by Cindi Myers
He shook his head, his expression dark, unreadable. “I want to remember how you look, right now.”
Then he began to undress himself. She watched, aroused by the play of light across muscle and skin. Every movement spoke of strength tempered by such tenderness. Her throat tightened and she had to look away.
Naked now, he took her hand and led her to the bed. “Lie back,” he whispered, pressing her shoulders back against the sheets. “Close your eyes.”
Eyes shut, she felt the weight of him settle beside her, smelled the musk of his arousal mingled with the fresh cotton of the sheets. His hand skimmed over her, the heat of him settling into her skin and she arched toward him, craving more.
He kissed her jaw, his tongue teasing the curve of her chin, tracing the column of her throat, outlining the bones of her shoulders. He feathered kisses around her breast, trailing his tongue in ever tighter circles toward her achingly taut nipple. She held her breath, anticipating, and gasped when he took the tip of her breast into his mouth.
He suckled and laved, his tongue teasing, torturing, relentless. She was soaking wet, writhing, wordlessly begging for release. He clamped his hand to her thigh, pinning her, opening her wide. Even the breeze from the ceiling fan across her aching center was too much.
She felt his erection against her thigh, heated and hard. She eased her hand down to stroke him and was rewarded with a muffled grunt. He tried to push her hand away, but she persisted. “I like the way you feel,” she whispered, squeezing him gently.
He responded by easing two fingers into her, probing deeply, then withdrawing, his thumb angling up to stroke her swollen clit. At the same time he renewed his attention to her breasts, overwhelming her senses. His hands and tongue claimed her, devoured her, left no room in her mind for anything but this incredible sensation of him awakening her to her own desire.
When she was drawn taut like a bow, on the very edge of reason, he knelt over her and plunged into her. He filled her and overwhelmed her, driving her higher still with each thrust, both demanding and giving more and more. There was no room for thought or reason here, only need and longing and being as she’d never known before.
She came with a keening moan and felt his own release quake through her. They clung to one another, eyes shut, gasping for breath, their hearts thudding in unison with the aftershocks of their lovemaking. Every nerve tingled with awareness and satisfaction. Was this what people meant when they talked of being loved completely—that they had been touched by something profound, even down to a cellular level?
After a long while—or maybe only a few minutes—Dylan eased off of her, though he kept his arm across her as he burrowed into the covers alongside her. His breathing grew more even and she wondered if he was asleep.
Careful not to disturb him, she rolled over onto her side and lay looking at him. His face was relaxed, unlined, the faint shadow of beard along his jaw giving him a rakish look. She smiled and gently brushed the hair back from his forehead. What was going on between them? Was tonight the last time they would be together or the beginning of a lifetime of such times together?
She took the fact that the thought didn’t terrify her as a good sign. Maybe she was braver than she thought. She smiled and softly kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her. “Do you think we’re brave enough to stay together? Forever?”
17
“WILL YOU GET AWAY from that window? You’re making me nervous.” Troy took Dylan by the arm and tugged him back from the front window of the campaign headquarters. “The media will see you and think you’re anxious about the election results.”
“I am anxious about the results.” He picked up a computer printout of early polling results and laid it back down again. “We’ve still got two hours until the polls close.”
“You’re going to win. I know it.”
Dylan glanced toward the front window again. School had let out an hour ago. Why wasn’t Taylor here yet?
“She’s going to be here,” Troy said. “Maybe she went home to change clothes.”
Dylan flushed. “How did you know what I was thinking?”
“I know all the signs by now.” Troy laughed. “Why don’t the two of you get married and get it over with, instead of mooning after each other all the time?”
Dylan ducked his head. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been a little busy. I don’t think there’s a group in this county I haven’t spoken to lately.”
“And it’s going to pay off at the polls tonight.” Troy tapped the computer printouts. “Tomorrow, people will be talking to you as the newest member of the Cedar Creek School Board.”
The phone rang and Troy rushed to answer it. Dylan watched him, resisting the urge to reach into his pocket where the ring box made a hard knot against his hip. He and Taylor had carefully avoided the subject of her staying in the weeks since she’d spent the night at his house. He’d used the excuse of being busy with the campaign, but really, he was waiting for her to bring up the subject. Had she meant it when she’d said she realized she wouldn’t find what she was looking for at Oxford? Did that mean she was willing to give things a try with him?
The front door opened and a group of students burst in. Berk led the procession, pushing a television on a trolley, followed by Dale with the video camera and half a dozen others. Taylor followed behind them, her face flushed with the November cold.
Smiling, he went to her and kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.” She slipped out of her coat and draped it around an empty chair. “I would have been here sooner, but I had to stop and cast my vote.”
“And who did you vote for?” He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close.
“This very handsome write-in candidate.” She trailed one finger down his cheek, setting up an electric current that went straight to his groin. What was it about this woman that her mere touch could affect him this way? And how could he make sure these feelings never stopped?
“Is it okay if we set the TV up at the front of the room?” Berk interrupted them.
Reluctantly, Dylan moved away from Taylor. “Sure. What’s the TV for, anyway?”
Berk grinned. “We finished our movie about your dad’s book. We thought you’d like to see it.”
“You bet I want to see it.” He clapped Berk on the back. “I can’t wait.”
“We’ll have it ready in a few moments for our first official screening.”
The door opened again and Mindy entered, pulling Clay along behind her. “The polls are busy,” she announced. “We had to wait in line. I was afraid we’d be too late to see the movie.”
“I told her you wouldn’t start without us.” Clay helped Mindy out of her coat.
“We have a few other guests coming,” Jessica said. “We won’t start until everyone is here.”
As if on cue, the door opened to admit Alyson, who was carrying a platter of cookies. “Who invited her?” Mindy wondered out loud.
“I did.” Troy stepped forward to take the cookies. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it!” Alyson fluttered her lashes. Troy grinned back.
“Must be something in the air,” Clay muttered.
“What’s that?” Dylan glanced at him.
Clay looked sheepish. “I think you started something with your romantic declaration before the school board.” He reached out and took Mindy’s hand. “It made me think I’d been a coward about my feelings for Mindy.”
Mindy blushed and held up her left hand. For the first time, Dylan noticed the diamond solitaire glinting there. “Clay and I have decided to make it official,” she said. “No more sneaking around.”
“Congratulations!” Taylor hugged her friend close.
“Yes, congratulations.” Dylan added his good wishes, even as the knot in his stomach tightened. How was it these two, who had been so shy about declaring their feelings, now found it e
asy to make this public commitment, when he and Taylor couldn’t seem to get around to doing so?
He looked up, trying to catch Taylor’s eye, but she was looking away, at the door, which had opened to reveal yet another visitor.
Councilman Spivey stood in the open doorway, back rigid, the lines of his face deepened in a scowl. “I’m here, Gates,” he declared. “You’ve got five minutes to explain the meaning of this.”
Dylan clenched his jaw. “I might have known he’d find a way to make trouble.”
He started toward the door, but Patrice rushed past him to intervene. “Mr. Spivey, Mr. Gates didn’t invite you here, we did.” She took the city councilman’s arm. “We wanted you to see for yourself the class project we’ve been working on. We have a chair reserved for you right here.” She led him to a seat in the front row.
Dylan glanced at Taylor. She shook her head. Whatever the students were up to, they’d done it on their own. He turned and found Berk standing beside him.
“We’re not trying to cause trouble,” Berk said. “We just thought if he saw what we were really doing, he’d see it wasn’t any kind of personal attack against him and his family.” He glanced to where the councilman was accepting a cup of coffee from Jessica. “Besides, if he’s here now, he can’t say later there was anything out of order going on here tonight.”
Dylan nodded. “Thanks. And maybe this will help.”
Berk shrugged. “We figure it can’t hurt.”
“All right, everybody. Take your seats and we’ll begin.” Dale thumped a can of soda on a desktop as a makeshift gavel. “Somebody pull the blinds on the front window and we’ll be set.”
Blinds drawn and lights dimmed, Patrice walked to the front of the room and stood in front of the television set. “You’re about to see the movie our class made as our senior project. We chose to study the book, A Ranger Remembers, by Samuel Gates, who was a Texas Ranger in this county during the Civil Rights movement. He was also the father of Dylan Gates, who helped us a lot with the project. So, we want to start by thanking him for that help.”
Applause and cheers went up from the partisan crowd. Dylan smiled and bowed.
“We also want to thank our teacher, Ms. Reed, for her help.”
More cheers. Taylor beamed.
“We learned a lot about the history of our town and about the Civil Rights movement from this book,” Patrice continued. “We also learned about things like research and art and filmmaking. And we learned that even one person who speaks up for what is right can make a difference. Not always right away, but eventually.”
She stepped aside and Dale pressed the button to begin the movie.
The screen flickered to life with a still photo of Dylan’s father as a young man, ramrod-straight in his starched khaki uniform, staring into the camera with clear eyes. More pictures followed, each added to the screen to form a collage: Cedar Creek circa 1960, the old high school, Sam Gates with his wife and children. Dylan stared at the image of himself as a five-year-old, clinging to his father’s hand, and felt a rush of longing for his father.
More photos followed. Newspaper clippings telling the events of the day. The Texas Rangers escorting black children to school. Rows of black and white young people staging a sit-in at the corner drugstore.
The screen flickered again and shifted to live action. Students from Taylor’s class played the parts of the Rangers and the students and the townspeople protesting integration. Dressed in period fashions and hairstyles, they did a good job of conveying their impression of what things must have been like.
The next shot was of a timeline showing the chronology of the Civil Rights movement in the county. Students interviewed older adults who had been part of the movement in Cedar Creek and elsewhere.
Dramatic music blared from the speakers, then flames filled the screen. The camera pulled back to reveal a cross blazing on the lawn of the old high school. White-robed Klansmen marched around it. Flames crackled, music trumpeted and people shouted. The hair on the backs of Dylan’s arms stood on end.
The scene shifted again to the present-day high school. Students of all races gathered in the cafeteria for lunch. Hip-hop blared from a group of cars in the parking lot. A black boy and a white girl danced together at homecoming.
Dylan’s own face flashed on the screen next. He was talking about his father. “I think my father chose to write about this period of history because he knew it was important and because he had firsthand knowledge of it and because it had affected him deeply. He wanted people to see that civil rights had been a struggle, something they should never take for granted.
“I think he felt, because it hadn’t been an easy fight, that made the victory that much sweeter. He wasn’t naive. He knew there were still problems. There are still problems. But things are better than they were and can get better still if people remember. His book challenged people to remember, just as your class project does.”
The screen went still again, with a last image of Sam Gates, Texas Ranger. This was an older Sam, hair graying at the temples, lines radiating from his eyes. But he still stood straight as an arrow in a starched uniform, his eyes looking full-on at the viewer.
Dylan’s throat felt tight. In those few minutes of film, these kids had captured the essence of his father. A man who wouldn’t back down, who would tell the truth even if it hurt. As someone switched on the lights, he stood, applauding.
Others rose around him, until the room was filled with people cheering for the students. “My father would be very proud,” Dylan said, raising his voice to be heard. “I’m very proud. Thank you for sharing that with us.”
He shifted his gaze to Councilman Spivey. The old man sat hunched in his chair, staring at the black screen. As the crowd moved around him, he rose and turned toward the door. Dylan intercepted him. “You have to admit they did a good job,” he said.
Spivey looked at him. “They took one of the ugliest periods in our history and reduced it to forty-five minutes of arty pictures and feel-good prose. A waste of taxpayers’ money.” He narrowed his eyes. “I suppose you see it as a perfectly good substitute for old-fashioned education.”
“I think we learn in all kinds of ways. I’ve even learned a thing or two from you.”
Spivey straightened. “What’s that?”
“We’re both after the same thing. We want to honor our father’s memories and give back to the place where we came from. We don’t go after those goals in the same way, but I don’t think we necessarily have to.”
“I don’t have time to listen to this nonsense.” Spivey pushed past him, out the door.
“Do you think the film changed his mind about anything?”
He turned and saw Taylor watching the departing councilman. “Probably not. But it doesn’t matter. I’m through worrying about him.” He put his arm around her. “After this is all over tonight, let’s go somewhere. Just the two of us. I have something I want to show you.”
She smiled up at him. “I was thinking the same thing. I have something I want to show you.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Another rumor from your diary?”
She shook her head. “Something better.”
What could be better? His stomach quivered with anticipation.
“Good news!” Troy rushed up to them. “I just got off the phone. The last polls closed ten minutes ago. The early tallies show you’re ahead of Sellers and Ramirez by eight percent.”
Dylan pursed his lips. “Not a very wide margin.”
“It’ll get wider. I have a good feeling about this.” He handed Dylan a piece of paper. “You need to start practicing your victory speech.”
Taylor slipped her hand into his. “Let’s check out the buffet table. You can try your speech out on me.”
“I’d like to try out a few things on you, but talking isn’t one of them.”
She gave him a coy look. “There’ll be time for that later. I promise.”
ANY FURTHER DOUBTS about Dyl
an’s victory were erased at nine o’clock when Maidy Sellers called to congratulate him and to concede the election. Jess Ramirez followed suit shortly thereafter. When Troy made the announcement, cheers rocked the campaign headquarters. Someone helped Dylan to stand on a desk. “I want to thank every one of you for all the work you’ve put in to make this possible,” he said. “I especially want to thank Troy Sommers, my campaign manager. I hope this is the beginning of many years of public service to the people of Cedar Creek.”
The press snapped photos and people crowded around to shake his hand. Taylor watched, her heart feeling too big for her chest. She’d wanted this for him, because she knew how much he wanted it for himself. Only now did she realize she wanted it for herself, too. She could look at this victory and know all the fears she’d had about her reputation or image in town affecting the outcome of the election had been unfounded.
She was still adjusting to the idea that she might have been wrong about the people in this town. Ten years of looking at things a certain way didn’t change overnight, but it was getting easier. She’d even eaten lunch with Alyson one day last week and managed not to grimace even once.
Dylan’s gaze met hers across the room and warmth zinged through her. His caring and patience had touched her in ways she couldn’t even name. But she’d been silent too long. There were things she had to say to him. Things she needed to say before the night was over.
An hour later, he found her by the buffet table, helping Alyson and Troy clean up the leftovers. He put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you ready to leave?”
She nodded. “I think so.” She looked at Alyson. “Can you finish up here?”
“You go on.” Troy patted Alyson on the back. “Aly and I will be fine.”
Taylor waited until they were in the parking lot before she burst out laughing. “Aly?”
“I think my campaign manager might be smitten,” Dylan said, unlocking his truck. “Maybe Clay is right. Maybe there’s something in the air.”