was in the song.
He tilted my chin up so he could see my face.
“This is all happening so fast,” I said.
“Because life’s that way. Things that are meant to be just sort of click into place. Don’t overthink this thing between us. Don’t question it, darlin’. Just go with it and let me love you.”
I tried not to think about how I would explain Rio Paxton to my children. I hadn’t thought about how I could explain that I was even dating to them. I kept both sides of my life separate, and it was easy since I was at the Tahoe house. Deception was my friend. Hiding out from my children gave me the freedom to be with Rio and explore the two of us and give my heart another chance.
We went out together, twice to dinner and once to the movies and I found myself absorbing who he was, how he thought, the big things about him and the little ones, too. He liked to dump a box of chocolate covered raisins in his popcorn rather than butter, and to sit smack dab in the center of the theater, and he didn’t drink soft drinks.
He took me snowmobiling again, something I had taken to and loved almost as much as boarding. This time we each rode our own snowmobile and raced across the white fields together. He promised me we would do the same thing on horseback, when the snow melted.
So I casually broke the news to him that I didn’t ride.
“You will. You’re a natural, March. From what I’ve seen you’ll ride well. And I’ve felt your sweet thighs tighten,” he said, winked at me and then took off ahead of me, laugh
ing.
Okay, I thought, any man who used the words “sweet thighs” together with the word “tight” when referring to my body was the man for me.
But the truth about my feelings had nothing to do with sweet thighs and a lot to do with the things he said to me, what I was learning about him, and just the sheer joy I felt when I was with him, the passion between us that seemed to grow stronger and better, and when he held me in his arms, the wonderful way I felt loved and safe, healed, and as if nothing could ever hurt me again. I was afraid that it wasn’t true, but more frightened not to stay within that soft aura—real or imagined.
The next day the snow was perfect on the mountain so we spent the day at the Nevada side of Heavenly, boarding the mountain together. It was about four o’clock when we went into the lodge for a glass of wine, and were sitting at a table for two talking when a shadow caught my attention.
“March?”
Old friends of the family, the Baileys, were standing there.
I quickly pulled my hand out of Rio’s. “Linda, Jeff. It’s good to see you.” I stood and we hugged. There was an awkward heartbeat of silence.
How did I introduce Rio? Would they know his name? Thoughts swirled like snowflakes through my head.
Rio reached out to shake Jeff’s hand. “I’m Rio Paxton,” he said smoothly.
Jeff recognized him, before he heard his name, and we all talked for a few awkward minutes. I asked about their kids, their son had been a friend of Scott’s in high school and their daughter still knew Molly pretty well.
Soon the conversation waned and the Baileys left, but not before I had a good idea that they understood Rio and I were not merely acquaintances.
I sipped my wine thoughtfully as I watched them walk away.
“Okay,” Rio said, setting his wine glass down. “That was not easy for you.”
I thought it was perhaps worse for him. “I didn’t know what to say,” I admitted, feeling sick to my stomach with shame. Was I embarrassed?
He leaned back in his chair and gave me a direct look. “We need to figure out how we’re going to deal with your friends.”
“I’m sorry. You have every right to be angry with me. I was horrid.”
He laughed. “You were caught off guard.”
“You think?” I said, disgusted with myself, so I swilled down some more wine.
“Must have been that deer in the headlights look that gave you away.”
“Don’t make excuses for me. You should be angry with me.”
“Why? I get it, March. I know this won’t be easy for you. You were married to Mike for three decades.”
“Three decades?” That got my hackles up. I look at his face and realized he was teasing me. I laughed, then because what else could I do?
He didn’t say anything for a minute. He was staring into his wine glass with a look I couldn’t read. “Is what’s bothering you me, who I was? Or is it our age difference?”
“Rio, I love who you are and I don’t care that you had a rough past. All that is long gone.”
“No. It’s still there in people’s memories.”
“And I don’t care. What you went through made you the good man you are. I love that about you and wish you could learn to forgive yourself.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. I didn’t want him to misunderstand. “I don’t think about our ages when I’m with you. But honestly? I did just then.”
“Are you having second thoughts?”
What I heard in his voice told me I couldn’t hold back anymore. He was as vulnerable as I felt. I was crying when I looked at him again and shook my head. The words spilled from heart, my broken, aching, lost heart. “I love you.”
“Oh, darlin’ . . . ” He smiled indulgently and looked a little relieved. He stood up and pulled me into his arms. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty Nine
Four days later Rio and I went back up to the lake after another couple of days at the ranch and went out to dinner at a casino steakhouse, then drove to my place afterward. He pulled his truck into the driveway and two of my kids cars were parked there. Scott’s white Land Rover and Molly’s silver BMW SUV. My stomach dropped and I took a long breath. This was not good. “They didn’t call first,” I said
“Is that a problem?”
“I think so,” I said. It looked as if all the lights in the house were on.” I think I’d better go in alone.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said protectively. “I have to meet them at some point.”
“Let me talk to them first.”
He studied me for a long time, and then nodded. “Call me if you need me.”
I squeezed his hand and got out of the truck, grabbed my weekender with my stomach already in knots and praying this was only a surprise visit. I waited until he drove away, before I went inside.
Scott, Phillip, and Molly were all sitting in the great room. The boys looked worried and angry. I wondered if they were still on the outs. But Molly was chomping at the bit and ready for a fight. She shot up from her chair, her face red and tight when she looked at me. “We’re giving you this opportunity to tell us where you’ve been.”
I dropped my weekender on the floor and my purse on the table. “Excuse me?”
Phil wisely grabbed her arm. “Now Molly . . . ”
She whirled on Phil. “Don’t now Molly me. She’s been lying to us.”
“I chose to not involve you in a part of my life that’s new and private.” I said as I walked into the room. “Frankly, I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“So you admit it.”
“Admit what, Molly?”
“That you’re involved with that singer. Rio Paxton. The Baileys saw you two out together. When I called you on your cell phone, you pretended you were here, right here in this house. But you weren’t here, Mother. I know because I was standing right there when I called you.” She pointed to the kitchen counter.
So I was guilty of lying and had been caught. “You’re right. I wasn’t here. I haven’t been here for a few days. And yes, you might as well hear it from me, I was with Rio. I’ve been seeing him.”
“Oh God . . . ” Molly put her head in her hands. “Our mother is a cougar.”
“What?” I said.
“A cougar, one of those older—” Phillip started to explain.
“I know what a cougar is, and I am not! I do not prowl around for younger men. Rio and I met accidentally.”
None of them said a word.
“All of you were at the casino lounge that night when he sang to me.” I looked at my sons. “Remember how you both thought him singing to me was so very funny, and safe? What you didn’t know was we had already met. And just so you know, a relationship with anyone, let alone him, was the farthest thing from my mind at the time.” I wanted to tell Molly that I was originally checking Rio out for her, but she was already thoroughly annoyed with me. I paused and looked at them. They seemed to be soaking in my words and searching for their own. “I’m getting a glass of wine.”
I walked into the kitchen, poured the wine, and saw my hand was shaking. I took a long swallow and stood there for a second, getting myself together before I went back into the other room. I tried to appear calmer than I felt and sat down in a chair by the fire.
When no one said anything, I spoke up. “You must have realized that at some point in the future, I was going to start dating somebody. I’m not dead.”
“Mom,” Scott said kindly. That he looked so worried bothered me, until I remembered he was more than willing to stay out of Molly’s relationship. I wanted him out of mine, too, especially when it was so new and fragile and I was already confused and clinging to the deep connection I felt for Rio. “This is not about you dating,” he said.
“Isn’t it?”
“He is a lot younger than you.” Phillip leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of him. Phillip was so serious when he looked at me. “Don’t
you think that’s a problem?”
“Rio’s age? I supposed it could be. I certainly would not have picked a younger man.”
“You’ve been so messed up since Dad died. You can’t trust your judgment.”
Did Phillip really think I was so screwed up? The past year scrolled through my mind, and I remembered all the bad moments, the sleeplessness, the incident that had gotten me thrown in jail. He must remember them, too.
Even if I had actually been that much of a mess, what he said made me angry. “Thank you, Dr. Phil,” I sniped at him with all the rancor I felt at my situation and the guilt I felt over my own mistakes.
I hated this. I hated my reaction. I hated their reaction. I hated sharing what I was feeling. It was new and I felt alive again. I wanted to run back down the driveway and into Rio’s arms for some small bit of peace and contentment that had been so rare in my life for the last year. I waited a moment, then said, “Look, I loved your father and this has nothing to do with what we had together for all those years, or with what I felt for him.
“Yes, I’ve been struggling this past year. Yes, I’ve felt alone. Yes, I’ve made mistakes. But this is not a mistake. And even if it is, it’s my mistake to make. Not yours.”
“But Rio Paxton, Mother?” Molly clearly wanted a fight.
“It’s perfectly understandable that you kids would have trouble with anyone I dated.”
“That’s not true,” Scott said too reasonably, which told me it was true.
“Well, whether it is or not doesn’t matter. I guess we’ll never know now, will we? Because I’m seeing Rio,” I said firmly.
“See?” Molly said to her brothers. “I told you I couldn’t do this alone. She’s so stubborn.”
“Molly. She is right here. Don’t talk about me as if I’m not.”
“Okay, then, Mother. What do you have to say? There’s a huge age difference between you.”
