McCall

by Patricia Evans Jordan

  “Nothing. I know you better than that by now,” Sam said, picking Sara up before she realized what was happening and setting her down at the door. “But I’ll do it for you.”

  Once they were back in the truck, Sam drove them back into Boise, searching side streets in the downtown area until she found what she was looking for: a food truck, painted with bright splashes of yellow and green, parked on the side of the square with dozens of people standing around waiting for food. Warm Mexican spices wafted toward them as they walked up, specifically mole sauce made with what smelled like charred chili and dark chocolate. The menu, written in chalk above the service window, was entirely in Spanish.

  “Can you read that?” Sara asked.

  “I’ll order for us,” Sam said, still looking at the menu. “Do you trust me?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Smart girl.” Sam smiled. “But I’m still ordering for you.”

  When they got to the window, Sam ordered in perfect Spanish, and nodded towards Sara more than once while she was talking.

  “What did you say?” Sara said, as they stepped to the side to wait for their food.

  “Nothing I’m telling you about, but you’re getting something that’s not on the menu. They have it if you ask, and it’s amazing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Pork mole and pineapple tamales with pork belly salad.”

  “Wow,” Sara said, “I underestimated you. You don’t strike me as the pork belly type.”

  “There are two types of foodies,” Sam replied, taking their food from the pickup window and handing half of it to Sara. “People who like to talk about food, and the people who’d rather eat it.”

  The steam rising off the tamales was intoxicating, and Sara inhaled deeply, trying to determine what spice they’d used for the filling. Roughly chopped ripe avocado, crushed cilantro, and onion in a rumpled paper boat surrounded two plump mesa wrapped tamales. They sat down in the grass and Sara kicked off her sandals.

  “Looks like the county fair,” Sam said, spearing her tamale with her fork, “Tastes like heaven.”

  The tamale melted in Sara’s mouth as soon as she bit into it. The mole sauce was silky and intense, a nice balance for the spicy shredded pork and sweet grilled pineapple.

  “Wow,” Sara said, looking down at the tamale in her hand. “Just wow.”

  “Wait,” Sam said, cupping her hand behind her ear. “Did I just hear you say that you don’t know why you ever order for yourself when I’m so amazing at it?”

  Sara smiled. “Just for that, I’ll be ordering for you next time.”

  After Sara finished the tamales and made a swiftly interrupted play for the rest of Sam’s, she started on the salad, which turned out to have an interesting presentation. It was served in a bag of tortilla chips that had been cut open along one side, then filled with crisp smoky pork belly, sliced jicama, fresh lettuce, and onion.

  “Actually,” Sara said, “This ‘serve it in the bag’ concept is genius. It’s got to be cheaper and probably produces half the waste.”

  The salad was excellent, but Sara could only eat about half so she slid it over to Sam, who finished it in three bites.

  They stayed in the square for about an hour, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine, then stopped by the ranger station at Lucky Peak on their way back and rented some bicycles. They spent the rest of the afternoon biking through the park, stopping to take pictures of the sailing competition on the east side of the lake. By the time they got back to the cabin, the sun was fading and the fireflies were sparkling in the last of the evening light.

  Sam started some coals in the grill while Sara went in to take a shower. She returned to the deck in a few minutes, her hair damp and falling around her shoulders, wearing a white skirt and black tank top. She was holding her phone in her hand.

  “Do you know someone named Murphy?”

  The grill sizzled as Sam transferred food from a plate to the hot coals. “If Murphy is the last name, I have an officer on Lake Patrol named Brian Murphy; he’s the one that helped you with the grill setup at the pancake breakfast.”

  “Well,” Sara said, tapping her phone on her shoulder, “I just called my sister and she couldn’t talk because she’s at my house and he’s coming over to swim to the island with her.”

  “Oh really?” Sam looked amused. Sara did not.

  “Is he a good guy? The last thing she needs is another Trevor right now.”

  “Honestly,” Sam said, “I can tell you I’ve learned that if we have a difficult time with someone on the water, Murphy’s the one you want to deal with the situation. He’s great with people, and,” Sam paused, a smile flashing across her face. “Smarter than he looks.”

  “Great,” Sara said, looking less than convinced. “I hope you’re right, because she said she’s been spending a lot of time with him since she bought the boat. Evidently, he’s helping her fix it up.”

  “Can your sister even drive a boat?”

  “No,” Sara said, beginning to find the humor in the situation, “I’m pretty sure she’s never been in one. At camp, she refused to take waterskiing because she didn’t want to get her hair wet.”

  Sara’s phone pinged and she looked at the text, smiling. She walked over to the grill and held up her iPhone. “But look at her now.”

  Jennifer was standing on the deck of her houseboat, pulling up a rope and winding it around her forearm. Her blonde hair was loose and wild, and she looked like she might have even gained some much-needed weight.

  “Well,” Sam said, “That explains how she met him. That’s Murphy’s houseboat. It didn’t occur to me until just now that he was talking about selling it a few months back.”

  “Well,” Sara said, “I like him already. Look how happy she looks, and she’s been eating.”

  Sam saw the tears in her eyes and pulled her into a hug. “I’m going to assume those are happy tears?”

  Sara nodded.

  “Good,” Sam said, letting her go and turning her attention back to the grill. “Then now’s a good time to mention that he dips.”

  “He…what?”

  “Dips,” Sam said. “Like chewing tobacco.”

  “Ew. Well, I give that about a week with Miss Bossypants in charge.” She looked at the grill; she’d been so distracted she hadn’t noticed what Sam was cooking. “What are you making?”

  “Grilled rueben sandwiches on rye and charred peaches in chardonnay.”

  “I thought you said you couldn’t cook.” She raised an eyebrow, looking down at the perfectly golden sandwiches and lightly charred peaches.

  “I can’t cook,” Sam said, sliding the sandwiches onto their plates. She dropped a grilled fresh peach into each wineglass and poured a buttery chardonnay over it. “I can grill. Totally different.”

  They took the plates to the deck chairs and watched the sun set over the lake as they ate. Sam had changed into a snug white T-shirt and faded Levi jeans, her tan skin a dark contrast. Her eyes mirrored the same blue as the water.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink wine.” Sara looked at Sam’s glass.

  “That’s because I don’t,” Sam said. “I love beer but I’ve just never seen what all the fuss is about with wine. It’s all made with grapes. Aside from white and red, how different can the bottles be?”

  “Oh, good God.” Sara said, pelting her with a napkin. “I can’t believe you just said that to a chef.”

  After they’d eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, Sam went to light a fire in the fireplace. She sat on the hearth, the light playing with the angles of her face, while Sara laid back on the couch, scotch in hand.

  “I poured one for you,” she said, nodding towards the old steamer trunk that served as a side table. “I didn’t intend to bring it, but I found the flask in my bag that Jen gave me the last time Mom threatened to come to Savannah for a visit.”

  Sam picked it up and sat on the couch, pulling Sara’s legs onto her lap.

>   “So, why did you stop that night on the boat?” Sara said, looking into her glass. “If you’re not attracted to me, you can just tell me. I promise I won’t throw myself off a balcony or anything.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sam tangled her fingers into Sara’s. “I wanted you more than I wanted to breathe.”

  A log in the fireplace crackled and split, flames spilling out onto the coals.

  “Then why?” Sara said.

  Sam stared into the fire, her voice low and soft. “Because I realized I wasn’t willing to risk losing this.”

  Sara watched the shifting gold reflection of the fire in Sam’s eyes. “That might be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  Sam looked at her for a moment, then took the fleece throw from the back of the couch and laid it in front of the fire. Sara watched her as she added two more logs, sending a spray of sparks up toward the chimney, then sat on the hearth.

  “Come here.”

  Sara put down her glass and sank down on the blanket, fire warming the side of her face, as Sam lowered her body down on top of her.

  “Take this off for me,” Sam whispered, her hand sliding Sara’s skirt up to her waist.

  Sara pulled her skirt and tank off, then slid her hands up the back of Sam’s shirt, following the strong lines of her back with her fingertips. Sam pulled it over her head and tossed it onto the couch, leaving her naked to the waist. She kissed down Sara’s body, tracing the outside curve of her breast before she pulled her hard nipple into her mouth, working it with her tongue, her hands wrapped around the small of Sara’s back.

  Sam moved lower, resting Sara’s thigh on her shoulder, and traced the edge of her sheer panties with her tongue. Sara felt the heat of her breath on her skin and tangled her fingers into Sam’s dark hair.

  “Sam,” she said, breathless. “Please.”

  Sam slowly slid her panties down her legs. The firelight cast shifting layers of gold and copper light across Sara’s skin as Sam sank down slowly between her thighs. She slid her hands up the outside of her hips as Sara’s hand slipped again into Sam’s hair, less gentle than before. Sam lowered her mouth and touched her clit with just the tip of her tongue. It felt like an electric jolt, and just for a moment, Sara thought she might come.

  “Tell me what you want,” Sam whispered.

  “More.” Sara’s voice caught. “I want more.”

  Sam slid two fingers slowly inside her, achingly slowly, her eyes locked onto Sara’s. She stroked her gently, giving her less than she wanted, only adding a third when she felt Sara’s body beg her for it. Sam felt her G spot start to throb under the pads of her fingers, and she slowed her pace, curling her fingers in to increase the pressure.

  “Oh my God,” Sara said, her eyes shut tight.

  Sam felt her holding her breath and knew she was right on the edge. She reached up with her other hand and rested it on Sara’s chest.

  “Breathe, baby.”

  When she felt Sara relax, Sam slid her fingers out and lowered her mouth again to the warmth between her legs. This time she pulled Sara’s clit gently into her mouth, slowly stroking the underside of it with her tongue. She felt Sara’s thighs tremble and she stayed there until the last second she could without sending Sara over the edge.

  Sara pressed a clenched fist to her forehead. “Jesus, Sam, are you trying to kill me?”

  Sam crawled back up her body and kissed her deeply, wrapping Sara’s legs around her waist. She rolled Sara’s nipples between her fingers, pausing to draw them into the warmth of her mouth again and again before she moved back down between her thighs. She dragged her tongue back over Sara’s stiff clit, feeling the tremors that moved through her body, then slid her fingers back inside, stroking her slowly, Sara’s juices running into her palm. She was breathing hard now, her chest rising and falling with the flames beside her.

  “Don’t stop, Sam…please don’t stop.”

  Her skin was flushed, her eyes heavy with desire. Sara opened up to Sam and she slid another finger inside, her tongue higher, stroking inside and her clit with the same strong rhythm. Sara trembled, then arched her back hard and cried out, slicking Sam’s hand to the wrist when she came.

  Sam waited until Sara’s body settled, then moved up to lay beside her, pulling Sara into her arms and wrapping the rest of the blanket around them. The flames sparked and danced beside their bodies, and Sam kissed the top of Sara’s head, memorizing her scent.

  ****

  Sara woke the next morning in the loft bed, a white duvet soft against her face. She turned to look at Sam still sleeping beside her and it all came back in a rush. Sam’s mouth on her clit, the way she’d handled Sara’s body, bringing her to the edge over and over again, then to the most shattering orgasm of her life. That was all she remembered; she didn’t remember falling asleep, or how she got up the stairs and into bed. She remembered the climax; it was so intense she’d wondered the second before if she could die from pleasure. She moved to settle closer into Sam’s arms and realized her lower abs ached. She’d come so hard that her muscles were sore. Fucking hell, Sara thought. She knows what she’s doing.

  She fell back into a heavy sleep and woke to the sun streaming into the loft window, illuminating tiny dust particles in the air that danced in the wide beam of light. Sara heard Sam below the loft in the kitchen, and smelled what had to be a combination of eggs and sharp cheddar. She pulled the sheet around her body and held it to her chest as she climbed down the ladder.

  “Good morning.” Sam smiled, pulling her in for a kiss, her hand strong at the small of Sara’s back. She’d already showered; she was barefoot, in jeans and a blue plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Sam handed her an adorably messy plate of scrambled eggs. They took the plates to the couch and Sara curled up with her feet tucked underneath her, knotting the sheet so it would stay up while she ate.

  “Wait,” she said, a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth, “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

  “I’ve spent the last fifteen years getting to work before seven AM,” Sam said, smiling at the look of disbelief on Sara’s face. “I’m guessing that you’re not?”

  “Well,” Sara said, reaching over for a bite of Sam’s eggs before she’d finished her own, “Even if I was a morning person, I’d lie about it if it got me these eggs every morning.”

  They finished breakfast and Sara showered, dressed, and repacked her bag. Sam threw them in the back with the cooler and they started driving out of the park and back to highway 80. They’d been on the road for a while before it occurred to her to ask where they were going.

  “I’m taking you to lunch at Ruby’s,” Sam said, moving her hand to Sara’s thigh and smiling as Sara covered it with her own. “It’s a diner just south of Pocatello in Blackfoot.”

  “So, basically, you’re taking me on a food tour of Idaho?”

  “Something like that,” Sam said.

  “I love it,” Sara said, closing her eyes and leaning her head back in the warm sun streaming through the window. She sat there for a moment before she turned her head again to look over at Sam.

  “What the hell did you do to me last night?”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sam said with a sexy smile in her direction.

  “I’ve never been that turned on in my life,” Sara said, closing her eyes again and leaning back with the sun on her face. “You were…” She paused, searching for the words but coming up with nothing. “Wow. That’s all I can say.”

  Just then, Sara’s phone rang, and she dug for it in her bag, grabbing it on the last ring.

  “Sara?” It was Jen. “Do you never answer your phone anymore? I’ve been trying to reach you since last night; what the hell have you been doing?”

  Sara looked over at Sam, where it was clear from the smile on her face she was hearing every word of it.

  “Jen,” Sara said, trying to ignore the dramatics. “I’m here. What’s going on?”

&nb
sp; “Nothing.”

  Clearly, it wasn’t nothing. Sara just waited.

  “Okay,” Jen continued, “Remember when I told you about Brian?”

  “Wait,” Sara said, “What does he do for a living?”

  “He’s one of Sam’s lake cops.”

  “I thought so,” Sara said, nodding at Sam. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, he’s been helping me fix up the houseboat and teaching me how to work it and everything. I really like him.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “We’ve been spending every evening together,” Jen said, hesitating, “And last night he took me canoeing to one of the islands where he had a picnic set up. It was amazing. He even had candles he’d lit and set in the sand around us. I mean, I didn’t even know men did stuff like that.”

  Sam smiled and raised her eyebrows, keeping her eyes on the road.

  “So you had a good time?”

  “More than that, I’m totally falling for him. I mean, I never felt this way about Trevor, not even at the beginning.”

  “I’m still vague on what the problem is. He sounds like he’s really into you.”

  Jen hesitated. “That’s just it, I’m not sure he is. So, we were sitting by the fire on the island last night, and he wrapped us both up in a blanket. But when I turned my head, expecting him to kiss me, he didn’t.”

  “Did you try to kiss him?”

  “Yes,” Jen said, “Which was stupid. He stopped me and said he wanted us to ‘do this right’.”

  “What? He wants to wait until the divorce is finalized?”

  “Yes, which makes no sense. If he really liked me, he would have kissed me,” Jen said, her voice quavering. “Am I an idiot here? Did I just read this entirely wrong?”

  Sara looked at Sam, who shook her head.

  “Jen, I know it seems like that, but let’s get the facts straight here. He’s a great guy, and you like him, right?”

  “Yes,” Jen sniffed, “Not that it matters.”

  “And he’s been spending a ton of time helping you with the boat, then went to a huge effort to impress you on your date, right?”

  “Yes, where I made a complete fool of myself.” Jen pouted. “If you’re trying to make me feel better here, it’s not helping.”