Black Hills Baby

by Debra Salonen

  “Just a precaution,” she murmured under her breath as she left the house.

  Yeah, right, her practical voice returned.

  Libby hated that she couldn’t fool herself. Sometimes a little self-delusion was allowed, wasn’t it? A foot bath and pedicure wasn’t a blatant invitation to fool around. And despite Jenna’s assurance that a blister or two wouldn’t impede the average man’s ability to have sex, Cooper might not be feeling all that amorous.

  He’s in pain. I can help. This is what I do. I take care of people. My family. My town. My hired sperm donor.

  She stopped midway between her house and the cabin and took a deep breath. It was only a little after eight but without a moon, the night sky was a cloak of black velvet with thousands of tiny pinpricks of light showing through. The stillness was alleviated only by the chorus of frogs coming out of hibernation in the nearby creek. She glanced toward her brother’s house. Completely dark. Mac had left a message saying he hadn’t been able to get the part he needed so they were staying over another night.

  No help there if she wanted someone to talk her out of doing this.

  The roof of the cabin was visible against the sky, even given the darkness. A single light shown through the gingham curtains in the rear window. The bedside lamp.

  She treasured honesty, and the God’s honest truth was she wanted to make love with Cooper Lindstrom. Not the celebrity that most of the world knew but the man she’d spent the past five days getting to know. As bizarre as their pairing might sound-–postmaster and TV star-–she desperately wanted to taste a little bit of the vibrant light he gave off.

  Even though being with him was sure to end badly and would probably mean exposing herself to criticism and possible ridicule–-she could almost hear the women of Sentinel Pass shaking their heads and saying, “Poor Libby. She actually thought he cared for her.” --she made up her mind to do it. If the worst happened, and he left without fulfilling his part of the bargain…well, she’d deal with that, too.

  If you think about it, I’m not any worse off now than I was before he came. I’m still me. Alone. Back to square one.

  She resumed walking toward the cabin. She was ready to take the risk and stroll a few steps on the wild side. For once in her safe little life.

  ---

  Heroine decides to make love with hero.

  Coop looked at what he’d just typed on his laptop.

  Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It was too soon for them to hook up. Consummation would ruin the sexual tension that had to build for a couple of seasons. Only after the viewing public was fed up with the will-she-or-won’t-he repartee did the main couple get to fall into bed together.

  He sighed and closed the laptop. Plot was Shane’s strong point. Coop was the idea man, and at the moment the only idea that zipped around his head was how to get laid. His libido had been on hold for too long – even before his mother’s death. He didn’t know why. Dissatisfaction? Lord, he hoped not. He was going back to that life in a few short days, and Libby was staying here. So, if by some wild stretch of the imagination he could talk her into his bed and they actually hit it off… Well, crap, the whole thing sucked.

  A light tap sounded on the outer door. He sat up, swinging his bare legs to the floor. He started to stand but a shooting pain in his foot made him drop back. He adjusted the sheet and blanket across his lap. “Come in. It’s not locked.”

  He’d left the bedroom door ajar, so he had a clear view of Libby as she walked in carrying a big bag. “Whatcha got? Food? I am kinda hungry.”

  She popped her head around the door. “How do you manage to stay so slim the way you eat?”

  “Mom said I had a quick metabolism.”

  “Lucky dog.”

  “She said that, too.”

  He heard the sound of water running at the sink. A moment later she appeared in the doorway with a large molded-plastic tub in her hands. As she drew closer, he recognized what she was carrying. A foot massager. He’d seen one in a catalogue on the airplane. He’d had many professional pedicures in his life, but they'd involved a fancy chair that massaged his back while his feet soaked.

  “Oh, cool,” he said. “You didn’t have to, but…thanks.”

  She set the contraption on the throw rug beside the bed and reached under the bedside table to plug it in. A soft roar sent a cascade of bubbles over the rim. He leaned down to catch the spill, but she beat him to it. Their skulls bumped.

  “Oops. Sorry. I filled it a little too full. I haven’t used it since Gran moved. Let it run a few minutes to warm up then put your feet in. I’ll get another towel.”

  She disappeared into the small bathroom. After returning home from their hike he’d stood in the shower until the hot water had run out. He felt much better, except for his feet.

  “This is pretty generous of you, considering I got us lost today.”

  She returned with the damp towel he’d used and another that had been hanging on the bar. “It was partly my fault. I thought the trailer you wound up on looped back. If I'd stopped you sooner, we could have turned around.”

  “Well, I appreciate you not leaving me behind. I can be a bit of an ass from time to time. Probably comes from having people pander to your every whim and desire. Thank God I wasn’t born to be king. Or president.”

  She smiled. They’d talked a little politics during the early stage of their hike and had agreed they had not a smidgen in common. She listened to NPR every day, while he caught the occasional sound bite on CNN.

  She set up a small plastic stool that folded flat until she pushed out the sides. Noticing his interest, she told him, “I bought a couple of these for Megan so she can reach the sink. They’re cheap and strong.”

  Once she was seated, she nodded toward the water. “Go ahead and put your feet in. Oh, wait, I forgot the Epsom salts.”

  She dashed into the kitchen then quickly returned. “There,” she said after dumping half the container into the water.

  “Will it sting?”

  “I don’t know. I called Gran's to ask what was good for sore feet and Cal said Epsom salts. I don’t even know what they are.”

  “Your honesty isn’t as reassuring as a good lie would have been,” he told her.

  “Is there such a thing as a good lie?” she asked.

  He regretted he'd brought up the subject. Instead of answering, he made a production of slowly lowering his right foot into the water – big toe first. “It’s hot.”

  “It’s supposed to be.”

  He closed his eyes and plunged it all the way in. The initial shock immediately gave way to soothing comfort. “Not bad.” He put the left in. “Nice, in fact.”

  She rocked back with a satisfied smile. Glancing at the clock near the lamp, she said, “You should soak at least ten minutes, then, if you want, I could give you a pedicure before I dress your blisters.”

  A pedicure? The idea sounded sort of intimate given where they were-–and the fact that he was naked beneath the covers that were pulled across his lap. He swallowed. “Sure. That would be great. Do you do this for all your hiking partners?”

  She grinned. “Actually, last fall, our book club read a book by John Muir, then we did a fourteen-mile hike on the Mickelson. When we got back, we all took turns soaking our feet and giving each other pedicures.”

  “Sounds like a Sentinel Pass version of an orgy.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. She’d never looked more beautiful, relaxed and happy. And the feeling that grabbed him mid-chest-–right around his heart-–was one he’d felt twice before. Shortly before he proposed to his wives.

  Not good. Not good at all. Bad timing for my hero and really bad timing for me.

  He reminded himself that is was possible to have sex without falling in love. You heard her what she said to Jenna. Other men have made love to her and didn’t wind up walking down the aisle. Get a grip, man. You’re about to exploit her life. Even if you tell her the truth and she agrees it’s a great idea-
-which it is--she’s bound to have second thoughts somewhere down the line. You’ll make your mother’s prediction come true and be a three-time loser.

  Sex? Yes.

  Love? No. Hell, no.

  Chapter 13

  Libby decided if she lived to be Gran’s age, she’d never be more embarrassed. What was I thinking?

  She didn’t know how to seduce a man. She needed to put all thoughts of sex out of her mind and concentrate on what she did know how to do-–give pedicures.

  “I’ll do your right foot first,” she said, picking up the fluffy white towel she’d rushed to Bed, Bath & Beyond to buy as soon as she found out he was coming. As if fancy towels might somehow bridge the gap between his world and hers.

  She draped it across her knees and modestly averted her eyes while he situated himself on the bed. It hadn’t escaped her notice that he was probably naked beneath that layer of sheets and blanket bunched around his lap. She could see his tan line. Low, low on his hips. Her mouth went dry.

  A heavy weight settled on her knee. She looked down. A dripping wet foot. Long and a bit bony, but a beautiful shade of honey. Of course, he’d have to be that gorgeous, surreal color you saw in magazines. He lives on the beach, she reminded herself. If anyone what going to be that tan, it was Coop.

  She used the towel to wipe his foot, rubbing the course dark-blond hair that was wet to just above the ankle. His calves were substantial and beautifully sculpted. His knee… “Is that a scar?” she asked, touching her finger to the thin white happy-face smile someone had etched just below his kneecap.

  “Yeah. Skiing accident.”

  She resisted the urge to lean over and kiss it. “Must have hurt.”

  He heaved a great sigh. “Actually, I’ve never been skiing in my life. My mother thought it was too dangerous. My various trips to Vale were spent drinking and making excuses for not skiing. This happened on the set when I tripped over a power cable and landed on some kind of equipment. Bled like it hit an artery. The director talked Mom into keeping things quiet because of some OSHA infraction, so I didn’t go to the emergency room. She made up the story about the ski injury years later when some reporter asked about the scar.”

  “It could have gotten infected.”

  “It did. Mom knew somebody who had some left over antibiotics. I know, I know, that’s a crazy way to screw up your body. Jenna’s mom got on a rant about how the medical profession’s abuse of antibiotics grew a superbug. Don’t tell her I was one of the guinea pigs, okay?”

  She chuckled and returned her attention to his foot. “It’ll be our little secret,” she said.

  One among many.

  She made sure each toe was dry, then she picked up her clipper and carefully trimmed each nail. “You have nice feet,” she said idly. “Strong, masculine toes.”

  His laugh made her look up.

  “What?”

  There was a poignant edge to his smile that made her heart skip a beat. God, he was handsome. Too handsome. Especially when his hair was standing up in places. His lashes looked too heavy for him to keep his eyes open.

  “Inside joke. What is it about you that makes me remember all these weird things? Like the fake ski accident. I repeated the first version so often I think I started believing it happened--but as soon as I said it, the truth hit me.”

  “What memory did my praise of your toes dig up?”

  He eased back on his elbows and looked at the ceiling. “When I was twelve or so, I did a bunch of print ads. Catalogues. JCPenney. Macy’s. That sort of thing. Not very glamorous but fairly good money. The lady who booked me made some lewd comment about the size of my feet. I guess they seemed disproportionately big for my age or something. Mom put her up against the wall and told her never to call us again. That was…memorable.”

  “Do you remember what she said?”

  “Something like, ‘Big feet mean a big you know what. He ought to have a great career in porn. Some of the best are fags.’”

  Libby felt her mouth drop open. “The witch. I’d have smacked her around, too. I bet your mother was livid.”

  “Actually, I think she was afraid the woman might have been right about me being gay. I never had a serious girlfriend until my mid teens. Then I landed a role on a soap opera. Believe me, what happens on screen can’t hold a candle to what was going on when the camera was turned off.”

  She worked the soothing cucumber lotion into his skin, massaging the sole of his foot. “Isn’t that where you met your first wife?”

  He made a soft moan of appreciation. “That feels great. Huh? Oh, yes. Tiffany joined the cast a few years later. She was twenty, but she was playing sixteen-year-old Shannon Montworthy, my adopted stepsister, who, it turned out, may or may not have been my father’s illegitimate daughter. Gasp. Did we commit incest? And since my character was twenty-two, had I committed statutory rape – even though she was a prick tease from the word go and begged me to do it?”

  She laughed. “Was she acting or playing herself?”

  Set his foot on the floor, and the patted her knee for the other one.

  The skin around his toes was withered from soaking so long. She was careful to avoid the huge raw circles on his heel and under his big toe.

  “T-fancy-–my pet name for her-–was and still is a serious actor devoted to her craft. She’s gone on to do some very good stuff. The problem is most people still think of her as a soap ingénue. Tough label to shake, although Meg Ryan did it, and I think Tiffany will too–-eventually.”

  She was curious about his past but didn’t want to pry. Clippers in hand, she tackled his big toe and asked, “How long were you married?”

  “A lifetime, by Hollywood standards.”

  She glanced up.

  “Eighteen months.”

  “Oh.”

  “Morgana and I only lasted four. So T-fancy claims I loved her more. Morgi hates that.”

  “Is she right?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His beautiful lips pursed as if in deep thought. “I loved them both…at the time. Still do…in a way, even though they drive me crazy and are bleeding me dry. We were mutually beneficial to each other at the time.”

  Mutually beneficial. The expression made her uncomfortable. His rationale sounded a lot like the one she’d used when she put her ad together for the Internet.

  She quickly finished his toes, then put some antibiotic ointment on the sores before picking up the bottle of lotion. He wiggled his toes when she applied some to the arch of his foot.

  “That tickles.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It feels good. Better than I deserve.”

  “What do you mean? You were a very good sport today. Certainly a better hiker than I expected you to be.”

  “Because I’m a self-absorbed celebrity?”

  She shrugged. “You have a different kind of lifestyle.”

  “Not necessarily better or worse. Just different, right? Mom used to say that when I asked why our family was different from ‘normal’ people.”

  Her hands stilled. “Gran used to tell me the same thing.”

  She looked into his eyes and felt a pull so strong and so deep in her gut she had no choice but to follow it. He must have felt the same thing, because he opened his arms and motioned “come” with his fingers, the way she did to guide a delivery truck to the loading dock. The towel across her knees dropped to the floor and she was in his arms.

  They tumbled backwards when her weight knocked him off balance. She felt foolish at first-–fully dressed up against his bare torso--but his arms were strong and they held her close as if he was really happy she was there.

  “We’re going to make love, aren’t we?” she asked.

  “I think so. I want to. Do you?”

  She couldn’t speak, her throat was too tight. She couldn’t believe she’d found the nerve to ask. But she nodded.

  He turned them so they were lying side by side, facing each other. He very tenderly to
uched her hair, brushing her bangs back so he could see her eyes. “I like you, Libby. I didn’t expect this to happen and I don’t want to do something that might jeopardize our agreement, but…”

  She was amazed he could think clearly when her brain had turned to absolute mush. All she wanted at the moment was to experience more of what she’d felt when he'd kissed her. She might not be able to give pleasure--aside from a foot massage--but she could receive it. And no matter what this experience cost her, she was ready. “I won’t hold you to our bargain if this doesn’t turn out well. I promise.”

  His low chuckle reverberated through the mattress and into the base of her spine. She shivered from the simple joy it gave her.

  “I’m not worried about tonight. We’re going to be great together. I meant outside influences… There are things—”

  She stopped listening after going to be great together. Nobody had ever said that to her before, and for the first time in her life she could almost believe it was possible. She felt different with him. Relaxed. Joyful. Complete. Womanly.

  “Can we not talk any more and kiss?” she asked, bringing his head to hers.

  His smile was his answer. She memorized the curve of his gorgeous lips before closing her eyes and diving into the warmth of his skin, his smell and his touch.

  I tried to tell her, he rationalized in one small part of his mind, even as her sweet, inquisitive tongue rubbed across his crooked eyetooth.

  In the morning. Won’t be too late. He hoped. Because he might have arrived in Sentinel Pass with an ulterior motive, but he was in bed with her with nothing else in mind other than making love with her.

  Libby was so very different from his exes she made this experience wholly new. He honestly felt tingles of excitement run from fingertip to toes. Soft, pleasured toes. Hands that can pleasure toes can pleasure other parts of a body as well.

  From what he’d overheard earlier, she didn’t think of herself as a sexual creature. Some idiots had traumatized her. His job, he decided, was going to be bringing her inner sex goddess back to life.