by Carol Grace
“Sarah, I’m sorry to bother you on Sunday.”
“Trudy, you sound awful. What’s wrong?”
“I…I’m feeling terrible. I don’t know, the flu or something. What I’m wondering is if you could do my elementary school tour at the old general store for me tomorrow? I wouldn’t ask because I know you’re taking the week off.”
“No, no, I’m not on vacation. Not at all. I’m working, I’m writing my paper.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. This bug I’ve got has affected my memory.”
“Of course I’ll do it for you. Where and what time?”
Sarah jotted down the information on a scratch pad. Fortunately the general store in Woodside was actually closer to Sarah’s aunt’s house than it was to Trudy in the city.
“I’ll e-mail you the information,” Trudy said. “All you have to do is show up. The costume is in the closet. The teachers will be there with the kids so you ought to have no problem with discipline. I appreciate this, Sarah. I owe you one.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m glad to do it. Do you think you ought to see a doctor?”
Trudy sniffled. It sounded like she was crying. “No, I’ll be all right. I just need…I have to go now.”
“Take care of yourself.”
Sarah frowned. It wasn’t like Trudy to fall apart like that. She hoped it was nothing serious.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Sarah said, walking through the gate to the pool. Max was fishing leaves out of the pool with a long pole and a screen at one end. He stopped and gave her a long, slow, appraising look.
Why? He’d seen her in her suit before. She wasn’t endowed with gorgeous curves like the other women at his party. She felt her whole body flush with awareness.
“What is it?” she asked, flustered. “Did I get my suit on backwards?”
“Now that would be something to see,” he muttered. “No, I think you’re getting a little sunburned.” He set the pole down, walked over and ran one hand over her shoulder. “Here,” he said, then ran the other hand on the curve of her cheek. “And here.”
Wherever his hand touched, her skin burned. And that had nothing to do with the sun. It was him. Maybe she was wrong. She couldn’t handle swimming lessons with a man like Max. Maybe she should head for the YWCA right away before it was too late and she was in big trouble. But she was trapped by the look in his silver-gray eyes and she knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Not anytime soon. Not as long as he treated her like she was a desirable woman.
“I…I put lotion on this time,” she stammered. “So I don’t think I’ll burn.”
Burn? She was about to burst into flames from just his touch. She had to get away so she headed for the steps in the shallow end. He jumped in at the other end and swam to her in easy strokes.
“Will I ever be able to swim like that?” she asked when he surfaced next to her.
“Of course. Guaranteed. Or your money back. If you stay long enough that is.”
“I only have a week.”
“No reason why you can’t drive down here for a lesson from time to time when the week is up, is there? I don’t think your aunt would mind.”
“I hadn’t thought of it.”
“Think about it.”
Sarah couldn’t think of anything once they started the so-called lesson. His hands were everywhere, under her arms, around her waist, holding her head up. The water was warm and smooth. She put her head under and didn’t swallow any water. She smiled and laughed at the faces he made underwater. She felt silly and giddy, like a little kid in the water for the first time.
She continued to feel giddy and silly until he put his hands on her shoulders and stood looking at her, the water dripping down across the fine hairs on his muscular chest. “You’re amazing,” he said. “The best student I’ve ever had.”
No more a little kid. Now he made her feel like she was a woman. A woman who was in danger of falling for her swimming instructor. A woman who had no defenses against such blatant masculine charm. The words of Lila echoed in her brain once again and she knew she was not in danger of drowning. She was in more danger of losing her head over a man she couldn’t have. She felt light-headed, caught in a web that she couldn’t get out of.
“Really,” she said.
He grinned at her. He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the mouth. Her knees shook, her hands trembled. He tightened his hold on her shoulders. But it was over as fast as it had begun.
What could she do? Kiss him back? Run away? Pretend it never happened? Now how would she do that? One option was to quit right now and take her chances on drowning. She could be rescued from drowning, but from losing her head over a man? What if she was falling in love? Then what? She’d been warned. He was a man who’d successfully escaped all the other women who were falling all over him. Who could rescue her from him?
Chapter Eight
She took a deep breath and forced herself to think rationally. When she got herself under control, she said nothing about the kiss. Instead she focused on what he’d said. “Wait a minute. I’m the only student you’ve ever had, right?”
“Well, yes, If you want to get technical about it. The secret to your success is that you’ve relaxed,” he told her. “You were nervous the first time.”
“I’m still nervous,” she said. Her stomach was full of butterflies going crazy. But it wasn’t the swimming that made her nervous. It was him. “I feel like I’m having a delayed adolescence. I spent all my other summers indoors. I’d hear the other kids outside, but I could never go out for fear I’d have an asthma attack.”
“Poor Sarah,” he said, brushing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.
Oh, no, this was a mistake. This kind of touch, the kind that sent her blood pressure soaring, was not part of the deal. She bit her lip. “But I’m making up for lost time. I’m having a good time,” she said earnestly. There, that ought to set the tone back to normal.
But it didn’t. He said, “So am I.” His smile dazzled her more than the summer sun. She found herself smiling back. They stood there like that as the water lapped against her bare skin and the sun shone on her shoulders, just smiling like idiots. This time she wasn’t surprised when he kissed her. She expected it. She wanted it.
He tasted like sun and summer and all outdoors and all the good times she’d missed. She hadn’t been kissed that often, like hardly ever, but this was a different kiss than any she’d ever had and she knew somehow this was a dynamite kiss, one that was ripe with promise. One that left her breathless and wanting more.
What did it promise? Nothing, she told herself sternly. She instructed herself to get real. She turned and waded out of the pool. Maybe that was rude or silly. After all, it was just a kiss. He didn’t mean anything by it. But for her, it was something amazing. Something to think about, to dream about.
“Where are you going?” he asked. He sounded puzzled. She didn’t turn around.
“Just, uh, to dry off. That was great.” She felt the heat sweep up her face. Maybe he thought she meant the kiss. “I mean the lesson.”
“I knew that,” he said. This time she could tell he was smiling. “Till tomorrow, then?” he said.
She turned to look at him, still standing waist-deep in the pool, his wet hair standing on end, making him look so endearing she wanted to get back in the pool and kiss him back. Of course her kissing ability was nonexistent and he’d know it as soon as she tried. Let him kiss her if he wanted to, she’d just sit back and enjoy it.
“We’ll take up where we left off,” he said with a knowing grin.
She wrapped her towel around herself.
“I mean the lesson,” he said.
“I knew that,” she said. Then she walked to her gate. “Oh, wait. I might not have time for a lesson, because tomorrow I have to give a tour to some school children at a historical site. The old country store in Woodside.”
“On the corner of Tripp Road? I’ve seen that. Always wondered what it was. Can a
nyone go inside?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “If you’re in fifth grade and your teacher takes you there.”
“That lets me out,” he said. “What about if you know the tour leader? Would that help?”
“Well…”
“Maybe I wouldn’t fit in.”
Sarah smiled at the picture of the six-foot-three-inch, strapping male hunk in the low-ceilinged wooden structure with a roomful of restless schoolchildren as she gave her lecture on life in the 1800s while dressed in the period costume. Would they notice him? How could they not? Would she be distracted? How could she not be? Why would he want to come? It was hardly a Hollywood production.
“It’s not that.”
“What is it?” he asked. “You’ve awakened my interest in California’s history. Sounds like this is an opportunity for me to actually see something real, something I’ve always been curious about. It is real, isn’t it?”
“The structure’s been restored, but it gives a good picture of what life was like in those days for people like loggers and blacksmiths, ordinary people. Of course if you want to come, you can, but I don’t think…”
“What time?”
“The tour starts at ten. I thought I’d leave about nine. Give myself time to get into my costume and practice my speech.”
“Costume? Speech?” He raised his eyebrows. “It gets better and better.”
“We keep it pretty simple, really. Even the fifth-graders have a hard time focusing if we don’t. They’re used to TV and video games and even though we try to make it interesting, it’s an uphill battle to compete with the media. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. It’s just me and the setting. No special effects. No guns, no horses.”
“That’s too bad,” Max said. “But I’m coming anyway. I’ll stay in the background and blend in. I won’t say a word. I just wanted to see the place and what you did for a living.” She didn’t look completely convinced that he sincerely wanted to be part of her audience. She mostly looked puzzled by his enthusiasm.
If she was confused by his behavior, he was even more puzzled. Was it really California’s history that interested him? Or was it his neighbor, a most unusual woman? After Sarah went home, he swam a few laps to expend some pent-up energy and to think things over. He wasn’t sure what had come over him. Was it the contrast between Lila and Sarah that made Sarah look so innocent and sweet that he had to kiss her twice? He knew one thing, he had no business coming on to her.
She didn’t know how to handle it. And neither did he, for that matter. He liked having her for a next-door neighbor, if only for a week. He liked having her for a friend. She was so earnest, so cute without knowing it and so devoted to her subject that her enthusiasm was contagious.
If he wanted to keep her as a friend, and he definitely did, at least for the week, he’d have to make sure there were no more kisses, no matter how softly enticing those lips were. There could be nothing wrong with a trip to a historical site as long as there were mobs of schoolchildren as witnesses. There could be nothing wrong with going to the opera with her. Even if he wanted to kiss her there, he couldn’t. Not with all those people around. That was the secret. Avoid situations where they were alone.
Did that mean discontinuing swimming lessons? Forget that. He was already looking forward to the next one. It gave him the perfect excuse to hold her, touch her, get close to her without setting off alarm bells. He knew she was skittish, so he had to be careful. She was so lovely, so natural, so unspoiled. He didn’t want to change her. He didn’t want her to turn into one of those hardened divorcées he dealt with every day. No chance of that. She was married to her work. And as she said, no one could compete with that swashbuckling hero of hers.
Friends. They would be friends. Nothing more. Nothing less. He had woman friends like Lila whose divorces he’d handled, but when things didn’t go their way, and they didn’t get the settlements they thought they deserved, their friendship was over. He wasn’t surprised to find his clients were greedy, but it was always a disappointment.
With Sarah they could be real friends, as long as he could keep his libido intact. That shouldn’t be a problem.
It shouldn’t have been a problem, but it was. Sitting next to her in his Porsche on the way to the Woodside Store—he’d insisted on driving though she had planned on taking her car—she looked so fresh and innocent in light summer seersucker cropped pants, a white sweater and sandals he wanted to reach over and put one hand on her thigh. But he didn’t. He wanted to take that strand of silky hair that blew across her face and tuck it behind her ear. But he didn’t. Instead he offered to listen to her practice her speech.
She seemed a little off balance. She had to keep referring to her notes, which appeared to be out of order.
He wondered if she was nervous about making the speech. He couldn’t imagine her not being ready and eager to share her knowledge with schoolchildren, with all the energy she used when talking to him.
When they arrived at the restored wooden structure known as the Woodside Store, she was her calm, confident self again and seemed to enjoy showing Max around the musty-smelling, low-ceilinged building.
“This building was a multiuse structure back in the heyday of lumbering. It was a store, a post office and a dental office. All at one time. A dentist named Dr. Tripp practiced here, so you could have your tooth pulled, buy a bag of flour and, if you were a prospector, buy a pick and a shovel. Then you could pick up your mail from your loved ones back East.”
“One-stop shopping,” Max commented.
“Exactly. Tripp and his partners in the sawmill business were from Massachusetts. They came to California to make their fortunes. Like so many others, Levi Strauss, Leland Stanford and the others who came to look for gold, they made more money selling goods to the miners than many of the miners made.
“Because of the gold rush, there was a huge demand for building materials in San Francisco, so the entrepreneurs who worked around here like Parkhurst, ‘Grizzly’ Ryder and Tripp dragged the logs down to the bay and floated them to the city.”
“Tripp was quite a multitasker, logging as well as running this store and pulling teeth too,” Max said.
“That’s right. In the old days, you had to do everything yourself or it didn’t get done.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to get my dress on before they come.”
If he thought it was hard to keep his hands off her in the car, he was even more tempted to touch her when he saw her in her costume, a figure-hugging cotton dress. It was long with a high neck made of a fabric with little flowers dancing across it that fit tightly across her breasts and waist. He couldn’t keep from staring at her small round breasts hugged by tight fabric.
“This dress doesn’t fit me. I can’t breathe,” she said, appearing flushed and nervous from the closet where the costumes were kept. “And I haven’t even fastened the buttons.”
“I think it looks great on you,” he said, stifling a lecherous smile. “Let me.” Before she could protest, he stepped behind her and was buttoning the dress from the back, his fingers fumbling as if he was on a first date. He noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra. But she had been earlier. He’d definitely noticed that. “How’s that?” He asked when he’d finished. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him.
“Fine,” she said breathlessly. He stepped back and admired the dress, and even more the woman inside the dress. Her hair was hanging in tendrils around her face. Her cheeks were pink and her blue eyes were bright. If this was 1847, and he was a logger come to town to pick up supplies, he would have definitely tried to pick her up, too. So would all the other men in town. He might not even have a chance, competing with all those macho men of yesteryear. But he’d give it a try. He knew that.
“So this is an authentic dress?” he asked, taking the opportunity to observe her from head to toe. After all, it was just in the interest of historical research.
“It’s not reall
y old, but it’s made to match the pictures we have of the styles of the day. Obviously made for someone a little smaller than me.”
“I’d say it fits just right. Did they, uh, did the women wear underwear back then?”
Her already flushed face turned crimson. “Of course. They wore corsets and…and…why do you ask? Oh, I see, because I’m not. Is it that noticeable?” She folded her arms across her breasts.
“No, it’s just when I was buttoning your dress I couldn’t help noticing there was no…that you weren’t wearing anything. But from the front, it’s not at all obvious,” he lied. With a huge effort, Max kept his eyes on her face. He didn’t let his gaze stray below her neck for fear of making her more self-conscious. But the harder he tried to avoid looking at her breasts, the more he wanted to.
“Maybe if I put on the hat it will help.” She reached to the top shelf above the cans of beans and bags of sugar and lifted a large, dusty hat down and set it on her head. “Don’t laugh,” she said, tossing the veil back so she could see him.
“I wasn’t,” he insisted, biting his tongue. “It looks great on you, really.”
Outside a yellow school bus pulled up and thirty schoolchildren, with two teachers and a few parents came noisily bursting into the wooden structure. Max was impressed by the way Sarah handled them. All her nervousness disappeared and she took charge, calming the children, introducing herself, and then launching into her speech. She spoke so naturally and so enthusiastically, she gave the impression she was speaking off-the-cuff. First she explained that the store became most important and popular in 1853 when the stagecoach service arrived. Until then, because of the small population, the store struggled, and often the local residents were on their own when it came to buying supplies.
Dr. Tripp, she said, expanded the store, and operated it until his death in 1909. He was a legendary character because of the many roles he played in frontier life.
As she launched into the storekeeper’s biography, Max stepped to the back of the musty, dusty interior lined with shelves and filled with tools and implements as well as supplies. He leaned against the wall and watched with admiration as Sarah became a woman from a different era.