T's Trial: A Bone Cold--Alive Novel (23 page)

They moved to each other. His hands encircled her waist, hers slid up his arms to find his broad shoulders, his strong neck. She arched to him and he gave in to the impulse he’d fought two nights before. His hands cupped her hips and brought her to rest fully against him. She stayed there even when his hands moved once more to her waist and toyed with the bottom of the tee shirt tied there. He felt her skin, soft, smooth. The smell of her was about to take him over the top. If his ardor could have doubled, it would have. “Sam,” she was breathless as their lips parted slightly.

His hands jumped away from her waist to her upper arms. “I’m sorry, Lyla, I got carried away. I don’t mean to go too fast.” Never before had he apologized for his behavior with a woman.

“Shhh.” She placed her fingers against his lips to quiet whatever words were on the verge of spilling. “I haven’t jumped back yet.” He smiled at her words. “But this is hardly the place.”

“I know that.” Somewhere deep in his conscience, buried deeply with that latent sense of right and wrong, surely he knew that. The place had never seemed to matter much before now, it was always the feelings that counted, the rush to feel good or powerful or complete. But the place did matter now. Just as the woman did. “I guess it’s time I left.”

“Yes.” Neither of them moved.

“See you tomorrow then.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe you should move to the door first and then I’d have to follow.”

“Sam, Sam.” She took his arm and turned him in the direction of the door. “March!” She gave him a slight shove. Reluctantly, he pushed on the firebreak handle, then stole one last look at her before he was out the door and into the night air.

Chapter Eighteen

“W
hy can’t I tell Grandpa what we’re going to do?” Harrison was petulant as they bounced the Jeep over the gravel drive into the marina.

“’Cause Grandma will tell him.”

“How do you know?”

“They don’t keep secrets.”

“Yes, they do. Grandpa lost a bet on the Super Bowl last year to Norm and he said for me to be sure and not tell Grandma how much it was. And when he bought the truck, he had extra stuff and that cost so much, he said for me—”

“Harrison, enough already. Trust me on this one. Grandma will tell when she wants him to know. She’ll consider it his just due for not coming to church and finding out about it from Bertie and you.” She wheeled the Jeep into a parking spot. Shep bounced out of the back and waited impatiently while they unloaded the duffel bags and ice chest full of drinks and snacks. They each grabbed a handle and balanced a bag as they proceeded down the walkway to the slip.

“What about Tib? There’s the patrol boat. I could tell him.”

“No. He’s too busy with Grandpa because the boat stranded him in Oklahoma last night. Remember Grandma said he woke them up at five this morning.”

“They’ll find out,” he accused.

“I certainly hope so.” She watched Shep pull up short at the Osprey, leap to land on deck near Fletch.

“Hi, boy!” Fletch petted the dog, then took the duffels from them as they came aboard.

“Where’s Sam?”

“I think he’s cleaning the head again, Harrison. Knock before you enter, though.”

The boy ran into the main cabin and then up the stairs. Fletch took the ice chest from her. “You didn’t have to bring food. We spent the morning cooking.”

“Oh, it’s just snacks. Hardly anything homemade. One of the advantages of owning your own convenience store. Convenience.”

He laughed. “How true.” He set the chest down. “Bertie declined to join us.”

“I heard all about it in church.” Her eyes lit on the Sunday paper spread helter-skelter on the small table. “Seen the morning paper, have you?”

“About an hour ago.” He rocked back on his heels, closed his eyes, quoted. “‘Who was that well-dressed man with the show-stopper date at The Manorborne Thursday night? Rumor has it they stopped off first for a bit of couture for him and perfume for her. Could these be our lovers from the museum on Tuesday? Better keep your eyes open, Dallas. No telling where they’ll turn up next. What’s the reward for revealing this improper stranger’s proper name?’” He opened his eyes. “I’m sorry if we’ve been the cause of grief for you.”

“It’s the end of summer. Season’s winding down. Got to have someone to talk about.”

“Bet it’s never been you before.”

“Bet on something else, Fletch. They’ve talked about me before.”

“You want us to leave?”

“Lord, no. Most fun I’ve had in years. I told Sam that last night.” They stood awkwardly together. “Fletch, he told me about his drug problem.”

Fletch raised an eyebrow. Dare he ask how much was told? “Oh?”

“I don’t blame you for not coming right out with it. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

Fletch considered this, noted her nervousness, her awareness of every sound, trying to pick up Sam’s whereabouts. Were her hormones speaking or her values? “That’s generous, Lyla.”

“That’s the way I feel, Fletch.”

She turned and looked at the marina. “When I was a little girl, Bertie would take me out on this boat when she and her sister weren’t traveling around the world. I think they considered it their Christian duty to get me away from my grandfather. Didn’t think Mother and Grandmother were enough and they probably weren’t.” She paused. “If she hadn’t been out on the lake the day the marina was torn up by a tornado, this old houseboat would have sunk then. When the marina was rebuilt, she pulled in to this slip, turned the key and hasn’t had it back out, although she’ll come putter around on it for a day or two sometimes. Said she couldn’t sell for sentimental reasons.”

A tornado on the lake, the one that destroyed her young marriage, took two of the three people she held dearest, yet spoken about so dispassionately. Fletch mentally shook his head, studied Lyla’s back. She was hugging herself as if cold. Where was Sam—huh, T? Another week of this and he’d be brainwashed as well. He had convinced himself to look forward to a personal viewing of their interaction. He wanted assurance that what Bertie saw, that what T espoused to feel, wasn’t just post-rehab symptoms of doing without what he had done with for so long.

T appeared behind them. “Ready to go?” He started emptying his pockets, wallet, comb, pack of breath mints. He opened the first drawer he came to and dumped it all in.

“That must be the cleanest head on the water,” Fletch whispered under his breath to him.

“Can’t be embarrassing a lady with poor housekeeping, Fletch.” T was talking to him but looking at Lyla. She had turned around at the sound of his voice and what Fletch saw convinced him. Her eyes lit up, but were only a reflection of T’s. Oh, damn, Fletch thought, I’ve got a real problem now.

*  *  *

“Having a good time?” Six months ago this would have been T’s idea of hell. A public beach, no booze, no drugs, a precocious kid, a sandy dog, and a woman he couldn’t touch. And Fletcher—Fletcher of all people acting like this was his family and they were just out for a Sunday afternoon spin! T rubbed his chin on his arms that laced the top of his knees. He couldn’t look at her enough, couldn’t imagine how sweet it would be to take her to himself right now, gently, lovingly, make love. He was going to have to get in the lake to cool down.

“Wonderful time,” she answered back. She nestled her body into the towel. T had to look away or risk making a fool of himself as she wriggled. “I feel like a schoolgirl playing hooky. You know how long it’s been since I spent an entire Sunday afternoon away from the Quik-Lee?” He shook his head as she looked over at him. “Seven years.”

“Lord, Lyla, don’t you ever go anywhere?”

“Not much. Certainly not on the weekends during the summer.”

“Have trouble finding help for today?”

“At time and a half?” She chuckled. “Help like that’s just a phone call away.”

“The store’s your life?”

“And Harrison.”

“And your music?”

“Not like it used to be.”

The why on his lips was silenced as the Frisbee skittered between them, Shep right behind it. “Shep, no!” was all Lyla was able to get out before the excited dog was on top of her. His wet, sandy coat covered her as he reached for the disk, grabbed it in his mouth and romped away. “Yuck!” She sat up. “Harrison, did you throw that?”

“The wind caught it, Mom. I’m sorry!” he shouted back.

“Oh, look at this mess!” The towel bunched up where Shep’s feet slid into it and her swimsuit was covered with paw prints.

“Now is that anything the water can’t wash off?” T found himself in the unlikely role of camp counselor.

“Well, no.” She brushed at herself. “I guess it is kind of silly to get so upset.” He pulled at her towel to straighten it out. “I’ll go rinse off.” She stood and looked down at him. “Care to join me?”

A smile spread slowly across his features. “Race you.” He tossed his sunglasses, bounded up and was ten feet into the water before she hit its edge.

“Come on, get deeper. You’ll never get clean at that depth.” He backed further into the water, splashing it toward her. She followed the drops out, shielding her face from the spray he was making. Waist deep, she plunged under before he knew it.

The water was murky from the boat and skier traffic so he couldn’t readily follow her with his eyes. He figured out where she was when she grabbed him around the ankles and pulled. He went down immediately, came up sputtering to find her twenty feet further out. “That was a dirty trick!”

“You needed a bath. Shep got you, too!”

“You’re the one he really got!” He launched out in the best crawl stroke he could remember. She stroked away from him and paralleled the shore, but his length and strength quickly overtook her. He reached out and grabbed her arm, unbalanced her stroke. They broke stride and reached down with their feet, the soft sand oozing between their toes. She was shoulder deep in the water. From the corner of his eye, he could see Fletcher and Harrison now lolled out on the towels, Harrison’s back to them. It looked like they were well into the ice chest, not paying any attention to them. Shep still chased something in the water. This part of the beach was rockier, with trees growing to the water’s edge. There were no people.

“Clean now?” his breath was as ragged as hers.

“Better.” Her closeness in the water was causing it to get even warmer.

“Lyla.” He reached out with his hand under the water and touched her elbow, stroked her arm. Her movements were tentative as she stretched her arm to touch his bare belly.

He closed his eyes in response. Maybe he’d better swim back to the marina. Surely that was the only way to relieve all the sexual tension that just rolled itself up inside him. “You have any idea what you’re doing to me?” He opened his eyes, took a deep breath through his mouth.

“I’d say it was probably about even. Sam, I—I’ve never had quite the response to any one I’ve had to you.” She looked to him for assurance. “I don’t really understand it.” She withdrew her hand.

“I’m no guide to female emotions, Lyla.” He didn’t stop touching her arm, stroking his thumb against its soft inner side. “I’m having quite a response to you, too.” She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not all physical.”

She blushed slightly. “Oh, Sam, just what I never counted on at any time in my life—a summer—” she shrugged rather than give the relationship a name.

“Romance.” He supplied it. “It’s been a while for me, too.”

The water lapped about them as a ski boat approached, two people being pulled at the ends of knotted ropes. A child held a tube of string attached to a dragon kite that floated high above the boat, its momentum gained from the wind and the swiftness of the inboard motors. The waves increased and Lyla stumbled trying to maintain her balance. T caught her as she fell back into his arms. She turned swiftly, her back to him as they watched the disappearing skiers and kite. Their bodies touched, rocked.

“You ever fly a kite, Sam?” It was a whisper.

“Yeah. When I was a kid.”

“You know how much force one can have?” He nodded his chin against the side of her head and became fearful of what might be coming. “Did you know I had a daughter, Sam? Did Bertie tell you?” Again, a nod. “I thought she had. Hannah.” Her voice choked. He held her even tighter. “And when she was very little, Wes and I would take her kite flying. Never went off the back of a boat like that, although it seems like a good enough idea. Anyway, she got so she wouldn’t hold the string. She’d cry and scream and throw an awful fit. It must have taken us the better part of a season to find out why. She was afraid that if she held the kite string, it would pull her up to Heaven.” T closed his eyes, fought a shudder. “And I’ve so often thought of the truth of that, that we go to Heaven on something as tenuous as a kite string.” Her voice trailed off.

T opened his eyes, held his breath, then eased out the question. “How about Hell, Lyla? How do we get there?”

“Elevator. Express.”

Damn, but that hit home. He mentally reeled at the implications for himself. He’d been in that elevator. The one-way express to Hell. Then a kite string had been dangled down to him and he’d needed courage to grasp it, let it pull him to Heaven. He only hoped Lyla was holding the other end.

He felt her fingers work at his to disengage them from her waist. He quickly released her. “I guess we’d better get back to Fletch and Harrison before they send Shep after us.” She started treading water in preparation for swimming back.

“I didn’t mean to preach, Sam. The gospel according to Lyla.” She stretched out in a sidestroke and he matched her rhythm. “I’ve never told anyone that.” Her breath was ragged. “It’s just seeing that kite…”

“It’s okay, Lyla. I’m pleased you shared with me.”

She drew up just short of the anchored houseboat and the beach. He stopped as she did. “Sam, I’m a little confused about my feelings for you.” He just nodded. What could he say? Confused was as good a word as he could think of, too. “I don’t want you to think that we are so sociable with all my houseguests. You’re different.”