Summer Heat

by Carly Phillips

  Six or eight months? “Careful,” she said with a private smile, “someone might figure out you aren’t the wild man you used to be.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, well, we all get older.”

  “It isn’t disease I’m worried about, exactly,” she said, still not moving.

  “Don’t worry about the other. I’d take care of you. You know that.”

  Not I’d marry you and we’ll raise our child, but I’d take care of you. “I know.”

  Much as she regretted it, that single sentence changed the mood between them. It grew strained, filled with unspoken wishes, unsaid promises, unvoiced thoughts. She didn’t want the future or the past to come between them right now, but they did. She pushed against him and sat up. “I guess I’d better get something decent on.”

  He made no protest. Only nodded and looked at his watch, as if nothing at all had passed between them. “Jake’s decided to buy a restaurant—The Wild Moose—and I’m supposed to meet him there in a little while to discuss some remodeling. Maybe I can come back and finish the computer for you tomorrow.”

  “Sure.” Tamara clutched the blanket more closely around her body. “That’s fine.”

  He must have sensed her sudden stiffness. He sat up, moving her on his lap. “Look at me, Tamara.” Once again, he had to nudge her chin to overcome her reluctance to look at him.

  It was just so hard to look at him head-on like that. Hard to bear the full brunt of his shining goldenness and feel the emotions his face struck to life in her.

  But she did it, lifted her eyes to his. A snippet of a poem rushed into her mind, and she spoke it softly, “‘Tyger! Tyger! burning bright. / In the forests of the night.’”

  “Am I a tiger, Tamara?”

  “No,” she said, and found herself smiling as she lifted a hand to smooth his thick hair from his forehead. Such a broad, intelligent brow. “You just make me think of that beauty.”

  He looked stricken at her words. “No one has ever said anything like that to me before.” He plucked her hand from her lap and kissed it. “You’re so different from any woman I’ve ever met. I want you know that.”

  Dread welled in her. “Why?”

  “Because…this is…” He scowled, his attention focused on her hand, on the fingers he stroked. “We can’t do this again. We can’t. I’m not the right man for you, and you need to be free to find him. I don’t want to screw anything up for you.”

  “Lance, you don’t owe me anything. I’m a grown woman. I can fend for myself, make my own decisions.”

  At last he looked at her, his blue eyes full of regret. “I owe you a lot.”

  And all at once, Tamara felt a fierce certainty that she needed to tell him what she thought, what she felt. It might be her only chance, and if life had taught her anything, the simple fact that people weren’t always there the next day was primary. “If I were given the choice of all the men in the world to choose from,” she said quietly, “no one in the world would have a chance next to you, Lance.”

  He started to speak. She raised a hand to his mouth. “Shh. I know you aren’t the marrying kind, but you’re a good man.”

  “Tamara, don’t. I can’t—”

  “You don’t understand,” she said with a smile. “I think very well of myself. I don’t give myself away. I don’t think very highly of the morals and attitudes of most of the men on the planet. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes, that you could see what I see when I look at you.”

  He swallowed. “I wish I could, too.”

  Taking a breath, she smiled. “Don’t ever think you’re a bad man because you’re honest enough to be who you are.”

  Then, before he could react, she stood up. “It’s probably time for you to go home.”

  For a minute, he didn’t move. Then he stood up, kissed her lightly and moved toward his jacket. There was a curious stiffness in his movements that contrasted sharply with his usual long-limbed grace. He paused at the door. “If I were another kind of man, I’d have married you the second time I met you.”

  Tamara bowed her head at the longing that gave her. When she looked up again, he was closing the front door behind him. And this time, he was truly gone.

  * * *

  For days, Lance moved through his life in a dark cocoon. He snapped at employees, broke the dates his brother had made for him and snarled at everyone who got in his path. His mother told him not to come back to visit until he had a better attitude. His secretary tiptoed in and out of his office without a word.

  Friday night was the dance at the country club to which he’d promised to escort Marissa. As he donned his good Italian suit, he wished fervently he could avoid the whole thing. But a promise was a promise, and whatever else anybody said about him, he kept his word.

  To his surprise, just seeing Marissa’s calm, luminescent face eased something in him. “I feel compelled to warn you,” he said as she got in the car, “that wild boars have been fleeing my path lately.”

  She grinned. “Bad mood, huh?”

  “That’s putting it mildly.” He kissed her cheek. “You look especially nice tonight. I like that color on you.”

  “Thanks.” She smoothed the ruby-colored fabric over her thighs. “My mother always told me I should never wear pastels. Turns out she was right about one thing, anyway.”

  The sound of a motorcycle broke the night, and a chopped, gleaming Harley growled into Marissa’s parking place. “That’s Bob,” she said. “I wonder why he’s here tonight. I told him we were going.” A frown knitted her creamy brow. “Do you mind waiting a moment? I should talk to him.”

  “Go ahead.” Lance glanced at Bob, the burly biker who’d worn leather and chains at the Wild Moose. Tonight he was dressed in a clean black suit, with a red tie. His long curly hair had been wet and wrestled into a neat ponytail. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers.

  Marissa moved toward him in her beautiful cocktail dress, her dark hair shining around her luminescent face, and Lance saw that she was desperately in love. That both of them were. She halted in front of him, and Bob thrust the flowers at her, obviously not entirely comfortable with the gesture. Marissa, in her open way, bent her head to the flowers and breathed deeply.

  In ten seconds, Lance knew he wasn’t taking Marissa to the dance. Sure enough, she talked for a while, then came back to the car. Bob headed inside.

  She got in and sat down. “Bob wants to take me to the dance at the country club. He really didn’t want to, which is why I asked you, but I think—” a dazzled, pleased expression crossed her face “—he really likes me.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised! You’re a hell of a woman. Go ahead and go.”

  “Are you sure you won’t think I’m a cad?”

  He chuckled. “I’m sure.”

  “I have a few minutes. Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

  The sudden question, put so clearly, nearly made Lance choke up. “I’m just in love,” he admitted. “Nothing a little time won’t cure.”

  “With Tamara?”

  “Yeah.” He clenched his jaw tight to keep his emotions from rising out and spilling into his throat. “Yeah, she’s the one.”

  Marissa cocked her head. “So, what’s the problem? I don’t get it. You’re in love with her, she’s in love with you—this is a problem?”

  “I’m not that kind of man.”

  “What kind?”

  “Reliable. Decent. All those warm fuzzy things a woman like her needs.”

  Marissa laughed. “You’ve been listening to your own reputation for way too long, Mr. Forrest. You might have been a bad boy a long time ago, but all I’ve seen in you is a rock-solid steadiness. You’re aching to take care of her, to have a family and settle down.” She grinned. “Just do it.”

  “What if I end up like my father? What if I let her down?”

  “Your mother will kick your butt.”

  For the first time in a week, he actually smiled. And nodded. “I won’t k
eep you, honey. Go on and get your guy.”

  She nodded, then leaned forward and put her hand on his arm. “Just one thing, Lance. I want you to think about what it would be like for you if you don’t take this chance, and someone else comes along for Tamara. I want you to imagine her married to someone else.” She kissed his cheek this time. “Think about it, okay?”

  “I will. Have a good time. Call me and tell me how it goes with that certain snotty blonde, will you?”

  She laughed. “Oh, I will.” She paused, her hand on the door. “Remember, sweetie, the ones who never fall always fall hardest when they do.”

  The words echoed in him as he drove home then changed out of his good suit into a pair of reliable comfortable jeans. In his still-faceless apartment, he heated a TV dinner and watched an idiotic movie, feeling restless and lonely and—lost.

  It was the same feeling that had been dogging him for his last three years in Houston. He liked the city, liked his company, liked his friends, but the hollowness never left him. And the weird thing was, he’d had no earthly idea what was bothering him until the telegram about his father had come. He was homesick.

  But he was home now, so what was the problem? It felt like homesickness again.

  I want you to imagine her married to someone else.

  Marissa’s words hit him hard. And he forced himself to do exactly that—imagine Tamara married to another man. Cooking for him. Laughing with him. Making love to him.

  The lost, restless feeling in his chest rose to a keening howl. He nearly choked on it.

  And suddenly, he knew that it was homesickness he felt. He was pining for the home he wanted to build, pining for the woman he wanted to share it with. He was pining for his family—the family that existed, and the one he hoped to build.

  In relief, he bowed his head, and for the first time, in twenty years, he wept. Wept the long-halted tears of grief for his father, for the man he could have been and the man he had been, for the lost years his mother had spent on her children, even for Valerie.

  It wasn’t manly. It wasn’t macho. His brothers would snicker for days if they knew. It didn’t even last long because he ended up feeling completely stupid.

  But it helped. When he raised his head, his heart was clear and full of purpose. The lostness was gone.

  He knew what he had to do.

  * * *

  Tamara drove to Denver Saturday, to arrange her classes for the following semester. Her excitement over the trip got her through the awkward moments at Louise Forrest’s house, those moments when Tamara looked around eagerly for signs of Lance and found none. After the last incident at her house, they’d agreed it would be better if they didn’t see each other in person for a while, and worked out this arrangement with Louise.

  It didn’t really help much. Tamara missed him desperately. She ignored it as much as possible, but it seemed there was always a little voice in her heart crying his name. All the time, day and night.

  But this morning, she shoved him out of her mind. Not even a broken heart would spoil her joy at finally returning to school, to the classes she loved and that would lead to the life she had missed so desperately. If she couldn’t have Lance, at least she’d have this.

  Walking around the Denver campus, Tamara found herself looking at it all with a different eye. The taste of intellectual energy and infinite possibility lingered in the crisp late-autumn air, and the smell of challenge filled her head, but it wasn’t quite as heady as it once had been. She didn’t have quite the same need to become absorbed into the university itself, to be a molecule within its vast, hallowed structure. As much as she looked forward to her classes, they would be a means to an end this time.

  She mused at the change on her way home. What had the university represented to her as a young girl that she’d found elsewhere?

  Identity. Yes, that was it. She’d been so afraid that she would disappear if she didn’t affiliate herself with the university life. That somehow life would snatch her back into its bowels if she didn’t keep her hands on those walls.

  Cody had changed that for her. Cody—and Lance—who had each given her, in different ways, the courage to be herself, to claim her own life, within or without a structure.

  What freedom!

  A note was pinned to her door when she got home. It looked like Lance’s handwriting, and Tamara felt an immediate sense of worry. She tore open the envelope and found a note in a childish scrawl. “Look in the bread box.”

  She smiled. A treasure hunt.

  In the bread box, she found another note. In Lance’s handwriting was a line of a poem. “‘And all that’s best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes.’”

  Tamara swallowed. Byron.

  The note directed her to go to the drugstore and ask the clerk for the next note. Feeling silly and a quiet anticipation, Tamara drove there. The older woman behind the counter smiled broadly. “Oh, yes.” She gave her an envelope, her eyes twinkling. Tamara carried it outside before she opened it.

  The quotation this time was from Ben Jonson. “‘The thirst that from the soul doth rise/Doth ask a drink divine.’” Below it was a child’s handwriting: “Go to the Wild Moose.”

  Her hands started to tremble, and Tamara had to take several long deep breaths before she pulled her car out and headed to the Wild Moose, where the waitress gave her another card. There was a secret in her eyes, and Tamara’s heart began to thud painfully. This one contained another part of the Ben Jonson poem, “To Celia.” Tamara knew it by heart. “‘Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine,’” he’d written.

  Tamara finished it under her breath: “‘Or leave a kiss but in the cup/ And I’ll not look for wine.’” With effort, she bit back a rush of tears.

  The chase led all over town, to the gas station, the courthouse, the school. By the time Tamara got the last note, telling her to go to Lake Rosalie, her heart was shimmering, and her hands trembled violently and she didn’t think she could bear to have the suspense drawn out another second.

  There seemed to be no one about. Tamara drove up and turned off her car. It was utterly still and peaceful when she got out. A magpie called out boldly, and she heard the twitterings of sparrows hidden by the pines. In the late-afternoon sunlight, the lake sparkled. Only her heart, pounding like a drum, seemed to break the quiet.

  A picnic table sat by the lake, and on it was a simple flag made of paper and glitter, with her name in a childish scrawl. Below it was a card and a small package. She looked around, but there was no one.

  She picked up the card. It was hand folded, and she recognized Cody’s crayon style in the design on the front. For a moment, she thought of Lance patiently helping him as they put together the treasure hunt, and her chest hurt.

  There was only a quotation this time. Shakespeare, from Hamlet. This time, Tamara could not breathe, and she could not stop the overflow of tears that spilled out of her eyes, hot and silent, as she read it aloud.

  “Doubt thou the stars are fire;

  Doubt that the sun doth move;

  Doubt truth to be a liar

  But never doubt I love.”

  Blinking, she picked up the wrapped package, unable to see for a moment. It was wrapped simply in white tissue paper, and on the top, written in blue ballpoint pen, was a single word—“‘Please.’”

  She opened the box. Inside were three rings—a simple, stunning diamond that gave off hot sparks in the low sunlight, and two gold bands. Her hands were trembling so violently, Tamara could barely hold the small box.

  From the trees came a rustling. Lance, holding Cody on his hip, emerged from the bushes. Man and boy had leaves in their hair, and the knees of their jeans had dirt marks from kneeling.

  Lance said nothing. On his face was a sober, earnest expression, and Tamara had never been so in love with him as she was in that minute. She burst into tears.

  He came forward and gently set Cody down on the ground. Tamara flung her arms
around Lance’s neck and wept with pure, unbridled joy. He caught her close, his arms like a vise around her body. She buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his precious scent. “I can’t imagine anything more touching. Not if I live a thousand years.”

  “I meant every word,” he said in a husky voice. “I know I haven’t had the best reputation, but I can’t stand to think of my life without you, Tamara. I love you so much.”

  She clung to him, almost dizzy with joy. She thought of his faithfulness to his son, of his need to care for them, of his patience and honor and goodness. “You are such a good man,” she whispered.

  “Is that a yes?” he asked, and to her surprise, there was genuine doubt in his words.

  She raised her head. “Yes.”

  He sighed, and the sound was replete with relief. He hugged her again, so close Tamara felt he would inhale her. “Thank God.”

  “And Valerie,” Tamara said.

  Lance smiled. “And Valerie,” he agreed.

  “Mommy,” Cody piped up suddenly. “Don’t you want to put on this pretty ring?”

  Tamara laughed. “Oh, yes,” she said, and held out her hand.

  Cody looked hopefully at his father. “Can I do it?”

  “Let’s do it together.” He took the ring out of the box and held it in his hand. Cody jumped on the picnic table to put his fingers over his dad’s. Together they slid the ring onto Tamara’s finger. She admired it happily, then hugged them both at once. “You guys are terrific,” she said.

  “That’s because of you, Mommy,” Cody replied seriously.

  “Amen,” said Lance.

  In the forest clearing, with her son and her future mate in her arms, Tamara felt her soul fly up and touch the sky, mingle with the waters of the lake, dance on the wind.

  “I love you, Lance,” she breathed. All was well.

  He pressed a kiss to her brow. “And I love you, Tamara.”

  “And me!” Cody shouted.

  Tamara and Lance laughed. “And you, too,” they said together.

  * * *

  Love this? Read Jake’s story in RECKLESS