Wanted: Wife

by Jones, Gwen

  He stomped it, hard. “This is oak planking. The only reason you fell through was because my father chose that spot to set up his taxidermy studio, and the constant run-off ate through the floorboards. Three or four new planks ought to fix it right up. Then we can sand it down and varnish it and it’ll be good as new.” He turned toward the stone fireplace, fingers framing it. “Maybe a nice hearth rug right there and, with a roaring fire on a cold winter’s night, well . . .” He looked to me with a definite smolder. “Ought to be downright cozy.”

  It ought to be; it even seemed like it right then. So much so, I was already feeling the heat. Or maybe it was just the way he looked at me, warming me down to my toes. I gave the front of my t-shirt a flap, feeling the sweat trickling down between my breasts, the scent of a full day’s worth of tugging, hauling and tossing making itself apparent. An unlikely remedy came to mind. Unlikely for me, anyhow.

  I turned toward the door. “Will you excuse me?” I said, thumbing the hem of my t-shirt as I headed outside.

  Bucky followed, and so did Andy, though not trotting beside me as the Collie did, but slowly, a dozen yards behind. To make it easier for him, I left a breadcrumb trail of my clothes to the lake, first a shirt, then each sneaker, shorts, my bra, and just before I reached the dock, a tortoiseshell clasp, where I slowly let my hair unfurl. It was there he stopped, maybe to watch it sway across my back as I stepped onto the planking, or slide over my shoulder as I stripped away my panties, just before I pushed up on my toes and dove into the lake.

  Did I hear a hiss as the water hit my skin? Sure felt like it, the contrast of cool and heat puckering each pore into gooseflesh, cooling me instantly. I glided under the surface like an arrow just shot, as slinky as an eel. I felt swift and reckless and decadent, never more conscious of my body and how lethal its effects were. He wanted me—oh boy, did he ever—and even if my mind had not yet enraptured him, his desire for me was irrefutable, and that alone made me invincible. No matter how this escapade would play out, I’d always remember this small slice of time when what I was was just enough, and suddenly my arms became electric, propelling me with superhuman strength through the murk, my lungs nearly giving out before I broke the surface to the bright sky overhead. When I looked toward the shore I saw Andy on the dock, simply watching. I took a deep breath and swam toward him.

  He was indistinct at first; maybe it was the water in my eyes. Or maybe I was half-blinded by the westing sun, as it sank closer to the treetops past the house. Then Bucky started to bark and Andy wasn’t looking at me anymore, but toward the water to my right. I kept swimming, aiming for the dock.

  I was maybe fifteen feet from it when I stopped, treading water. “Hey, sailor,” I said, visoring my eyes, “why don’t you come on in?”

  “Julie,” he said, preternaturally calm, “move back very—”

  Something pierced my breast and I screamed, and all at once, Bucky was airborne.

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * *

  Down on the Farm

  I CLUTCHED MY breast, blood spilling through my fingers, the water turning a bright red. Before I could scream again a splash rained over me and Bucky appeared out of nowhere, teeth bared, snatching something out of the water as it whipped my shoulder with a loud thuk! I yelped, arms pinwheeling as the dog flung something long and wiry into the air to splash into the lake yards away. I took it as my cue to get far away as fast as I could and kicked frantically for the dock. Andy was already in the water, and within seconds he pulled me onto the dock.

  “Don’t move,” he said, laying me back, and stripping off his t-shirt, he pressed it hard against my bleeding breast.

  “It’s not stopping!” I cried, watching the white cotton quickly turning crimson. Suddenly I felt sick and I closed my eyes, the dock starting to spin.

  “Open your eyes,” Andy ordered. “Look at me.” They fluttered open, and I did. “You got snakebit, but it’s a harmless water snake. It only looks worse because of the water and their spit’s anti-coagulants.”

  Snakebit! Telling me that didn’t help much; I felt the bile rising up my throat. “Anti—what do you mean?”

  He turned the shirt around, pressing again. “Means whatever’s in the bite slows the blood from clotting. But it’s not poisonous. You’re not going to bleed to death, and the only way you’re going to get sick is if you let it get infected.”

  I didn’t care what he said; I closed my eyes anyway. “Why didn’t you tell me there’s snakes in this lake?”

  “There’s snakes in every lake. The trick is to get out of their way when they’re swimming. Usually they get out of yours, but you must have crossed its path. Good thing Bucky snatched it off, because these snakes have a pretty prickly temper, and it would’ve bit you over and over again.”

  “Oh my God—Bucky!” I bolted upright, frantically scanning the lake. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Andy said, looking a bit surprised at my concern. Just then the dog loped up the lake bank, giving himself a good shake before he trotted around to the dock. He sat down a few feet from me, flashing his toothy grin, his tongue lolling.

  “My hero,” I said, reaching out to scratch him under the chin. He licked his chops and barked and shook again, water raining over us in doggie-scented droplets, making me aware Andy was the only one dressed among us. Bucky remedied that by promptly climbing into my lap.

  I hugged him, pressing my cheek to his neck. “Oh dear, I guess this means we’ve bonded.” He twisted his head and licked my nose, and all at once I was laughing, bare naked and sopping and so very satisfied with my new canine friend I didn’t even notice I’d dropped my compress.

  Good thing Andy did. He scritched Bucky behind the ear then nudged him off me, lifting the bloodied t-shirt from where it had fallen on the dock. He cocked his head, eyeing my breast. “Well, there you go. It’s stopped bleeding.” He stood and, grabbing my hand, pulled me to my feet. “We’d better clean it out.”

  Self-conscious, I crossed my arms over me and looked around for my clothes. They were still where I had left them, strewn across the yard, veritable stepping stones to the front door.

  “We’ll get them later,” Andy said, lifting me into his arms. “You know, this is getting to be a habit, carrying you from the lake.”

  “All part of the plan,” I said, waggling my feet. “Delicate insoles, you know.”

  “I’m not saying I mind,” he said, “but it does set a dangerous precedent.”

  “Oh really? Why?”

  He kissed my forehead and smiled a bit too lethally. “I could get very used to it.”

  A few minutes later we were both in the shower, doing a very good job of cleaning mostly everything out. Afterward, as I applied Neosporin to two angry-looking pinholes, Andy was stepping into his jeans, leaving me to wonder why I was still languishing in my robe. “Going somewhere?” I said.

  “Into town,” he said, sitting on the side of the bed as he strapped on his sandals. “I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll take that as a non-invitation,” I said, coming around to sit beside him. “Care to tell me why?”

  He turned, pressing me back to the bed. “Because you’ll be busy,” he said, lightly kissing my neck. “Getting ready for me and the surprise I’ll be bringing back.”

  “I love surprises,” I said, pushing a bit of damp hair behind his ear. It was getting late, almost twilight, and his eyes shone a crystalline blue. “Except it better involve eating. I’m absolutely starving.”

  “Oh, it’ll definitely involve eating,” he said, untying my robe to bare my breasts. “Now let’s take a look at that bite . . .”

  Which would be fine if all he did was look. But he didn’t. He had to skim his fingers to the underside of my breast and lift it ever so delicately, his thumb rubbing in the bit of antiseptic cream I’d missed, the pad of his hand lightly abrading my nipple as he did. My brain told me it was a gesture innocent of any sexual implications, yet my body respo
nded with a large, shivering sigh. He lifted his eyes to mine, his hand sliding to the flat of my belly.

  My God—it never took much. How did he do it, this instant arousal by just quirking an eyebrow? Odd how I was always ready for him, stranger still how he always wanted me. I raised my head and nipped the side of his mouth, tracing my lips across his. They felt cool, soft, tasting of mint and longing, like a bit of little-boy-happiness at getting the birthday present of his dreams. But how could that be? I couldn’t imagine him not getting anything he ever wanted. Such as me, it embarrassed me to think. He wanted me, and there I was . . .

  His mouth opened and his tongue met mine before it closed in the deepest kiss I could imagine. This had to be more than just lust. But I also knew it was so much less than love. I wasn’t quite sure what it was, except that it always baffled me,

  “C’est pour toi que je vive,” he murmured, kissing my ear. “I’ll never let anything happen to you . . . you do know that, don’t you?”

  Why the urgency in his voice? “Yes, of course, Andy.” He kissed my neck. “Of course I do.”

  He growled something indiscernible and kept kissing me, my shoulder, my collarbone, each breast, and lower. Soon his hands were at my hips and he was spreading my legs, his tongue tracing the inside of my thigh, running higher and higher until it was on me, and I arched from the mattress in surprise.

  There had never been a question of how much Andy excited me. He was a strong, sensuous man, a man who seemed only too aware of his sexual prowess and the power it held. But he didn’t wield it maliciously as he genuinely seemed to appreciate women. Yet, as much as he did, there was no question he was used to being on top, metaphorically or otherwise. And it wasn’t even because it was his preference; it just seemed he’d come to expect it because his women did, too. I’d seen it in all the faces of those he interviewed. I heard it in all their voices. The funny part in my—or any woman—realizing that was that it was the most devastating part of his allure. He needed us to need him, and we were only too happy to table whatever strengths we had accumulated to bask in his unwavering desire. Quite a heady notion to consider. Even harder to accept. Except we all had accepted it readily. And if I had, what did that say of me?

  At the moment it didn’t matter; I was coming, swiftly and violently. And if that was the sole perk of this alliance, then it made me more than happy. Mainly because it was the only thing I’d ever take from him, or any man, ever again.

  FROM JULIE KNOTT’S JOURNAL . . .

  6 September

  Tonight I baked a chicken! No kidding, we finally have a working kitchen that’s actually NOT al fresco! Granted, there’s still a bit of scraping and painting and sanding and refurbishing to do (not only to the kitchen, but to the rest of this sorry house), and we still don’t have a fridge (which should be delivered Thursday, a wedding present from Uncle Jinks), but for the first time in a week—I’ve been MARRIED a week?!—I had the luxury of cooking and eating without the imminent threat of bird crap landing in our food. We took our first meal at our newly cleaned and polished kitchen table, enjoying said chicken stuffed with fresh herbs and tomatoes with a basil vinaigrette, green beans, roasted corn, and the requisite bread and cheese (a must, I have learned, for every one of Andy’s dinners), plus a nice pinot grigio (wine, another requirement, not that I’m complaining). For dessert, I tossed together a peach and blueberry crisp. For the first time in a week, I’m full!

  9 September

  Today we drove all the way to Hammonton (incidentally, the Blueberry Capital of the World) to stock our new fridge and cleaned-out cupboards from a real, live supermarket. Remarkable how many things you don’t need when you’re eating off the land. I, for one, bought five cases of Mason jars as well as several boxes of Hefty Bags and Rubbermaid plastic containers for all the veggies and fruits and whatnot I’ll be canning and freezing (I’m really up for this, no kidding.) I even bought some yeast, as I’m determined to make crusty baguettes for Andy, even if it’ll take all day. (I Googled a recipe I saved on my notepad.) By the way, while I was shopping Andy took off for Home Depot. At an hour and a half, it’s the longest we’ve been separated since we married. A hell of a long time to pick up paint, but then again, I’ve always considered it a men’s Disneyland. I’m such a sexist pig.

  12 September

  Andy removed the calf from the farm today. I knew it had to be done, so it wasn’t a surprise, especially since he said he kept her way longer than he should have. She screamed all the way out of the yard, and Betsy mooed like someone was beating the crap out of her. It was all very sad. Andy assured me she’s going to be raised as a dairy cow, and she wasn’t going for veal. I hope he’s right. Of course, this means that Betsy will have to be milked twice a day (he has an electric milker, thank God), but we also will be getting some freaking delicious milk. I’ve tasted it; unbelievable! Andy also said we’re going to make our own brie.

  20 September

  The rest of the house is finally fully habitable. It’s far from finished, but it’s relatively crap-free. The washer and dryer work, the other toilet’s been de-rodent-ed, we’re growing mushrooms, the apples are ready to pick. And last night we snuggled on a blanket in front of our unlit fireplace. Even Bucky has found a place to sleep on the hearth. It really is quite nice. Also, I found another photo of the man Andy had previously referred to as “the ship’s captain” bookmarking a page in an old Joy of Cooking. I was looking up a recipe for pickles when I came across the photo. The name “Daniel Mercier” was typed on the back, in the same way it had been for Andy’s mother. Didn’t take much to deduce these pictures probably came courtesy of a private detective. The funny part was when I noticed what page it was marking: how to roast a pig on a spit.

  27 September

  Ray has asked Andy to help with his cranberry harvest next week. He has fifteen acres of bogs, so it’ll take a few days, though he doesn’t have to be there for all of it. Andy suggested having Ray and Celia for dinner after it’s over, a little post-harvest celebration and a chance to show off our newly-refurbished house. We had Uncle Jinks to dinner the night before last, and he said it already looks like another world. And oh yeah, this morning I got my period. Andy will most certainly find out tonight.

  I HUNG RED check café curtains in the kitchen, and sage green floor-length ones in the living room, which we could open during the day with brass pull backs. Not that there was anyone around to peek in, but I liked having the option. Options were always handy to have around.

  What a difference nearly a month had made on the farm. The chickens were producing at least a eighteen eggs a day; we always had fresh milk; I was well on my way to freezing and canning enough produce to (theoretically) last us through the winter; I had a nice stock of herbs drying in the barn; the apples had been harvested (both by us to eat, cook, and sell, and by a week’s worth of pick-your-own-ers who had stripped us bare); we had a tidy sum in our coffers from our summer fruits and veggies, and the first crops of fall and winter vegetables were almost ready; the house and grounds were cleaned up and cleared out and all finally felt like home. Most days I worked from sun-up to sunset, but I had never been in better shape, both mentally and physically, especially since in all that time I hadn’t touched a computer, watched a TV, used a microwave, GPS, food processor, air conditioner or hair dryer, nor had a manicure, pedicure, wax, or haircut. But I honestly think I never looked better. As a matter of fact, I had eschewed most implements of modern life for convenience or entertainment, relying instead on conversation, watching the stars, reading, and writing in my journal. And, of course, something else that probably predated any of it.

  Which led to the dilemma I now faced. As had been our habit we ate dinner late, then lingered over it, taking coffee and dessert outside on the front porch where we talked endlessly about nothing and everything. I learned silly little things about Andy, that he loved those round caramels with the white gunk inside, he always brushed his teeth as soon as he got up, and
although he’d been all over the world by train and sea, he’d probably only flown a dozen times. From me he learned I passed out when I got my ears pierced at fifteen, I put ketchup on fried chicken, and I’d never once had stage fright. As the sky above us blazed with starlight, the world between us got a little smaller, and I was sure I saw a side of Andy he saved just for me. All the more reason why I was feeling a little traitorous about our bargain just then, even though I was quite certain my compliance would have been beyond comprehension.

  He set his coffee down and, reaching over, pulled me into his lap. I settled into it, looping my arm around his neck. As always, he showered before dinner, and he smelled of French-milled savon and wintergreen shaving soap. I leaned in, taking a heady whiff. He looked up and smiled.

  “The nights are starting to get cool,” I opined.

  He nodded, looking toward the lake. “One thing I remember about this place is the way it looked in winter, the snow covering the pine trees, the frozen-over lake, the deer coming right up to the house. You see lots of hawks then, too. Once I even saw a bobcat.”

  “A bobcat?” I cringed. “Oh, nice. Why didn’t you tell me there were wild animals here?”

  He laughed. “Aren’t all animals wild? Well, except for Bucky.” He reached to the dog, lying next to the chair, and scratched his ruff. Bucky whined appreciatively, rubbing his head against my dangling leg. There’s an odd thing: I didn’t even mind.

  “Anyway, you hardly ever see them,” he added. “Most scientists believe they’re extinct in the East, that they were killed off a long time ago. But every now and then someone sees one, which actually, isn’t surprising. There’s no shortage of deer to eat. It’s not like they have to go around stealing babies anymore.”