The crowd howled.
Elizabeth didn’t know her mouth was hanging open until Marshall popped a corner of his sandwich into it. She chewed and swallowed, still wide eyed.
A collective sigh spread over the diners. It was as if someone flipped a switch on a sign that read, “Come say hello.”
People stopped, one after another, to introduce themselves and wish her well. A few, she remembered from the fire. They patted Marshall on the back and a couple of the men gave him a wink.
“Welcome to Rabbit Creek, Lizzie, where your business is never your own.” Marshall grinned and took another bite of his sandwich.
“Weren’t much of a feedin’,” the old man at the counter muttered to Sally Ann as she refilled his cup.
“Aw, quit your grumbling, Roy. It’s a start. By the way, Maggie says you’re picking up the tab for her and Ruby.”
Chapter 10
When Elizabeth trudged through the roses and into her yard, twenty percent of her erotic dreams was sitting in her rocker on her front porch. Charles Goodman had his head back with his hat pulled down over his eyes and his long legs stretched out in front of him. His feet, in their pointy toed snakeskin boots, were crossed at the ankles. He was the picture of relaxation.
And what a yummy picture it was. She took a moment to catch her breath and check out the broad expanse of chest filling the western style shirt with pearl snaps and golden brown trim. His jeans were fresh and crisp, probably new and looked like they’d been specially designed for his body. They weren’t skin tight, but they were snug enough to outline the firm thighs and calves they encased. She wondered if the wide brass belt buckle was purposely crafted to draw attention to the fly that lay beneath it and thus, to what lay beneath that. She was startled to hear herself purr.
She ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her shirt. Charles had caught her off guard the first time they met, but she’d been writing every day and Cassandra’s character was beginning to flesh out. She’d been practicing in front of the mirror. To make her characters believable of course.
“Are you going to stay down there looking or are you going to come up and say hello,” Charles’s warm chuckle promised more than hello.
Jumping like a frightened cat was not a good start. She recovered quickly and gave her head a toss to send her hair flying over her shoulder.
“Mr. Goodman, how nice of you to visit,” she said deepening her voice a little to sound more like Cassandra. “May I offer you a glass of tea?”
“Only if you don’t have anything stronger.” Charles rose from his seat with a lazy grace Elizabeth could only envy. “A little bourbon maybe?”
New List – Things To Have On Hand For Hot Guys Who Happen To Stop By.
“Sorry. Rabbit Creek is dry and without a car, I haven’t had the opportunity to stock my liquor cabinet.” As if she actually had a liquor cabinet. “All I have to offer is sweet tea or coffee.”
“Oh I think you have a lot more to offer, but tea will do for now. Here, let me help you with that.” He lifted her computer case from her shoulder somehow making the simple act a caress. He held his hand out for the bag with the milk and made her feel like she was handing him much more.
Charles held the screen door open for her and she paused with the heavier door open a crack to take in the scent of his expensive cologne. She gave him one of Cassandra’s winning smiles. “Why don’t you sit back down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll freshen up a bit and be back with your tea in a jiff.” Jiff? What was she thinking?
She dropped her laptop and the milk on the couch and ran for the bathroom where she tore off her blouse, washed the sweat from her face and underarms and found a clean top in the tiny closet. It was sexiest thing she owned; a black peasant blouse with gold embroidery around the neck and hem. If she tied it loosely and let it slip from her shoulder… She wasted another two minutes changing into her only strapless bra and dabbing a bit of perfume between her breasts. She thought about changing her sneakers for a pair of strappy sandals, but after the hike up the mountain, her feet probably reeked and she didn’t want to waste any more time. She resolved to start wearing make-up again starting tomorrow.
Charles was sitting in the rocker, eyes half closed, when she came out onto the porch. With a slow smile, he moved his hat to the side to make room on the small table for the wooden tray with the glasses.
“I don’t even have a cookie to offer you with your tea,” she apologized as she set the tray down. “When I bought the milk, a very nice man said he’d be happy to deliver, but couldn’t until tomorrow. I’ve every fruit and vegetable you can imagine, but no meat, flour or chocolate chips.”
Oh god, she was babbling about chocolate chips. Where was Cassandra when she needed her? She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders and smiled to herself when the edge of her neckline slipped a little farther off her shoulder. She leaned back against the porch rail, rested her foot against a baluster and toasted Charles with her glass. She said a quick prayer that the old wood would hold.
“Your chocolate chip cookies aren’t why I came,” he chuckled slyly. His eyes traveled the length of her body and lingered on her breasts. “But I might have to stop by again soon if you’ll be offering me some.” He reached out to touch her hand.
Elizabeth felt what was now becoming a fairly frequent and recognizable tingle shimmy down her body and settle at the apex of her legs. Whoo-boy, that was distracting. She hung on to Cassandra for dear life.
“You’re welcome anytime.” She ran the glass of tea along her neck. The temperature had seemed to rise another ten degrees. “I saw your brother in town this morning. At the Dizzy Dish. He entertained us with a tale about Maggie and Roy Cramer.”
“I thought those two would be long dead by now.” He took a swallow of tea. “What’d my brother say when you told him you met me?”
Elizabeth thought quickly. She couldn’t tell him the truth; that after the heat of the moment with Marshall on the stairs, she’d simply forgotten. Cassandra came to her rescue once again.
“I’ve heard there are no secrets in a small town, but I see no reason to advertise my business to others.” She took a sip from her glass and eyed him over the rim. “You said you’d come by to see me, so I didn’t mention it. Should I have?”
“He wouldn’t have liked it if you had.”
Charles smiled and on the surface, it was the same charming smile as before, but it never reached his eyes. It made Elizabeth nervous, like she’d just signed a contract and neglected to read the fine print.
“You and your brother don’t get along?” she asked.
“No, we don’t. Not since he stole what was rightfully mine.” He shook his head and laughed. “You look shocked. Hard to believe Saint Marshall could do anything wrong, heh? You’re from up north. You think this place is Mayberry and my brother is Andy Taylor. After you’ve been here a while, you’ll see that things aren’t always what they seem. Why do you think Rabbit Creek is dry? And don’t think they only grow corn and tobacco in those fields.”
He was right. Elizabeth was shocked. She couldn’t believe Marshall would be involved in anything like that. “You can’t mean marijuana. Marshall was trying to track some suspected growers just the other night.” And yet, hadn’t he said something about not wanting the Feds getting nosey?
“Or run off the competition.” He shrugged and smiled. “But I didn’t stop by to talk about my brothers. I came to visit you.”
He put his glass on the table, stood and took two steps to Elizabeth’s side where he leaned against the post much as he had the first time they met. His thigh pressed beneath her raised knee and that small contact sent a tingle of excitement through her body.
“So tell me, Miss Elizabeth Reynolds, what brings a city girl like you to a place like Rabbit Creek?”
“Is it so obvious I’m a city girl?” she asked, laughing lightly and lowering her lashes. This was flirting. She was actually flirting. Thank you
Cassandra Fontaine!
Charles leaned in and breathed deeply through his nose. “Mmmm, it is. Country girls don’t smell this good.”
She was searching her mind for some witty reply when he raised his eyes to hers. Her brain froze in its search for words and all she came up with were two. Kiss me. She hoped she hadn’t said it out loud.
His tongue touched her lips and pulled back. She wasn’t sure if she should follow it or stay where she was. Cassandra had deserted her. As if sensing her hesitancy, Charles leaned in again, this time catching the corner of her mouth with his kiss. The kisses continued lightly against her cheek, her temple, the corner of her eye.
When his mouth returned to her lips, she was ready for him. Tilting her head to meet him, he kissed her, mouth slightly open but probing no further. This time when his mouth left hers, she followed, but he had other plans. He moved to her neck, to the sensitive spot below her ear and with tiny nips and nibbles, worked his way down to her exposed shoulder. Her body burned hotter with each new touch.
Her breath left her on a sigh. When his lips traveled further downward to the swell of her breast, she drew breath sharply and smiled dreamily. Charles was every bit as good at this as Marshall. Marshall!
What the hell was the matter with her? She didn’t even know this man. She hadn’t had more than twenty minute’s conversation with him. She didn’t know his likes, dislikes. They hadn’t had a meal together. Hell, she hadn’t even finished her glass of iced tea before her body wanted to drag him off to the nearest bedroom. Still breathing hard, she pushed away from him.
“Stop, stop.” She crossed her hands at the base of her throat and took two steps back. “This isn’t right,” she said, “This isn’t me.”
Rather than looking shocked or chagrinned, Charles looked pleased. “Oh, it’s you all right, heeding Mother Nature’s call. Doing what you were meant to do.” He reached for her. “Just go with it, love, and see where I can take you.”
“No,” she said shaking her head. She took another step back toward the end of the porch at the corner of the house. Her body, seemingly with a mind of its own, wanted to throw itself into his arms to pick up right where it’d left off. She pressed her knees together and bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I’m normally not this way. I don’t even know you well enough to kiss you, never mind…” She flapped her hands helplessly.
Charles laughed. “Your body knows me. All the rest will come in time. No one has a claim on you, do they?” He sounded reasonable, sincere.
She couldn’t tell him about Marshall. Besides, Marshall wasn’t a possibility and certainly didn’t have a claim.
“No, there isn’t anyone else. Still…” She could feel her resolve beginning to weaken. Why shouldn’t she play a little fast and loose? There was nothing wrong with being a healthy woman with healthy appetites. This was a new place, a new life, a new her.
“I knew it.”
Charles grinned roguishly and it should have been charming, but something about that grin made her uncomfortable. It was as if he’d won a bet and she was the purse. It suddenly felt as if he were playing a game to which she didn’t know the rules. It was that more than anything that gave her the strength to stand straight and face him.
“Please,” she said quietly, “I need you to leave.”
He frowned and took a step forward. She was beginning to feel trapped, enclosed by the house and rail with Charles blocking her only exit.
“I apologize again if I appeared to offer more than I’m willing to give.” She didn’t want to anger him or hurt his masculine pride. “It’s not that I don’t find you attractive. It’s just too fast, too soon and that wouldn’t be good for either one of us.”
Charles nodded and took a step back. The charming smile was back in place. “You’re right, of course, but I want you to know I’ll be back. I have a feeling, Elizabeth Reynolds; you’re the key to my dreams.”
Elizabeth sat heavily in the rocker and watched him disappear into the trees at the side of the house where Max claimed there was only a steep and impassable ravine.
Chapter 11
Elizabeth spent the afternoon or evening as it was called here in the mountains, ruminating. All right, moping, but the smaller word made it seem like a larger fault. She tried to write, but Cassandra’s character had fallen flat and Morton was nowhere to be found which is exactly where she was with Marshall and Charles. Nowhere. Shouldn’t there be a plot in there somewhere?
One woman. Two men. The very sight of them sent her body singing and zinging and had her nether regions doing tiny pirouettes that made her squirm with anticipation. One, an upright local sheriff, well respected and loved by his community. The other, a mysterious stranger with a mysterious past. Both were handsome, but she’d met handsome men before and they never made her breasts feel like a pair of twelve year old girls at a boy band concert.
These feelings coursing around inside her made her ashamed and excited at the same time. Ashamed because at thirty two, she apparently didn’t have enough self-control to tame her body’s sexual urges and excited because, tamed or not, she finally had some.
But no matter how hard she reasoned or analyzed, she couldn’t fathom why. The water up here was good, but not that good. The mountain air was certainly invigorating, but if its fresh air were the cause, Rabbit Creek would be the vacation capital of the world. Now that wolves and snakes were things of the past, she was sleeping better at night than she had in years. But if a good night’s sleep caused this kind of reaction, mattress companies would have it plastered all over television and billboards across the country. She probably would have read the study on it.
No, none of those things made sense. Like Sherlock Holmes in The Blanched Soldier, she had eliminated all that was impossible and was left with only the improbable truth. And bless his analytical heart, Sigmund Freud would most likely agree. It was her mother’s fault.
Mother was the perfect hostess, the perfect small town socialite, the perfect wife. She wanted the same life for her only child. So, from the time Elizabeth was old enough to toddle, she was raised to meet her mother’s social expectations. Unfortunately, Elizabeth wasn’t very good at it.
Dancing lessons were a disaster; piano and voice painful to the ear. Neatly braided hair came home from school in lopsided pigtails and while Elizabeth made it through ice skating lessons relatively unscathed, she spoiled the season by breaking her arm trying to climb the stacks at the library to reach a book on the top shelf.
Elizabeth tried; how she tried. She observed those around her like an anthropologist observing the culture of a previously undiscovered tribe. No matter how much she read and studied and analyzed, she simply couldn’t understand the intricacies of her mother’s social status. Over time, she learned to live her life by a series of lists thoughtfully provided by her mother. These lists worked so well, or so she thought, that she started making her own.
So it went, until six months ago when, after another socially acceptable affair ended badly, Elizabeth realized that her unhappiness had nothing to do with the loss of a man and everything to do with the loss of herself.
She wasn’t her mother, could never be her mother, and she was so very, very tired of pretending she could.
She made her plans and started searching for a place to live where her mother wouldn’t follow. Eugene Begley visited the library to use the computers as his laptop had unexpectedly died. One conversation led to another and here she was in the Appalachian back of beyond. Writing a novel was just her socially acceptable excuse for running away from home and she wasn’t sorry for it.
She’d done more living and made more friends in a single week in these mountains than she’d done in thirty-two years in Ohio. These people didn’t care where she bought her clothes or what hair salon she went to or what restaurant was in or out on this week’s list of Places To Be Seen. Today was the first time in a week she’d thought about wearing makeup. Her mo
ther would pretend she wasn’t at home rather than answer the door without her ‘face’ on. For the people of Rabbit Creek the face she was born with was good enough. They didn’t expect her to be anything but what she was.
And therein lay the problem. After thirty-two years of being what someone else wanted her to be, she wasn’t sure who or what she was. But she was learning. She was a woman who could kill mice, use a shotgun, and run into a burning barn. She was a woman who could get the screaming hots for two very good looking men. Those feelings were part of her, too. Maybe it was as simple as that. She’d finally had the courage to escape from her mother’s world of lists and rules and all the feelings she’d suppressed were bubbling to the surface.
She wasn’t frigid. Her old life was. Still, she was no teenager suddenly released from all restrictions and unaware of the consequences. She was a mature woman who needed to use her head.
“This is my life,” she said as she rose from her rocker, “And I’m going to go where it leads me.”
“It’s about time,” she answered and laughed aloud.
* * *
Elizabeth wasn’t getting much writing done, but she was certainly making a dent in the box of unread books she’d brought with her. She used to hide them under her bed, but she wasn’t going to feel guilty any more for her taste in books and she wondered if she could build herself a bookshelf to sit next to her bed.
When GW replaced a few boards on the porches, he’d left some sizable pieces of scrap beside the back porch. There was a hammer and nails in a kitchen drawer and even a handsaw hanging on the back porch wall. How hard could it be? It was already after nine and full dark, but she thought there would be enough light from the kitchen windows for her to bring the wood inside.
She’d no sooner opened the back door than something thudded against the wall beside her head. She yelped, pulled back into the kitchen and slammed the door. She ducked to the floor and sat huddled in the corner between wall and door, frightened and unsure what to do. When, after a few minutes, nothing else happened, she slowly raised up enough to peek out the door’s window. She couldn’t hear or see anything.
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