Pamela Morsi (22 page)

“Honestly, I think the person who’s said the most to me about you would be Suzy.”

She seemed momentarily stunned, before bursting into laughter. “Of course it would be Suzy,” she said. “I should have realized that. Duh. You guys work together and she can’t shut up if her life depended on it.”

“She’s never said anything bad about you,” D.J. assured her.

“No, of course not. I guess I was wondering...well, I was wondering about the guys.”

“The guys?”

“Yeah, I mean, well, the last couple of days I’ve been thinking that maybe Amos is interested in me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, at first I thought, it’s crazy, right? I guess we’ve all grown so used to the idea that Amos...that Amos can’t feel like that anymore. That he doesn’t get interested, but maybe he does.”

“What about you?” D.J. asked. “Are you
interested
in him?”

Jeannie shot her a funny face with tongue out and eyes crossed. “Who knows?” she answered. “I’m so horny these days that anything in pants looks good to me. But I have to think about my kids first.”

“Amos seems to like kids,” D.J. pointed out.

“He does,” Jeannie said. “Anyway, I need to take it slow. Although I’d love to jump his bones.”

D.J. feigned a sigh. “It’s too bad you can’t do both.”

“I would if I didn’t have kids,” Jeannie told her. “I was such a goody-two-shoes in high school. The only girl in class having less sex than me was Stevie Rossiter and even that’s questionable now, ’cause nobody really knows when she and Vern became a couple.”

“Well, don’t look to me for advice,” D.J. said. “I was the last virgin among all my friends.”

Jeannie smiled at her. “I bet you waited for somebody special.”

D.J. felt herself blushing. “No, I waited to make a fool of myself.”

Jeannie laughed. “Love does make fools of us all.”

D.J. would have corrected her assumption. It had not been love. She would have disabused her of that notion completely. But they’d arrived at the area where the semi was waiting. Jeannie had work to do. And that necessitated that D.J. keep her recollections and rationalizations to herself.

636.6 Animal Husbandry

V
iv made her way home from the Porters’ when she couldn’t bear to stay a moment longer. Cora had held up well all through the funeral. But afterward, she had come apart. She was so very lonely. And so very angry.

Viv understood that. If anyone could sympathize with the hollow unfairness of having to continue on without the most important person in your life beside you, she could. But it annoyed her more than she was willing to admit that Cora completely refused to see Dutch’s side of it. Certainly it was a bad choice on his part to end it so dramatically. Gunshot wounds were so messy. And there was almost no room for doubt that it was a deliberate act. Viv did fault him for that. But his motives were altruistic.

That thought stopped her. She recognized it as a lie. There was an altruistic component to it, of course. He hadn’t wanted to burden his wife, physically and emotionally. He hadn’t wanted his children to watch him slowly fade away. He hadn’t wanted the costs of caring for him to soak up all the nest egg that he’d put by.

Those things were undoubtedly true. But Viv was honest enough with herself to recognize that wasn’t all of it. A once vital, healthy man did not want to spend the last years of his life in and out of the hospital like a revolving door. He was exhausted with taking medication and sick of spending his days watching television. He saw absolutely nothing good on his horizon. For all the years he’d lived, he’d made his own way, followed his own path. Been responsible for himself. His life had gone out of his control. And this final act had given him that control back.

She unlocked the back door and went inside her home. It was dark and empty. She had not expected otherwise. With any luck at all, Scott would be out making a move on his lovely librarian.

If only those two would get on with it!

But even as she could see her plan coming to fruition, she felt alone. Only she could see the whole picture. Only she understood how well it was all working out.

That’s why people write suicide notes,
she thought to herself. It wasn’t merely an explanation to those left behind. There was a need to share the process, vent the successes and setbacks. This was one of the biggest decisions she’d ever faced and the only one that did not allow for talking it out with friends or family.

Suddenly, she did not want to be in this empty house by herself. She picked up her purse, but there was no place to go. The whole town was in on the harvest. She couldn’t so much as scare up a bingo game.

She set her purse back down and dragged her keys out. Poor Mr. Dewey was probably bored to death in his prison cage. She went outside, climbed the stairs to the apartment and let herself inside. The dog was enthusiastic about getting let out of the crate and eagerly followed Viv back down to her own home.

“The truth is, Mr. Dewey,” she told him. “You’re about the only friend I have on this deal. And the only reason I can talk to you about it is that I know you won’t be spreading the story around.”

She went to the storage beneath the old stairs and dug out a couple of puppy treats for her friend.

“It’s not like I came up with this all on my own,” she told the dog. “I guess I was starting to think that my life was over. And I really find the whole ‘new life’ thing just exhausting. But I couldn’t leave Scott. Leanne has her career and her husband, but Scott...well, he only has his disappointments.”

Mr. Dewey quickly gobbled down the pieces of fake steak that she’d given him and trotted after her as she headed for the living room.

Viv seated herself on the couch. Mr. Dewey jumped up to take a seat beside her. Typically, he would have relaxed into a nice cozy ball that encouraged her to pet him. Tonight, however, he sat up, looking at her expectantly as if he knew that her need to talk was greater than his need for a rubdown.

“So I would have never considered it,” she explained. “Before I had the dream.”

Viv eased back into the cushions of the couch, reveling in her memory.

“You know, I’ve never been one of those people who believe in visits from the afterlife,” she said. “I’m a pragmatic Presbyterian. If you’re alive you’re here. If you’re dead, you’re not. And that’s the end of it. No ghosts, no séances, no messages from the other side.”

Mr. Dewey’s silence was tacit agreement.

“But then about five months ago, I had this dream. I was walking through the grocery store and who did I run into? John.” Viv laughed delightedly at her own remembrance. “I almost didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t John, sick John, dying John. It was my John when we were young. He still had all his hair and it was as ginger as it had been in high school. He was standing so tall and he looked so healthy.” Viv sighed heavily. “I was so glad to see him and I talked to him and he talked to me. But, damn it, I can’t remember anything that we said.” She shook her head in disgust. “Except that he told me that Scott needed the new librarian and that I would know her when I saw her.”

Viv reached out to Mr. Dewey, scratching him behind the ears. “That’s where you come in,” she said. “I looked through a hundred resumes on the Library Association website but the minute I saw D.J., I just knew.”

The dog shook his head in reaction to the scratching but then immediately came back for more.

“Not that I relied on intuition completely,” Viv continued. “After that disaster with Scott’s marriage, I hardly trust my own judgment. So I hired a private detective.”

She took Mr. Dewey’s face in both her hands and bent forward to go nose to nose with him to speak in baby-talk fashion.

“Yes, I set a gumshoe on your mama’s trail. Yes, I did. I really did.”

Viv set back and spoke more conversationally. “I felt like I had to. She might have been involved with someone else or whatever. Anyway, she got a clean bill of health. Even better, she has the kind of lonely past that a man like Scott could do a lot to heal. I’m truly happy for both of them.”

Mr. Dewey had settled into her lap, but continued to look at her with eyes that were almost sad.

“I’m happy for them,” she repeated. “And I wish they would get on with it, so I could be happy for myself. I want to be young and strong and in the arms of John again.”

642.2 Meals and Table Service

O
nce Jeannie had off-loaded her bank-out wagon, she and D.J. climbed out of the tractor and she offered her vehicle to another driver.

“I’m going to eat a quick bite, if you can catch a load for me.”

Together the two women walked over to the van. There were several people standing around eating, but the two that captured D.J.’s attention were leaning against the front fender. One was rough and stocky. The other was long and lean and heart-stopping handsome, but they were both smiling.

D.J. felt a pang of regret so strong it was corporeal. If only she had met him first in this place. If only she had met him now. If only his past was a mystery to be forgotten. If only her own were free of the cynicism and disappointment that she couldn’t shake.

Amos held up a sack he’d stowed on the bumper. “I saved one for you, Jeannie,” he said. “This crew descends on anything edible like a swarm of locusts. And you’re looking so slim these days, I worry that you might pass out from hunger.”

D.J. was pretty sure that the curvy blonde would not, on her best day, think of herself as “slim,” but she accepted his statement as if it were a kind of awkward compliment.

“Uh, thanks,” she said.

She took the bag from him, blushing. The bright color in her cheeks was a match to that on Amos’s neck. It was obvious that the two were nervously, tentatively trying out the idea of a twosome.

D.J. was hopeful for them. Deliberately, she moved to stand on the far side of Scott, giving the couple as much space as the area allowed.

Scott telegraphed his agreement on the couple before giving D.J. a feigned little frown.

“Sorry,” he said. “I know you went for a ride around the field, but the actual food is for the working people.”

“Okay,” she answered. “I’m good.”

“Oh, well if you’ve been
very good
...”

From behind his back he pulled out a greasy bundle wrapped in white paper. “I did manage to get hold of one burger,” he said. “But we’ll have to share.”

Jeannie was already diving into hers. “Mmm, this...good,” she related with her mouth full. “Don’t pass it up.”

Scott unwrapped the sandwich and held it up to her. “Do you trust me to divide it up, or do you want the honors?”

Some evil sprite must have taken over her brain, either that or the crazy persona last seen on a beach in Texas.

D.J. leaned forward and took a giant greasy bite. Hot meat, sour pickles, the crunch of lettuce and tomato, the tang of mustard. She took it all in and licked her lips.

Scott’s eyes were wide.

“Mmm, Jeannie’s right. It is good.”

D.J. expected him to take a bite out of his side. To her surprise he turned the burger and put his mouth exactly on the spot where hers had been. She almost choked. His eyes never left hers as he sank his teeth into it.

Her stomach was now completely full of butterflies. No room at all for even the slightest nibble. But when he held the burger toward her again, she knew it was a challenge. If she demurred, that was the end of it.

Reasonably, she should want that to be the end of it. Her tummy continued to flutter. Her heart was pounding. And the memory of what this man could do with his lips caused her skin to tingle.

Be Dorothy the librarian
, her sensible mind warned her.
Plain, boring Dorothy will be completely safe from him.

But plain Dorothy faded into obscurity as the wanton creature from the beach began a series of tiny, toothy nibbles upon the place where his mouth had been. She closed her eyes as her only attempt to hide. When she opened them, he was looking straight at her and there was no mistaking what was in his own. The burger disappeared from between them, but his gaze never wavered. He was looking at her as if he’d kissed her already. She trembled. She knew she should look away. But she could not.

“So, D.J., how was your tractor ride?”

The question came from Amos and was startling, as she’d completely forgotten that they were not alone. She physically and emotionally took a step back.

“Oh, it was great. Jeannie was great. And it was so exciting to be out there next to that giant combine. Wow.”

Amos nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he agreed. “From the time we’re little boys, guys are always crazy for giant vehicles. But it’s surprising how many women love the whole big machine thing.”

As soon as the words were out, Amos obviously recognized the unwitting double entendre. He opened his mouth to try to pull the comment back, but was struck speechless.

A full half minute of embarrassed silence dropped down on the group like a heavy blanket. Amos looked like a deer in the headlights. D.J. couldn’t even sneak a glance at Scott.

Suddenly Jeannie broke the spell with a big guffaw. “That’s the truth, Amos. Us gals are always game for a big machine. Right, D.J.?”

She could feel the flame in her cheeks, but she pushed through it.

“Right,” she said. “You know how we women think, size matters.”

Everybody ended up laughing. D.J. counted it a plus that Jeannie had been so quick to jump in for Amos. He needed somebody to be in his corner. And a woman who could do that in little things, might be handy to have around in more rugged occasions.

The foursome continued to chat and eat for several minutes. Scott mentioned D.J.’s plans for rearranging the library and responding to their interest, relayed far more about the project than probably anybody but her would ever want to know.

“It makes me kind of eager to get back,” Amos said.

“Anything that would make the place seem less like a dungeon has to be an improvement,” Jeannie agreed. “It’s so bleak inside, tearing it down would have been my first option.”

“Oh, but I love that building,” D.J. said. “It has the potential to be very special. You’ll see. It’s going to be wonderful.”

“Well, if you’re excited, we’re excited,” Amos said.

D.J. watched the blush blossom in Jeannie’s cheeks again. She clearly liked being fifty percent of Amos’s “we.”

When the semi Amos was driving was ready to be loaded, he reluctantly begged off. Jeannie’s tractor returned, as well. And then it was D.J. and Scott, standing alone, together.

He exchanged pleasantries with other people that passed and introduced D.J. to a few folks, including Jeannie’s dad. But when the food was all gone and the work proceeding at its typical breakneck pace, it was time to go.

They gathered up the trash and stowed it in the back of the van before climbing in their seats.

“Thanks for bringing me out here,” D.J. told him. “It’s pretty cool.”

He smiled that wonderful, hot guy smile at her. “If you’re planning to be a part of this community,” he said, “this has to be the place that you start. Wheat is the heart of who we are. At least for now.”

“For now?”

Scott nodded. “Even out on the prairies, the world changes,” he said. “We’ve got more natural gas drilling every day. And even the driest of dryland cultivation requires water. With the droughts of the last few years and the prospect of climate change, lots of farmers have been looking at their hold card. Half of this topsoil blew away in the dustbowl. We know what the weather can do. There are no guarantees.”

D.J. thought about that as she surveyed the landscape outside the vehicle.

“It’s hard to imagine the countryside without the wheat.”

Scott agreed. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that much of it had never seen a plow until a hundred and fifty years ago. Things change. We have to, too. We can’t cling to the past, even if we wanted to.”

That was true. But it was hard.

“I guess it’s like the stacks in the library,” she said. “I’m sure that rearranging is going to be the best thing that’s ever happened to the place, but the mere upheaval of it is so upsetting to James.”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “I sometimes think of James as like the magnified version of the rest of us. We fault him for freaking about relocating shelves. But when the normal routines of our own lives get disrupted, we feel totally justified in flipping out.”

D.J. lowered her chin to frown at him. “I can’t imagine you flipping out. You seem so cool. So in control of everything.”

He laughed. “Me?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “You’re like George Clooney walking around Vegas getting ready to rob the casino.”

His jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding, right?”

“You have that confidence,” she answered. “Like you’ve got everything under control.”

“I’m in control of nothing,” he said. “You’re the one with the professional demeanor. You’ve got everything marked and cataloged. No errors allowed.”

“I wish!”

“Do you?” he asked. “My dad used to tell me that my mistakes were more important than my successes. The longer things go right, the less you learn. It’s the screw-ups that teach and mold character.”

“He sounds like he might be right.”

“I think he was,” Scott said and then added with a grin. “And he lived long enough to get to watch me screw up a number of times.”

D.J. found herself laughing with him. She wondered how she could feel so relaxed. He was
the
hot guy and he was sitting mere inches away from her.

The afternoon sun was pouring in through the passenger window, so she was forced to turn her head in his direction. She watched his facial expressions as he talked to her. Noted the self-assured movement of his body as he drove.

Those perfect teeth between generous lips. Masculine shoulders. Lean, muscled arms. She sneaked a glance at his jean-covered thighs.

Don’t look at his crotch!
she warned herself.

She didn’t need to look, she remembered it all too well.

Her insides were beset with butterflies. And little flashes of unexpected recall of that night long ago when he put his hands there or he put his lips where.

D.J. sat up straighter and hung an elbow out the passenger window. It was a comfortable position that offered the extra advantage of pouring cool outside air onto her flushed face.

She thought about their shared snack and imagined that the taste of it had been, in part, the taste of him. D.J. tried to keep her eyes forward as she was swamped with unwelcome sexual longing.

You’re boring Dorothy. Be boring Dorothy
, she admonished herself for the second time that day. But even boring Dorothy couldn’t quite forget the things they had done and how it had felt.

She sneaked one more quick, guilty glance at him. This time their eyes met. And for an instant, there was something...something totally familiar that she would have sworn she’d never seen.

Suddenly he slammed down on the brake and the van skidded slightly in the ruts of the dirt road. The momentum thrust D.J. forward and then back into her seat. Scott unhooked his seat belt and leaned toward her.

“I have to do this,” he said, one instant before his lips came down upon her own.

His mouth was firm but tender and the kiss fit to her perfectly, exactly as she remembered. How did he do that? That slight, slight tug that seemed to pull away all her inhibitions. She moaned against him. And that response allowed him to deepen the kiss. The sensuousness spread like hot molasses down her throat, across her breasts, along her ribs and between her thighs. It was the desire of the love-starved. Eight long years she had needed this touch, this man. He was here in her arms now. She wanted him. She wanted all of him and she wanted it desperately. She didn’t remember wrapping her arms around his neck, but became vaguely aware of her fingers buried in his hair. The texture and feel so familiar, yet so long withheld from her.

I need you! I want you!
her brain was screaming at him. But she was not about to deter her tongue from its current pursuit to something as mundane as speech. She ran her hand up his jean-clad thigh to ask the question she didn’t put into words. She found her answer, thick and hard and undisguisable even in thick denim.

She tried to press forward, to move against him.

She was restrained by her seat belt. The van must know, even if she didn’t, that she was headed into a possible destruction.

Their lips parted.

“Wow,” he whispered against her cheek. “That was good.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

“That didn’t feel like a first kiss.”

Danger alerts finally sounded in D.J.’s brain.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I feel like I’ve kissed you a million times and it was always like that.”

The click as he released her seat belt drowned out the noise of warning in her head. He pulled her into his arms and onto his lap. D.J. made no effort to resist. In truth, she allowed herself to revel in the taste of him, the feel of his skin, the trail of his hands upon her. From deep in his throat sounds of pleasure roiled up and boiled over. It heightened her urgency, but he was not in any rush. He took his time, as if kissing was not a signpost on the path to pleasure, but a pleasure all of its own.

He was just so good at it. And when she held her mouth against his, she was good at it, too.

His lips left hers and began a journey along her jawline to her ear and then down the length of her throat. At first he gave her only hot little pecks, but then he began to offer tiny nips of her skin that sizzled through her. That long-ago night of passion suddenly seemed like yesterday and the vivid memories of what he could do with his tongue and his teeth. She wanted his mouth on her ankles. She wanted his mouth on her spine. She wanted his mouth on her breasts. She wanted his mouth between her thighs.

She moaned aloud with the desire of it and tugged up her T-shirt to try to get his attention. She would have torn off her bra, but he didn’t give her time. He slid a hand between her legs from the back and raised her up. Allowing him both a close encounter with some steaming denim and her nipples at lip level. He bit her through her bra. Her cry had nothing to do with pain. She was desperate, desperate to have him. He seemed determined to take his time. She both loved it and could hardly bear it.

“I want you. I want you,” she pleaded.

She didn’t know if he heard. At that moment the loud trumpet of a semitruck’s air horn blared at them.