Redwood Bend
Page 17
“How original, for a playboy,” she said. “Well, this may come as a shock, but I haven’t ever let myself get involved with someone like you before, someone who absolutely swears he can’t be committed. In fact, I don’t think I can build much self-esteem by bragging that I nailed an actor—especially one who promises to ditch me as quickly as possible. That really undermines my self-image, which I’d rather bolster.” She thought for a second. “I might get some interesting press out of the fact that I threw up in your plane… I think, since I’m awake, I’ll have a quick shower. That way if you’re still here when I’m done, I’ll be all fresh and sweet and you can resume counting.” She lifted an eyebrow and slid away from him, stalking across the bedroom stark naked. Head held high.
Damn, he thought. Look at her. She gave her long hair a toss and gathered it on top of her head before entering the bathroom. And he was hard again. She was way under his skin.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Well, there was an upside, he thought. Now that it was all out in the open, she would understand where he was coming from, why he was a bad relationship risk and was doing her a favor by not getting involved with her or her kids. She would know all the names in his familial periphery—all those Hollywood losers who couldn’t stay out of trouble or make a normal family life work. And obviously she’d heard all the rumors about how much trouble he’d been in, how unreliable he was....
If you’re still here when I’m done…
He could spend a little time with her, as long as it didn’t get too serious. As long as he explained, with consideration for her feelings, why he’d have to move on. And she’d be fine with that because she was no longer a twelve-year-old fan girl.
And he leaped out of bed and went to the bathroom. The shower was running and he stepped inside. “You’re not going to get away with this,” he said.
“What?”
“Showering alone while I’m still counting.” And he took her lips just as he took the soap out of her hands.
Katie was making coffee in the kitchen when the door to the cabin opened and the boys came in. “Shh,” she said. “Be very quiet. You can go to your bedroom and change clothes for summer program if you’re very quiet.”
Right behind them, Conner stepped into the cabin.
“Well, you’re not Leslie, now are you?”
“There’s a motorcycle outside your cabin.”
“Yes, Conner, I know this,” she whispered. “Please don’t wake him.”
“Why? Did he have a rough night?”
“Don’t go there unless you really want to know, because if it will back you off just to give you the grim details, I’ll do it,” she said.
“Don’t,” he said, closing his eyes. “I don’t want my ears bleeding… Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Unlikely, she thought. But she said, “I’m a grown-up.”
In the bedroom, Dylan felt the sunlight on the back of his lids and thought, whoa, that last session they’d had had really knocked him out. God, she was going to kill him, she was that good. He slept like the dead. And in the distance, he heard soft talking. Phone call to a girlfriend? He smiled to himself—guys always got the bad rap for locker-room talk when really, the girls were worse. They couldn’t wait to get their friends on the phone and describe every detail.
He felt eyes on him. He opened one blue eye and met with four brown ones.
“Did you have a sleepover, too, Dylan?” one asked.
“Did you forget about your pajamas, too? Because we had to sleep in our unders because we forgot about them.”
“Did you have to sleep in your unders?”
He lifted his head. “Katie!” he yelled.
She darted into the bedroom and when she saw her sons, she put her hands on her hips. “Is this where you keep your school clothes?” she asked. “Go change, right now.”
“Mom, did Dylan have to sleep in his unders?”
“Did he forget his pajamas?”
Her lips twitched as she struggled to keep from laughing. “Well, for heaven’s sake, will you look at that. He must have. I wouldn’t have noticed, since I’m more polite than you—I gave him privacy and slept in the other room, since he’s a guest.” She shuttled them out of the room. “Get changed now—you don’t want to be late.” Then she looked at Dylan and covered her laughing mouth with a hand.
“Not funny,” he said grumpily.
“Funny,” she insisted. “You can have the cabin to yourself—get up, go back to sleep, whatever. I’ll be gone about a half hour. Coffee’s on. I’ll bring back breakfast from Jack’s.”
“Then I have to go,” he said.
“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I understand completely.”
My God, he thought. Did she take nothing seriously? Here they’d romped the night away in complete carnal pleasure and at first light he’s caught n**ed in her bed by her children! They’d be in therapy until they were twenty.
But of course they hadn’t seen anything… He was covered, Katie claimed to have slept in the other room and the clothes he’d left on the living room floor the evening before were neatly folded on the top of the chest of drawers, his boots standing politely on the floor. Even the dresser drawer where she kept all the extra condoms was closed; no wrappers on the night side table. Katie had tidied up and taken a shower; the ends of her hair were still damp and she wore jeans and a sweatshirt.
But they knew he’d been there. Was that a bad thing?
He took a shower and while the spray ran over him he closed his eyes and remembered the last shower here, in the middle of the night, with Katie. And with the help of a little soap and shower gel, he had her up to seven while he lingered around four because she couldn’t keep her soapy hands off him and he didn’t have a condom in the shower and he lost his mind and damn! She really was going to kill him. And he was going to die with a smile on his face.
But how did she do that? Show him the sex goddess when they were alone and that primly amused young mother in the light of day? She was like two completely separate women in one skin. He was going to have to get out of here before it became any more obvious he couldn’t be without her in his life. Over breakfast they would talk, he would thank her for being the best sex of his life, tell her truthfully that he’d never forget their “date” and then he’d head for L.A. or Montana.
When she walked in with a brown paper bag, she was smiling. “Preacher’s omelets are so huge, we can split one…”
“Okay,” he said weakly.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
“You have a very strange look on your face.”
“Crap,” he said. He took the bag from her hands, put it on the counter and threw her over his shoulder, her laughter pealing out through the little cabin as he carried her back to the bedroom. Once there he pulled off her clothes, put his hands and lips on every inch of her body and took her to eight. And nine.
“My God,” she said, breathless and glistening. “This has to stop! At least long enough for nourishment!”
He laughed at her and said, “That omelet’s cold anyway. It’ll keep ten more minutes. I have to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“How screwed up are your kids going to be about finding me in your bed?”
“They didn’t even mention it, Dylan. I suspect they thought nothing of it.”
“But we’re not married or anything…”
“Neither are Conner and Leslie, where they spent the night last night, although they are an established couple who live together. But the boys are very curious—if they’d had questions, they would’ve asked. It was a first for them, however.”
“A first?”
“You’re my first sleepover since they were born. They never even witnessed their own dad in my bed.”
“Oh,” he said. “You got your guys out the door before the boys were up?”
She laughed softly. “You’re my first since Charlie. I was open to the idea, but never met anyone who qualified. I hope that’s not too much pressure…”
He leaned toward her until his forehead was resting against hers. “Nine,” he said.
“I was faking seven and eight,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Good fake. Your whole body shook. So, can you talk about him? Can you explain about your marriage? Even though we’re…” He ran a hand down her n**ed body.
“Of course. I’m not cheating on him. What would you like to know?”
“How was marriage? Romantic?”
She laughed. “Sometimes, but not always. See, Charlie was a soldier, and not just any soldier, but Special Forces. Highly disciplined, expertly trained and dangerous in many settings. To say he was rough around the edges would be an understatement. He was a man with a very special commitment. It took remarkable strength and conviction for him to do his work. And, it took a unique kind of commitment to be married to him. For example, one night at a bar a young soldier saw pregnant me and said something off-color—I think it was, ‘Holy f**k, mama.’ And Charlie slapped him around. Almost knocked him out without leaving a mark—Green Beret. He knew how to do scary things like that, but with me he was so gentle, so wonderful. He was upset that the man used that language in front of me. Yet just a few hours later he yelled, ‘Katie! Where’s the f**king towel!’” She shook her head and laughed. “His language—the worst. I’m afraid if Charlie was still alive my boys might be saying things like, ‘I can’t f**king tie my shoe.’ But there was never any question about how he felt about me.”
“Do you think you’d still be married today if he was alive?”
She took a moment to think. “Some groups like Green Berets, Rangers, SEALs, that sort of thing—they do have trouble in marriages—they were gone a lot, had a lot of combat issues, some of them had trouble with that line between rough and gentle with their families. Not Charlie, though. I never doubted how much he valued me, loved me. I think I felt more respect from Charlie than I had before in my life. And I always felt safe with him. Yes, I’d like to think we’d have lasted. Forever.”
“He sounds perfect…”
That made her laugh. “I’m well aware of his flaws, believe me. He could be a slob, unless he was standing inspection, and then he was meticulous—pressed and shiny and buttoned down, while I’d have to follow him around and pick up his towel and underwear. He could get silent on me—deep and quiet and hard to draw out. Who knew if he was thinking about some dark combat experience or his breakfast cereal. If I cried, he had no idea what to do—he was not a natural at handling a woman’s emotions. Sometimes he laughed at the most inappropriate times and he was one of those alpha idiots who always had to ask if I had my period when I got upset with him. He could get jealous and possessive, but he completely forgot my birthday. And no one had ever made me feel more cherished on a daily basis than Charlie. He was full of flaws—and I’d marry him all over again. I trusted him with my life—that’s hard to find.”
It was Dylan’s turn to be quiet. He’d never heard a testimony like that before, not even from Lang, who nearly worshipped Sue Ann. “Do you still miss him sometimes?” Dylan asked.
And she decided on honesty. Actually, she had decided over five years ago, she would never lie about something like that. “Yes. Whenever I look at his boys. But missing him isn’t the same as longing for him. As long as I can do right by our sons… That’s my job, Dylan.” She gave his arm a stroke. “Don’t worry about screwing them up by being around them, Dylan. I’m always going to protect my boys.”
Damn, he thought. Look at her. She gave her long hair a toss and gathered it on top of her head before entering the bathroom. And he was hard again. She was way under his skin.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Well, there was an upside, he thought. Now that it was all out in the open, she would understand where he was coming from, why he was a bad relationship risk and was doing her a favor by not getting involved with her or her kids. She would know all the names in his familial periphery—all those Hollywood losers who couldn’t stay out of trouble or make a normal family life work. And obviously she’d heard all the rumors about how much trouble he’d been in, how unreliable he was....
If you’re still here when I’m done…
He could spend a little time with her, as long as it didn’t get too serious. As long as he explained, with consideration for her feelings, why he’d have to move on. And she’d be fine with that because she was no longer a twelve-year-old fan girl.
And he leaped out of bed and went to the bathroom. The shower was running and he stepped inside. “You’re not going to get away with this,” he said.
“What?”
“Showering alone while I’m still counting.” And he took her lips just as he took the soap out of her hands.
Katie was making coffee in the kitchen when the door to the cabin opened and the boys came in. “Shh,” she said. “Be very quiet. You can go to your bedroom and change clothes for summer program if you’re very quiet.”
Right behind them, Conner stepped into the cabin.
“Well, you’re not Leslie, now are you?”
“There’s a motorcycle outside your cabin.”
“Yes, Conner, I know this,” she whispered. “Please don’t wake him.”
“Why? Did he have a rough night?”
“Don’t go there unless you really want to know, because if it will back you off just to give you the grim details, I’ll do it,” she said.
“Don’t,” he said, closing his eyes. “I don’t want my ears bleeding… Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Unlikely, she thought. But she said, “I’m a grown-up.”
In the bedroom, Dylan felt the sunlight on the back of his lids and thought, whoa, that last session they’d had had really knocked him out. God, she was going to kill him, she was that good. He slept like the dead. And in the distance, he heard soft talking. Phone call to a girlfriend? He smiled to himself—guys always got the bad rap for locker-room talk when really, the girls were worse. They couldn’t wait to get their friends on the phone and describe every detail.
He felt eyes on him. He opened one blue eye and met with four brown ones.
“Did you have a sleepover, too, Dylan?” one asked.
“Did you forget about your pajamas, too? Because we had to sleep in our unders because we forgot about them.”
“Did you have to sleep in your unders?”
He lifted his head. “Katie!” he yelled.
She darted into the bedroom and when she saw her sons, she put her hands on her hips. “Is this where you keep your school clothes?” she asked. “Go change, right now.”
“Mom, did Dylan have to sleep in his unders?”
“Did he forget his pajamas?”
Her lips twitched as she struggled to keep from laughing. “Well, for heaven’s sake, will you look at that. He must have. I wouldn’t have noticed, since I’m more polite than you—I gave him privacy and slept in the other room, since he’s a guest.” She shuttled them out of the room. “Get changed now—you don’t want to be late.” Then she looked at Dylan and covered her laughing mouth with a hand.
“Not funny,” he said grumpily.
“Funny,” she insisted. “You can have the cabin to yourself—get up, go back to sleep, whatever. I’ll be gone about a half hour. Coffee’s on. I’ll bring back breakfast from Jack’s.”
“Then I have to go,” he said.
“Of course,” she said with a smile. “I understand completely.”
My God, he thought. Did she take nothing seriously? Here they’d romped the night away in complete carnal pleasure and at first light he’s caught n**ed in her bed by her children! They’d be in therapy until they were twenty.
But of course they hadn’t seen anything… He was covered, Katie claimed to have slept in the other room and the clothes he’d left on the living room floor the evening before were neatly folded on the top of the chest of drawers, his boots standing politely on the floor. Even the dresser drawer where she kept all the extra condoms was closed; no wrappers on the night side table. Katie had tidied up and taken a shower; the ends of her hair were still damp and she wore jeans and a sweatshirt.
But they knew he’d been there. Was that a bad thing?
He took a shower and while the spray ran over him he closed his eyes and remembered the last shower here, in the middle of the night, with Katie. And with the help of a little soap and shower gel, he had her up to seven while he lingered around four because she couldn’t keep her soapy hands off him and he didn’t have a condom in the shower and he lost his mind and damn! She really was going to kill him. And he was going to die with a smile on his face.
But how did she do that? Show him the sex goddess when they were alone and that primly amused young mother in the light of day? She was like two completely separate women in one skin. He was going to have to get out of here before it became any more obvious he couldn’t be without her in his life. Over breakfast they would talk, he would thank her for being the best sex of his life, tell her truthfully that he’d never forget their “date” and then he’d head for L.A. or Montana.
When she walked in with a brown paper bag, she was smiling. “Preacher’s omelets are so huge, we can split one…”
“Okay,” he said weakly.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
“You have a very strange look on your face.”
“Crap,” he said. He took the bag from her hands, put it on the counter and threw her over his shoulder, her laughter pealing out through the little cabin as he carried her back to the bedroom. Once there he pulled off her clothes, put his hands and lips on every inch of her body and took her to eight. And nine.
“My God,” she said, breathless and glistening. “This has to stop! At least long enough for nourishment!”
He laughed at her and said, “That omelet’s cold anyway. It’ll keep ten more minutes. I have to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“How screwed up are your kids going to be about finding me in your bed?”
“They didn’t even mention it, Dylan. I suspect they thought nothing of it.”
“But we’re not married or anything…”
“Neither are Conner and Leslie, where they spent the night last night, although they are an established couple who live together. But the boys are very curious—if they’d had questions, they would’ve asked. It was a first for them, however.”
“A first?”
“You’re my first sleepover since they were born. They never even witnessed their own dad in my bed.”
“Oh,” he said. “You got your guys out the door before the boys were up?”
She laughed softly. “You’re my first since Charlie. I was open to the idea, but never met anyone who qualified. I hope that’s not too much pressure…”
He leaned toward her until his forehead was resting against hers. “Nine,” he said.
“I was faking seven and eight,” she said.
He smiled at her. “Good fake. Your whole body shook. So, can you talk about him? Can you explain about your marriage? Even though we’re…” He ran a hand down her n**ed body.
“Of course. I’m not cheating on him. What would you like to know?”
“How was marriage? Romantic?”
She laughed. “Sometimes, but not always. See, Charlie was a soldier, and not just any soldier, but Special Forces. Highly disciplined, expertly trained and dangerous in many settings. To say he was rough around the edges would be an understatement. He was a man with a very special commitment. It took remarkable strength and conviction for him to do his work. And, it took a unique kind of commitment to be married to him. For example, one night at a bar a young soldier saw pregnant me and said something off-color—I think it was, ‘Holy f**k, mama.’ And Charlie slapped him around. Almost knocked him out without leaving a mark—Green Beret. He knew how to do scary things like that, but with me he was so gentle, so wonderful. He was upset that the man used that language in front of me. Yet just a few hours later he yelled, ‘Katie! Where’s the f**king towel!’” She shook her head and laughed. “His language—the worst. I’m afraid if Charlie was still alive my boys might be saying things like, ‘I can’t f**king tie my shoe.’ But there was never any question about how he felt about me.”
“Do you think you’d still be married today if he was alive?”
She took a moment to think. “Some groups like Green Berets, Rangers, SEALs, that sort of thing—they do have trouble in marriages—they were gone a lot, had a lot of combat issues, some of them had trouble with that line between rough and gentle with their families. Not Charlie, though. I never doubted how much he valued me, loved me. I think I felt more respect from Charlie than I had before in my life. And I always felt safe with him. Yes, I’d like to think we’d have lasted. Forever.”
“He sounds perfect…”
That made her laugh. “I’m well aware of his flaws, believe me. He could be a slob, unless he was standing inspection, and then he was meticulous—pressed and shiny and buttoned down, while I’d have to follow him around and pick up his towel and underwear. He could get silent on me—deep and quiet and hard to draw out. Who knew if he was thinking about some dark combat experience or his breakfast cereal. If I cried, he had no idea what to do—he was not a natural at handling a woman’s emotions. Sometimes he laughed at the most inappropriate times and he was one of those alpha idiots who always had to ask if I had my period when I got upset with him. He could get jealous and possessive, but he completely forgot my birthday. And no one had ever made me feel more cherished on a daily basis than Charlie. He was full of flaws—and I’d marry him all over again. I trusted him with my life—that’s hard to find.”
It was Dylan’s turn to be quiet. He’d never heard a testimony like that before, not even from Lang, who nearly worshipped Sue Ann. “Do you still miss him sometimes?” Dylan asked.
And she decided on honesty. Actually, she had decided over five years ago, she would never lie about something like that. “Yes. Whenever I look at his boys. But missing him isn’t the same as longing for him. As long as I can do right by our sons… That’s my job, Dylan.” She gave his arm a stroke. “Don’t worry about screwing them up by being around them, Dylan. I’m always going to protect my boys.”
