“No.” Bett smiled, trying to relax. It was so typical of Zach to take the bull by the horns. And it was typical of him to give willingly of himself to please her. Tiny knots were forming in the pit of her stomach at the thought of having her mother here, day in, day out, but she ignored them, a wave of love for Zach overtaking any lesser emotions.
She smiled again, slid her arms around his waist and hugged him. Zach smelled like sun and wind, an earthy, primitive scent that she loved. He rocked her close to him, his lips brushing her forehead.
“You weren’t really afraid I’d nix the idea of inviting her here?” he murmured against her ear. “Lord, Bett, you didn’t think I’d say no, just because we’d be a little inconvenienced for a time?”
“It wasn’t you, Zach.” Bett hesitated, staring at the hollow of his throat. “First, I felt…the thing is, Mom is still young; fifty-four is hardly ancient. I want to help her, yes, but she’s always depended on other people, Zach, and I felt she needed to…” Bett groped for the words “…get her life in order. For
her
sake. I was hoping that in time she’d make new friends on her
own,
come to some decisions, develop new interests. Her whole life’s been devoted to taking care of people, and I…”
Zach nudged her chin up, a small surprised frown on his forehead. “So she depends on us for a while. That’s not so terrible.”
Bett took a breath. “No,” she agreed hesitantly.
“Don’t tell me you really don’t want her here? That doesn’t sound like you, two bits.”
How could she be so ungenerous of spirit, when Zach was so very generous? What kind of inhuman, insensitive daughter wouldn’t do anything to help her mother through a bad time? “Of course I want her here,” Bett said vibrantly, and meant it. “Zach, it was so good of you to ask her…”
Zach drew back and kissed her on the nose. “Settled then?” he asked briskly.
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Come on.” He turned and pulled her toward the door. “We have a very serious problem on the back forty we need to take care of.”
“Pardon?”
***
Bett was still in a distracted mood until she realized where Zach was driving. The landscape around the pond disclosed no problem that she could see. Night had fallen on the farm like black silk. It was still tropically warm, but the hush of evening was soothing, a stillness one could almost breathe in. Crickets chirped in the cattails, and the fragrance of ripening peaches was a thick, sweet perfume that filled the air.
Zach turned off the ignition and just looked at her, his face half in shadow, his eyes fathomless and dark. “There’s a blanket in back.” He gave her no chance to respond to that, reaching for her swiftly, tugging her close to him in that sweet darkness. His tongue slowly traced her lower lip, then her upper one. He dried the faint moisture with his fingertip. His touch was very gentle, very soft, very slow.
Bett half closed her eyes, willing a dozen vague anxieties to disappear from her mind. She’d wanted to be with him, and she’d wanted him—like this—all day. Worries about her mother’s visit had sabotaged those feelings, yet the simple intimacy of just being held gradually melted that tension. When Zach’s mouth covered hers, a little more of that anxiety seemed to vanish. Zach, at times, could be very hard to resist. Zach, at times, could have some very strange powers over her. He could make her believe that there was nothing more important than this instant in time, nothing more important than the feel of his lips on hers. His kiss was hungry, very softly, sensually lustful. The last lingering tension ebbed away in slow motion. His lips seared hers in an intimate stamp of possession, and only when her body seemed to go limp did the pressure of his mouth slowly lessen.
He drew back, his finger seductively trailing the line of her jaw. “You have,” he whispered, “thirty-two seconds to get outside and take your clothes off.”
She wasted ten of those seconds getting out of the truck, and then dawdled away an awful lot of time watching him unfold the blanket. She was smiling as he spread the blanket on the tall grasses next to the pond. He loved that smile, would happily have done cartwheels to banish the pinched look around her eyes that had haunted her since her mother’s call. Bett was so rarely moody. Given any chance at all, she squeezed the joy from life, and shared it.
Whatever anxiety she was feeling, they would handle it. At the moment, he just wanted to see the mischievous spark back in her eyes. He wasn’t disappointed. He paused briefly to study his wife appreciatively. She was wearing an old yellow T-shirt of his; its shoulder seams flopped almost to her elbows, its hem barely covered her fanny, and not a bump of a breast showed in the folds of fabric. Her old jeans led down to bare feet. His lady was at her sexiest, nonetheless. Softness was the issue. The softness of silky yellow hair by moonlight, the soft pastel of the T-shirt, the softer glow of her skin.
He unbuttoned and pushed off her jeans himself, since she was being so damned slow. She raised her arms; he tugged off the T-shirt.
It was Bett’s turn to watch when she’d settled on the blanket. Zach’s profile was outlined against the night sky, and a shiver of anticipation raced down her spine. Zach was all dark gold, his chest smooth and sculpted, strength and control part of his body, part of his every movement. He tossed his shirt on the grass, then slowly slid his belt from its belt loops, facing her. When he unsnapped the single button on his jeans, the small sound seemed to echo crazily in the night. In a moment, he’d skimmed off the pants, and moved toward her in the darkness, naked and tall.
A primitive shudder trembled through her body and refused to stop. How could she ever have thought Zach could survive cooped up in an office? He belonged here with the woods behind him, the wind ruffling his hair, the earth close. During the day, Zach was often friend, always husband, and at any hour lover. At night Zach was mate, and the word connoted for Bett a very secret, primal facet to loving that she’d never understood before knowing him. Some wild creatures chose their mates for life. Zach always gave her that feeling when he came to her, that he would claim what was his, that he would protect as well as take, that he would possess at a level far more complex than just the sexual one.
She felt all of that as he slid down next to her. His skin was so cool. She felt surrounded by the sweetness of grass and darkness. His eyes locked on hers, and then traveled down, an appraisal of her nakedness that curled her toes, a slow caress of sight instead of touch. His head bent over her, and his lips dosed first on one breast, then the other. Bett arched beneath him, her hands sliding down over the smooth, firm flesh of his back. His tongue flicked delicately on one nipple, and an involuntary whimpering sound emerged from her throat.
Zach stole that sound in a kiss that shared tastes they both knew well. Never, never well enough. The hunger was so very sweet, a secret rush of sheer pleasure that came from knowing exactly what Zach could do with his lips and hands and his body joined with hers. Her breath quickened; his grew harsh, and then his touch gentled. They drew apart a little. The first surge of passion gradually slowed as they both sought to prolong their sweet, warm night.
“Zach?”
“Hmm?” He shifted her on top of him, loving her slight weight and supple limbs, the husky breathlessness in her voice, the way those soft eyes suddenly lowered in impossible shyness.
“I love you, Mr. Monroe.” Her heart felt full. Singing. Earlier worries hadn’t disappeared; they didn’t need to. Just being with Zach reminded her that they’d already handled their share of problems together, and would again. Moving, the farm, their money crisis…but Zach was always there.
Just as he was there now, vibrantly alive beneath her, warm and in control. He was very good at taking control. His delightfully lazy hand was languidly sifting through her hair as if he would be content to play sensual lover all night. The lower part of his body delivered other messages.
Her finger traced the line of his jaw and then subtly applied pressure so that he turned his head. She raised up a little. Her fingers brushed aside his thick hair, and then slowly her forefinger drew a line around the shell of his ear. Zach tensed beneath her. As she leaned up just a little further, the tips of her breasts grazed his chest and her tongue slipped inside the auricle of his ear.
Zach twisted his head convulsively. “You’ve been reading dirty magazines,” he whispered.
“I have not.” He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were full of laughter. She shook her head. “You will lie back and enjoy this,” she said with mock severity. “You’re supposed to like it. The male of the species is supposed to go stark raving mad when his ear is…um…”
“Tickled to death?” While he had a moment’s advantage, he claimed both her hands and twisted to pin her body beneath him.
She savored the weight of him for a moment. That control of his was slipping; she could feel it in the increased tension in his legs, could see it in his eyes. “Now, it’s possible I don’t have the technique down to perfection.”
“You have
all
the techniques down to perfection,” he assured her. To hide his smile, he nuzzled his lips against her shoulder, his hand stroking down her side to the silken curve of her hip. The urge to make leisurely love to her all night was quickly deteriorating into the need to take her. Very soon. “So what else have you been reading?”
“Nothing.” Fascinated, she watched the moon shoot silver into his hair, and reached out to touch it. His hair naturally curved around her fingers and she imagined moonbeams in the touch of him, delighted at the whimsical thought. “You used to read that kind of thing in college, you know,” she pointed out absently.
“Dirty magazines? One or two. Until I met you, and realized all those women were lumpy.” Firm, callused fingers ran down her sides, then closed on her bottom, cupping the soft flesh, kneading it as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Now, what else?” he murmured. “Don’t tell me you stopped reading when you came to ears.”
She squirmed. He held her fast. “Zach, we’ve been married awhile,” Bett said uncomfortably. “I don’t want you to get bored. A lot of times I really don’t see how anyone without a master’s degree in acrobatics can do any of that stuff. I mean, who needs a perpetual charley horse?” Her eyes met his, suddenly serious. “But that’s not to say… Zach, I don’t want you ever, ever to think that if you want to try something…” Her breath caught in her throat again. “I just want to be sure you know that. That I will at least try. Anything you want…”
He’d stopped smiling. His blue eyes had turned dark, liquid, intense. “That goes two ways, little one. We will always try anything
you
want. But as for any fear of my being bored with you…”
Zach leaned over her, his lips first rubbing hers lightly, then homing in as he drew her close. She made a tiny sound at the luxurious pressure of his mouth, at the sweep of his hands up and down her bare flesh. Her response was instant, all-giving. That was Bett. They’d both freely experimented from time to time; intimacy was a complex thing. Play was part of that, but Bett’s sweetness and freedom in loving were what made their nights special. Bored? It wasn’t conceivable. He sought to show her that. His tongue savored the honeyed darkness of her mouth, the hollow of her cheek, the smooth, pearly feel of her teeth.
His palm curled around her breast, his thumb brushing back and forth across her nipple. So taut, so tender, that sensitive flesh. He knew Bett. He knew exactly what ignited her primitive side. The small, perfect breast that barely filled his palm changed with a certain touch, swelled and hardened; he could feel the ache inside her begin to build. Her breasts were unbelievably sensitive. So were her inner thighs, her bottom. A caress around her navel could annoy her, throw her off a building rhythm. Bett was easily distracted; even just an odd sound in the night, and she had to be wooed back into the mood. She could be quite distressed with herself when that happened.
He had no intention of letting anything distract or distress her tonight.
She’d been upset by the call from her mother, he knew that. More than Bett would ever know, Zach resented the thought of a third person coming to live with them. If he’d invited the problem, it was for Bett’s sake; he knew they had the strength in their marriage to live through this. Still, he was used to having Bett all to himself. He wanted, needed and counted on having Bett to himself. Like now. Bett was here. A black night surrounded them; Bett was damned well on fire. So was he. When he leaned over her, she wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing that first thrust so deeply inside her that he swore he touched her soul. Or his.
Bett had been trying to convince herself for the past hour that the rain was only a drizzle. It wasn’t easy. Water was dripping from her matted lashes and dribbling down her neck, her hair was slicked to her scalp, and her T-shirt was wet even under the yellow slicker. It was eleven o’clock on the first morning of September, and nature couldn’t have chosen a nastier time to get touchy.
They had an order for field-run peaches that wouldn’t wait. Zach was at the market with their plums; rain meant nighttime spray duty, and their picking crew would have been delighted to walk out right now—except that no respectable Spanish-speaking gentleman would consider leaving the orchard as long as a woman was still willing to work her heart out in the pouring rain.
Bett brushed a wet hand through her sopping hair and crouched down again on the flatbed truck. Three field crates to go, and the order would be completed. Lupe’s eyes were shooting daggers at her. An hour before, Zach had told her to go home and dry off, that Lupe would handle the picking crew. But Bett hadn’t left, and Lupe clearly didn’t know quite what to do. Zach’s orders were usually more than reasonable; Zach’s wife wasn’t.
Bett acknowledged that she had a tiny stubborn streak, but quality control was the issue. “Field run” meant their buyer was prepared to take their fruit direct from the orchard. They received less money for their peaches that way, but they also didn’t have to go through the expense of sorting and packing and packaging. Which was fine, only Bett didn’t like anything leaving the farm with the Monroe label on it that was less than perfect if she could help it. These peaches were close, all forty-seven crates of them behind her.
The last three crates were finally heaved up to the truck bed, and Bett glanced up from her sorting task. “We done,” Lupe told her, and stabbed a forefinger in her direction. “You go tell Senor Monroe you been home awhile.”
“Yes, Lupe.” She silently and fervently thanked God for male chauvinists. The crew would surely have abandoned their task if there hadn’t been the issue of the men outlasting a lone woman in the rain. She felt a wave of affection for the workers. They looked so darned rough…but she’d been offered four additional raincoats in the past hour, which rather said it all. As their trucks rumbled off down the back road in quick succession, Bett stood up to walk over to the last three crates of peaches. On the far hill, she spotted a sudden flash of pink.
The flash quickly resolved itself into a shocking-pink Lincoln, four years old, with a U-Haul behind it that sagged dangerously close to the ground. The farm road was constructed for slow-moving tractors; the Lincoln seemed to be approaching at the speed of sound. Its brakes were slammed on just inches from the back of her truck, about the same time Bett vaulted down from the truck bed, her tennis shoes squishing on the slippery wet earth.
A pink-and-mauve polka-dotted umbrella emerged from the car first, then a blouse in a vivid print of pink, orange and chartreuse. Pink culottes were next, and, finally, a brand-new pair of pink tennis shoes—Elizabeth’s concession to farm life. Bett took one look at her mother and swallowed hard, before extending outstretched arms.
“Mom! We weren’t expecting you for another two days.”
“Oh, darling, I just couldn’t wait. I started to think about how hard you two kids work and how much I could help you.
Brittany.
”
Elizabeth’s eyes glowed with tears. “I just felt better than I have in months, knowing you needed me. Without your father, I’ve just…” The glow threatened to become an instant deluge.
Swiftly and instinctively, Bett ducked under the umbrella and wrapped her arms around her mother. The scent of lavender surrounded her, as familiar as the oatmeal cookies she’d been fed as a child. Good food, good sleep, good love, Elizabeth used to say. A billion times? Bett found herself laughing as the rain pelted down on both of them.
Elizabeth pulled back first, surveying her daughter up and down. “Brittany, you are a total mess, and soaking wet.”
“And before
you
are, we’d better get you to the house. Everything will be fine, Mom, I promise you.”
“You’re so busy, you and Zach. I’m so terribly afraid I’m going to be in your way…”
“You’re
not
going to be in our way. We both want you here, very much. Now, just follow the truck in.”
Bett kept an eye on her mother in the rearview mirror as they drove toward the farmyard. At fifty-four, Elizabeth still had a relatively unlined face, brown hair worn in a short mass of curls and a trim figure a little on the buxom side. Her smooth skin and doelike brown eyes reflected the life she had lived, that of a sheltered homemaker who wanted nothing more from life than to be a sheltered homemaker.
The circles under Elizabeth’s eyes made Bett ache for her mother. Elizabeth hadn’t known how to even begin coping when Chet died. After more than a year, she still didn’t. If the constant tears had finally eased a little, Elizabeth was still at sea over balancing checkbooks and caring for the yard, taxes, what to do with her time. The smallest decisions still overwhelmed her, not because she lacked ability or intelligence, but simply because she really didn’t want to change her lifestyle.
Nurturing was her specialty. Babies knew it; babies were capable of spotting Elizabeth in a crowded room and holding out their arms to be picked up. Bett couldn’t remember a time when her mother had ever raised her voice.
Bett had raised her own voice quite often in adolescence. She remembered that period of her life with utter misery. Elizabeth had so badly wanted a daughter created in exactly her own image. She had traditional values concerning home and hearth and women’s roles, all of which she’d tried desperately to ingrain in her daughter. It hadn’t worked. The failures began with her name. Early on her father had nicknamed her “Bett,” thank goodness. “Elizabeth” was intended to evoke the genteel grandeur of the Old World and a buxom lass with rosy cheeks who needlepointed and raised babies as her mother had. She hadn’t developed into anything remotely resembling “buxom,” didn’t sew and had yet to produce offspring. Her list of failures to fit the mold was ongoing. None of these “faults” was really so terrible; it was just that mothers and daughters were supposed to be close. Elizabeth and Bett weren’t, though they both tried very hard. Bett believed herself at fault, yet with all her efforts had never been able to bridge the distance between them.
At the moment, though, old memories weren’t in her mind. Protective feelings swamped her as she glanced once more in the rearview mirror before braking the truck in the farmyard. This time, Bett was determined she would come through for her mother. There would be no hurt feelings, no arguments, no impatience. Her mom needed help, and Bett had every intention of being there for her.
Still, her eyes settled uneasily on the U-Haul behind the Lincoln. How literally had Elizabeth taken Zach’s invitation to “stay as long as you like”?
***
The moment Bett opened the back door of her mother’s car, Sniper leaped into the car in a flurry of Persian fur, discovering her mother’s canary cage instantly as if he’d sensed the birds from half a mile away. “Behave yourself for once,” Bett hissed. The cat sprang to the top of the felt-covered cage, purring. Bett batted the animal down, and tried to work the cage out over a lopsided suitcase.
“Brittany?”
“Coming!”
The canaries twittered; Sniper snaked out a paw and playfully clawed Bett’s wrist, then tried to leap on top of the cage again as Bett finally maneuvered it out of the car.
Elizabeth was waiting at the door to remove the wrap and coo at the two yellow birds. “I should have asked you if I could bring them. If you mind, darling—”
“Of course not.” Bett pushed her damp hair back from her forehead. “Tell me what you need to bring in immediately, Mom; the rest we’ll get after the rain stops.”
“I really think you should get out of those wet clothes first.”
Bett shook her head, smiling. “It’s warm-wet, not cold-wet. Really, it’s okay.”
“Well, as far as just the essentials go…”
The seven plants had to come in—they could catch cold in the rain. The base for the canary cage. Four suitcases. Elizabeth never traveled without her own reading lamp and pillow, nor the box of china that had been a wedding gift when she’d married Chet. Four shoeboxes full of coupons; Elizabeth planned to go shopping. Three afghans; it was no fun at all to work on just one at a time. Her rocker with the yellow velvet cushion. She always sat in that rocker before dinner. “You’re irritated with me, aren’t you, Brittany?” Elizabeth said hesitantly.
Panting and dripping, Bett dropped the next load of boxes on the floor. The couches were filled. “Of course not, Mom.”
“Well, if you wouldn’t mind just bringing in the presents, then. Brittany, you’re already so very wet, but I could hardly come without presents, now could I? It’s not every son-in-law who would be willing to put up with his wife’s mother for any period of time. I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate it; you know I love Zach.”
Bett soon discovered that Elizabeth loved Zach worth a purple tie, three issues of
Penthouse,
a bottle of Johnny Walker, one package of fresh-frozen crab from Alaska, a tie clasp adorned with brass golf balls and four dress shirts in various pastels. “You think he won’t wear the powder-pink?” Elizabeth fretted.
“He’ll love it,” Bett lied without a qualm. Zach would wear a pink shirt when mainland China became a democracy—sort of a better-not-hold-your-breath kind of proposition. But Elizabeth was so pathetically eager to please… “Anything else we need this minute?”
“Just a few things,” Elizabeth beamed delightedly as Bett brought in the last stack of boxes. “You can open them all later, Brittany, but just peek at that first one.”
Bett dutifully opened the first box. A bright green blouse with zigzaggy stripes and ruffles. She stared blankly.
“I thought it would make you look a little bustier, darling, no offense—you do like it?”
“It’s lovely.” Bett tried to sound enthusiastic.
“You don’t like it.” Elizabeth sounded hurt.
“Honestly, Mom, I love it.” Bett swept back her hair again, swallowing a sigh. She tugged off the sopping yellow slicker. “Let’s get you a cup of tea, now, shall we?” Quickly, she whisked the cat away from the birds again, nervously aware that her mother’s critical eye was sweeping over the house. “Mom, since we weren’t expecting you for another couple of days—”
“You think I’ve never seen a little dirt in my life?” Elizabeth naturally migrated toward the kitchen, Bett following. “This way I have something to do right off the bat. If I’d come later you’d have had the house spotless, now wouldn’t you have?”
“Um, yes.” If one didn’t look in corners—which Elizabeth always did. “Mom, since you
are
early, I wasn’t really sure which room you’d rather stay in. I know you usually stay in the spare room for a weekend, but for a longer stay I think you’d really be more comfortable on the main floor. Zach’s study has a couch that opens into a really comfortable bed; there’s a good closet, and it would be quieter for you…” And more private for everyone, though Bett would never have said it.
“Brittany. I wouldn’t take Zach’s study in a thousand years.” Elizabeth bent down to reach under the sink. “You just go get out of those wet clothes, honey. I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me for a minute!”
“
Mom.
What are you
doing?
”
Elizabeth chuckled as she pulled out wastebasket, scouring powder, cleanser and spare grocery bags from under the sink. “I might as well start by giving this floor a little lick and a promise. Won’t take me a minute. Where’s your toothbrush for the corners? I could have sworn I gave you a dozen last year.”
Bett mentally counted to ten, skipping half the numbers. Not that she was in any way getting upset. She was going to start out by getting Elizabeth happily settled in and relaxed if it killed her. “Look, you just got here,” Bett said cheerfully. “Couldn’t we sit down for a minute? You’ve had such a long ride—”
“Brittany, I am
happy.
Although…” Elizabeth’s lips pursed as she surveyed the kitchen. “I don’t know that I can move the refrigerator alone. You know, your father always fitted our appliances with casters. I used to have terrible dreams about germs that multiplied—”
“Mom.”
“—under stoves and refrigerators. Nightmares. These invading armies of germs marching, marching, marching, threatening an entire family of little children…” She poured steaming tap water into a pail, then paused to frown at her daughter’s choice of cleanser. “…
babies.
They could have
died
from those germs. I poured bleach on them in the dream. Gallons of it.” She smiled blissfully at Bett. “I
love
a dirty floor. Yours is filthy, Brittany. I’m going to have such a good time here. Thank goodness Zach is different from your father, though; Chet would have had a
fit
if I kept a floor like this. Have you given up those wretched bees yet, sweetheart?”
“No,” Bett said helplessly. Her mother had been here all of fifteen minutes and already she felt undermined. Guilty for the state of the house, for her inadequate figure, for her kitchen floor. And in disgrace because of the bees.
“And we’ll have it all done before Zach comes in to dinner. He’ll be pleased. Brittany, it is
not
necessary for you to help. Honestly, I am perfectly happy—”
“I know you are, Mom.” Only Bett couldn’t very well stand there and stare down at her mother, who was on her hands and knees. If Elizabeth wouldn’t get up, Bett was obviously going down. On hands and knees, the two women faced each other, both smiling. Elizabeth’s smile was delighted. “You know, we’re going to have such a good time together!”