At Risk (20 page)

She turned back around. We were standing
close. I could smell her scent, imagined that I could feel her
breath on my skin. The air around us felt curiously charged,
enveloping us in a private world without sound. Her gaze rose
slowly to my face. I brushed her bangs from her eyes and felt the
dampness of her skin beneath my fingertips. I rested my hands on
her shoulders and kissed her lightly on the lips. When I
straightened and dropped my arms to my sides, I was no longer
breathing normally. She smiled briefly, then lifted her jacket off
the bench that separated the rows of lockers.

I cleared my throat. "Tomorrow. Is
four-thirty too early?"

"No, that'll work." We made plans to meet at
the farm, then she rooted around in her jacket pocket and pulled
out her car keys. "I'd better go," she said, and there was a
shyness to her smile that I found captivating.

I watched her walk toward the parking lot.
The place felt empty without her.

* * *

After the day's work was done, and with
security high on my list of pressing concerns, I methodically
walked around the farm, looking for weaknesses in our defenses.
First stop, the implement building. I crossed over to the wall that
enclosed the small storage room and flicked on the lights. Because
the fixtures were widely spaced and partially blocked by the hay
mow, the work area was poorly-lit with heavy, deep shadows under
the equipment.

I squeezed behind the row of tractors, ducked
under the hay elevator, and looked up at the massive wall of hay.
Large quantities of it. All highly combustible. For that reason,
even though it was a pain in the ass to haul, we only stored a
day's worth in the barns. I would get Dave to hang more fire
extinguishers near the entrance, but what good it would do, I
couldn't imagine. If they decided to burn down the building, it
would be at night when no one was around. If they decided to burn
down a barn. . . . Well, I couldn't even think about that.

The smeared, sick graffiti seemed even more
threatening at night. I backtracked, switched off the lights, and
wondered if they'd been bold enough to turn them on while they
spray-painted their little message. For the umpteenth time, I
wondered who they were and why were they messing with Foxdale. And
would they be back?

I followed the lane past the implement
building and looked toward the old paved road. It dead-ended to my
left, at a barricaded fire road that marked the western boundary of
a wide swath of state park land. All of those unspoiled acres and
the river that wound through it attracted boarders as much as
anything else. Only Foxdale's employees and an occasional truck
from the mushroom farm frequented this part of the farm. It
wouldn't take much fencing and a couple of gates to prevent anyone
getting onto the farm from the road, but if someone really wanted
to hurt Foxdale, chains and locks and gates across the driveway
wouldn't make any difference.

As I turned to go back, something moved in
the pine grove that screened the muck pile.

I started, then saw it was just a fox. I
exhaled slowly through my mouth and listened to the wind whistling
through the boughs. Above my head, stars shone through breaks in
the clouds, and in the west, the moon was a chalky smudge behind a
thin veil of fast-moving cloud. Away from the farm's lights, the
sky seemed vividly alive and close. Close enough to touch.

I slipped my hands into my pockets and headed
back. A horse was being led into barn A, his figure back-lit by the
soft light that poured through the open doors. Even at that
distance, I could clearly hear his shoes scraping the asphalt.

I checked barn B. Short of installing better
locks and adding more fire extinguishers, I couldn't think of
anything else we could do to improve security. Outside, I looked at
the grain bin that towered high above my head and thought about
poison. If someone wanted to contaminate the grain, they would have
to climb up a narrow ladder to reach the valve at the top. Thirty
feet up. Thirty feet of flimsy metal ladder in the dark.

There were easier ways to ruin Foxdale. With
a match, for one.

I walked into barn A and cut through the wash
rack. Footsteps echoed behind me, and I spun around.

"Jumpy, aren't we?"

"Hello, Mrs. Timbrook," I said.

Elsa had come out of Satellite's stall, and
she'd stopped so close, I thought she might bump into me. I
resisted the urge to back up. Her eyes were a deep green, and I
wondered if she was wearing colored lenses. She moved closer. Her
musky perfume filled my head, and her closeness was overwhelming. I
stepped back, forgetting myself, and her smile broadened.

"Stephen, there's a nail sticking out of a
board in Lite's stall. I'm afraid he'll cut his smooth, beautiful
skin."

Christ. "I'll get a hammer." I took a step
backward to avoid bumping into her as I turned and went over to the
other barn.

I unlocked the feed room door. "I'm afraid
he'll cut his smooth . . . beautiful . . . skin," I mouthed. Give
me a break. I scanned the pegboard--screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches,
all neat and organized thanks to Dave--and spotted the Craftsman
hammer with the leather grip. As I lifted it off its bracket, I
sensed subtle movement behind me. A slight shifting of air current.
I spun around.

Elsa had followed me into the room.

Chapter 11

She closed the door and smiled. She had every
right to. She'd set her trap, and I'd unwittingly walked right into
it. Stupid.

Decision making time. I'd been half playing
around with it for long enough. I hadn't totally pushed her away.
Hadn't actually made up my mind one way or the other. Elsa took off
her jacket and let it drop to the floor. It seemed to float in slow
motion before landing in a disorganized heap on the dusty cement. I
couldn't take my eyes off it. Didn't feel as if I were breathing
properly, either. My legs felt wooden, my feet stuck to the
floor.

I dragged my gaze upward, looked at her face,
and figured I was about to make up my mind. Her eyes were
dreamy-looking, compelling, holding me in a trance. She parted her
lips with a hint of a smile. Nothing to do with friendship,
however.

She reached up and unbuttoned her blouse,
slowly, deliberately, one button at a time. Dragging it out, making
me wait.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath, and
she made sure I knew. Made sure I saw. I inhaled sharply. She
walked over to where I stood, pressed her body against mine, and
laced her fingers behind my neck. She stood on tip-toe and kissed
me on the mouth. Her lips tasted of peppermint, and when I opened
my mouth to tell her we shouldn't be doing this, she flicked her
tongue between my teeth.

Well, to hell with it. I stepped backward,
pulling her with me, until I bumped into the workbench. I reached
around, dropped the hammer onto the plywood, and moved my hands
over her breasts. It was cold in the room, and her nipples were
hard.

She let go of my neck, slipped her blouse off
her shoulders, and let it drop to the floor. I explored her breasts
with my hands and eyes and thought for about the millionth time
that women's bodies were just so damn fascinating.

Elsa moved her hands between us, and for a
second I thought she was going to stop me, but I'd misjudged her.
She undid my belt buckle and unzipped my jeans, and somewhere in
the back of my mind, it registered that she'd done it with
practiced ease. She smoothed her hand down my belly, eased her
fingertips beneath the elastic, and slipped her hand into my
shorts. When she wrapped her fingers around me, a shudder coursed
through my body.

I grabbed her breast hard and moved my mouth
over her throat. Her skin was soft and smooth and tasted slightly
of salt.

She moaned.

The sound was a physical jolt to my senses,
and I was afraid I would come then and there if I didn't do
something. I pulled her hand away.

She rubbed against me. "What's the matter,
Stevie-boy?" she whispered. "You too quick on the draw?"

"Shut up."

She giggled. "Or am I just too hot for
you?"

I'd show her what hot was, damn her. With
trembling fingers, I fumbled with the snap on her pants.

"Here, let me do that." She pushed my hands
away. "It's been a long time, hasn't it, Stevie?"

"Don't call me that."

I watched her strip. She wriggled out of her
tight britches faster than I thought possible. Nothing underneath
them, either.

"Cute guy like you should be gettin' it all
the time. You shy, Stevie-boy? Is that it?"

"Damn you." I grabbed her wrist, pulled her
down on the floor, and straddled her, my hands on either side of
her shoulders, her legs between my knees. She lay naked beneath me
with a smirk on her face and a glint of challenge in her eyes, and
for an instant I felt more like hitting her than fucking her.

"Come on, Steve, I was just playing around."
She slid one leg out from between my legs, then the other, planted
her feet alongside my knees, then reached down and touched herself.
She moved her hips rhythmically and whispered, "Come on, Steve. You
know you want it."

Damn right I did. I pushed myself upright,
yanked off my jacket, and shoved my jeans down to my knees. I
lowered myself and thrust into her, feeling the mind-blowing
sensation as if for the first time. She moved with me aggressively,
and I realized I needed to concentrate on something, anything, to
make it last. I studied at her face.

She had closed her eyes. Her lips were
parted, her breath coming faster. I watched as she arched her back
and turned her head to the side, the movement causing light from an
overhead fixture to flash across a horseshoe-shaped gold earring. I
admired the line of her neck, the way it blended into the v-shaped
depression at the base of her throat, the way her breasts looked,
round and firm above a faint line of ribs, the nipples hard and
pointy.

When I slid my tongue along her throat and
bit her just below the ear, Elsa grabbed my butt. She wrapped her
legs around me and tilted her pelvis upward, pulling me in deeper.
I bit down harder. She laced her fingers in my hair and redirected
my mouth to hers. I pushed my tongue into her mouth while our
bodies moved in urgent, frantic rhythm.

The release was incredible, intense,
explosive. I collapsed on top of her and tried to catch my breath.
After a minute or two, she put her hands on my chest and rolled me
off.

"Oh, my. You're still hard. Even after all
that."

She slid on top of me and rubbed her crotch
against me in a slow, rhythmic grind. I lay there and enjoyed
watching her, and by the time she came, I wanted to start all
over.

When she moved to get up, I grabbed her arm.
"Ride me."

She looked from my face to my fingers holding
her tight. "I only do it once, honey."

I didn't let go. "Before, you said you were
just playing, not trying to jerk me around. . . . Prove it."

She didn't say anything. I let go of her
wrist, and she stood up.

"Guess you're too tired," I said, and she
turned to look at me. "Can't last more than one time."

For a minute she stood there motionless,
staring at me, her eyes in shadow. Then she squatted over me,
reached down, and grabbed my cock. My breath caught in my throat,
and I tensed, wondering what in the hell she was going to do
next.

"By the time I'm done with you, you won't be
able to get off the damn floor." She began to stroke me, slowly at
first, with an expert touch. Then she guided me into her.

Damn, the woman could ride more than horses.
When she finished, I felt like I had been worked over. Felt like I
couldn't lift my head off the floor.

She crouched next to me and touched the
bridge of my nose. "How'd you get this bruise?"

"A fight at the party," I mumbled and didn't
bother opening my eyes.

"Who with?"

"One of the guys from the hay delivery
service we use. His driver. . . . He was drunk."

"Oh." She leaned over and kissed me on the
lips. Her silky hair fell across my face. "Don't fall asleep on the
floor."

I almost smiled. Opened my eyes instead. She
stood and dressed, all the while looking down at me without
expression. She had won, or maybe it was a tie. I couldn't
tell.

Wordlessly, she walked over to the door and
put her hand on the knob. She stood there for a second, then slowly
turned to face me. "Stay away from him, Stevie. He's a dangerous
man."

I propped myself up on my elbows. "What do
you mean?"

"Honey, I know lots of things about lots of
people, especially men. Just stay away from him." She turned and
left, closing the door firmly behind her.

I stood and clumsily pulled up my jeans,
tucked in my shirt, and looked around the room. I had been
completely oblivious to my surroundings. Now, as I stood in the
middle of the room, I could still smell her, smell myself. The
musky odor of sex mixing with the sweet smell of molasses and grain
additives. I could hear the horse moving around in the stall next
door and, in the distance, a car engine turning over. I looked down
and saw where our bodies had smudged the dusty floor. My clothes
were covered with dirt.

I brushed off my jeans, switched off the
light, and closed the door behind me. I flipped through my keys
until I found the right one--a new key with bright yellow
fluorescent tape. Dave's doing, no doubt. I slid the key into the
lock and the tumbler snicked smoothly into the jamb.

Someone walked into the barn.

I looked over my shoulder. It was only Karen.
I glanced at my watch. Almost ten o'clock. Lessons were over, the
barns were closing down for the night, and I hadn't had a clue it
was so late.