Summer's Freedom

by Samuel, Barbara

  “Do you mind if I play some blues?” he asked as he settled next to her in the cab of the pickup.

  “Not at all.”

  He pushed a button on the dash, and the mellow southern chords of Sonny and Brownie filled the cab.

  “I have a brother who’s a blues fanatic,” Maggie commented.

  “Does he live around here, too?” Joel asked as he maneuvered the truck onto the road.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Maggie said. “I’ve been talking about myself nonstop.” She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Your turn. I know you like the blues and animals and that you’re as smart as a whip.”

  “See, there it is,” he said, throwing a dazzling glance at her. “That drawl—‘lahk the blues.’”

  “Not fair,” she replied, refusing to be distracted. She needed to know more of him, needed to find some way to get a handle on who he was, exactly. “How many children in your family?”

  “Four. Three girls and me.”

  “You must have been spoiled rotten.”

  Joel smiled, eyes on the road. “I’m also the youngest.”

  “Hmm,” Maggie said, cocking her head. “Now I’m surprised.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because,” he said, his face suddenly serious, “you’d expect me to be a little more open, right?”

  Startled at the insight, she stared at him. Grim tension gripped his jaw. “Exactly,” she said finally.

  His throat moved as he swallowed, and he carefully negotiated a turn, heading west. When he spoke, each word was carefully enunciated. “I had a really rotten marriage.” At a traffic light, he braked and looked at Maggie. “Since then, I haven’t spent much time with women.”

  In his eyes, she caught an undiluted glimpse of raw emotion—pain and hunger, sorrow and entreaty. In that moment, she felt an inexplicable link spring up between them, a link far beyond infatuation or attraction. It was almost, she thought, as if she had suddenly climbed inside him and he in her, without touching at all.

  A horn honked behind them, and Joel released the brake. He looked out the windshield. “Have you spent much time up Rampart Range road?” His voice showed nothing.

  Maggie tried to match his tone. “Not really,” she answered. She rubbed her palms together, staring out the window. The rhythm of her heart had nothing to do with the giddiness she had been feeling. It was terror, plain and simple. If he decided to draw her in, keeping this man at arm’s length would be no easy feat.

  As she watched the buildings grow sparse, the trees thick, she realized she had discovered the first flaw in her newly created sincere men category. Intensity. Yes, she thought, stealing a glance at his profile, that should have been obvious. A man couldn’t very well be sincere without something motivating it. A certain amount of passion would be required.

  She’d spent her life avoiding the emotional highs and lows that had proved so disastrous for her parents. Passion about anything was dangerous, a theory reinforced by the pain that had been reflected in Joel’s eyes.

  The farther they moved from the city, the more relaxed he became. By the time they reached the destination he had picked out, Maggie could sense a new man emerging, one more in line with the youngest child and only son in a family of daughters.

  “Do you like to hike?” he asked.

  “Depends on how difficult a hike it turns out to be,” she countered. “I wouldn’t be thrilled to have to cling to the edge of a cliff, for example.”

  She was rewarded with a grin. “I wouldn’t do that to you.” He slung a nylon backpack over one shoulder, then easily took her hand as they walked through a wide clearing of pale green grass. “I did it to my cousins from Jersey once, though.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I took them on the hardest hike of their lives.” His voice lifted with remembered mischief. “Right along the edge of a sandstone cliff over a drop of about twelve or fifteen hundred feet.”

  “Oh, Lord,” she breathed, dizzy at the very thought. “I, for one, would have lost my breakfast.”

  “And you wouldn’t have been alone,” he said, tongue-in-cheek. “They promised me their combined allowances for the next ten years if I would get them down.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  He swung her hand. “They always laughed about the Springs. I was jealous of them going into New York City to shop the same way I was jealous of all you army kids.” He laughed. “God paid me back, though.”

  Maggie smiled. “Pray tell.”

  He winced appreciatively. “I broke my ankle on the way down.”

  “That’s perfect.”

  “My cousins had to carry me back to the car, and while they went swimming and rode bikes and took part in all the wonders of summer, I hobbled around on crutches.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “It gets worse. My father whipped me good for taking them up there, giving my cousins even more to rib me about.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  Joel stopped, facing her for a brief moment. Then his clear eyes moved to scan the sky with familiarity and fondness. “When we reached the summit of the cliff, we startled a red-tailed hawk. He was a beauty, too, half as big as we were, perched on the tip of a rock out in the middle of nothing. He flew up, right above us, and it seemed like he hung there forever.” Joel had been outlining his words with his free hand as he spoke. Now he dropped it and looked at Maggie with a half smile. “I fell head over heels in love with that bird. I’d do the whole day over again in a second.”

  As she looked at him, Maggie felt a swoosh of reaction within her, and she wanted to press a hand to the concrete manifestation of joy on his features. She didn’t dare. “Is there a chance we could see a big bird like that up here now?” she asked.

  “Always. This is their country.” He inclined his head. “Come on. I’ll show you a great spot.”

  He led her through a stand of coniferous trees, up the mountain for quite a distance. By the time they reached a tumble of pink granite boulders, Maggie was unabashedly breathing hard. Joel, however, settled comfortably on a speckled rock with no more sign of exertion than if he’d walked across their porch at home.

  When she could breathe without gasping, she said, “I’ve got a feeling you’re one of those disgustingly healthy types who eats nothing but bean sprouts and runs marathons for the fun of it.” She collapsed on the ground, hearing him laugh.

  “Not hardly.” He tugged a shaft of grass from its sheath and playfully reached over to tickle her face with it. “I was born to hike trails and till fields and break horses. I don’t expect everyone to be strong—it’s easy for me.”

  “I’m not exactly a shrimp,” she muttered. But she was recovering more quickly than she’d believed possible, and in the wake of her gasps there came an exhilarated tingling to her veins.

  “No, you’re not,” he agreed, smiling. “You were born for it, too. You just don’t know it yet.”

  “How would you know?”

  He laughed with a freedom Maggie would have said was impossible two hours before. “Look at yourself, woman. You’re as strong as an ox.”

  Maggie frowned at him. “Thanks a lot.”

  He moved to sit beside her on the grass. “That’s not what I meant,” he said in his gravelly voice. Gently, he lifted a hand to touch her cheek. “I really think you look like a tiger.”

  At the warmth of his long fingers against her face, Maggie felt her heart flip oddly. It was a delight to simply stare into his eyes, she thought, to examine so closely the texture of his skin. He smelled like sun-dried clothes and warm earth, a faintly musky, pleasant scent. “I think you look like a redwood tree,” she offered in return.

  “That’s new.” He touched her hair with the very tips of his fingers, following the gesture with his eyes. Slowly, he shifted his gaze back to her face. “I haven’t let myself like a woman for a long time, Maggie,” he said softly. “I might be a little rusty.” She felt his
knuckles skirt the edge of her jaw. “You tell me if I’m breaking the rules.”

  “I don’t think I’ve personally had enough practice to know the rules,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve broken any so far.”

  “Good.” For another moment, he measured her seriously, then took her hand and helped to her feet. “Let’s go up a little higher.”

  The climb from the boulders up the mountain was not as steep as the first leg of the hike had been, and Maggie felt a sense of solid well-being invade her. Overhead, in a sky so deep and blue that it defied description, the sun shone brilliantly. Blue spruce and ponderosa pine trees rustled with the breeze. Birds and small animals scurried away from the humans in their realm, and Maggie caught sight of a tiny bluebird high in an aspen.

  Just ahead of her, Joel walked with deceptive ease, his hair glinting in the sun like a broken bit of volcanic rock that still glowed with ancient, reddish heat.

  He led them to a field near the summit of the mountain, a wide field fronted with trees. A great drop into nothingness edged the other side. As she followed him into the tall grass dotted with wildflowers, Maggie looked around her in exuberance.

  For, beyond the safe bowl in which they stood, the mountains stretched endlessly, furry and blue in places; hazy and golden in others. “This is beautiful,” Maggie whispered in awe.

  Joel grinned broadly. “My favorite spot on earth.”

  A magpie flew over, flashing black-and-white feathers, uttering a harsh, but somehow cheerful, call. When it had passed, there was no other sound.

  Or perhaps there was, Maggie thought, listening. A plethora of bird sounds emanated from the trees; an insect burred, the wind moaned through the valley below.

  Joel squatted and unzipped his backpack, drawing out a long package wrapped in plastic and a ball of string. He shot Maggie a look of pure mischief. “Are you any good with kites?”

  “Not really. Mine always take uncontrollable nosedives.”

  He opened the package and unrolled a kite shaped like a bird in flight. With the kind of efficiency born of practice, he spread it out and began fitting stickers to prepunched holes.

  She watched as he finished the assembly, then threaded light string through the breast of the bird printed on the kite. “Here we go,” he said, standing. “There are some cans of pop in my pack, if you’re thirsty. Help yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Her mouth was as dry as dust, and she found a cola, settling in the grass to watch Joel. It didn’t take long to get the kite up, and he reeled it out into the deep sky, tugging at the string at critical moments, backing up and dashing forward until it drifted high above the earth.

  He backed up, pulling the kite with him, until he stood next to Maggie. “Here, you try it.”

  He held out a hand to help her to her feet and put the spool in her hands. “When it pulls hard, give it some line. When it starts to dip or lose altitude, reel it in.”

  Nervously, Maggie accepted the responsibility. When, after a few minutes, the kite showed no danger of suddenly plummeting to the ground, she relaxed and began to enjoy the rhythmic pull on the string.

  Joel fished an apple out of his pack, backing away to let Maggie handle the kite on her own. As he sat down on the ground, he could see the exact moment she lost her nervousness and began to enjoy herself; her stance relaxed and she shook loosened tendrils of hair away from her exotic face.

  The apple was mealy but sweet. Joel savored it as he filled his eyes with her. Her T-shirt clung lightly to uplifted breasts and a slender waist. The jeans were just tight enough to outline a generous bottom and long legs, and her skin showed a hint of rosy dampness from the walk. As he absorbed her, she laughed at some inner thrill of accomplishment, and her jewelry glinted at her wrists and ears.

  She was impossible to resist. Her vibrant good nature was a balm to his weary spirit, giving him a sense of warmth he had not known in many, many years.

  Beyond that, there was an innocent sensuality about her that told Joel she’d never really explored that portion of herself, no matter how long she’d been married. The sultriness in her eyes hinted at the tiger lurking beneath her innocence, and he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to set the tiger free.

  Enough, his aroused body cautioned. In accordance with its warning, Joel tossed the apple core into the trees for forest creatures and stood up to share the kite.

  * * *

  Heavy clouds rolled in toward midafternoon, forcing Joel and Maggie to reel in the kite and get back down the mountain. In the truck, he said, “I’m famished. Would you like to stop for something to eat in Manitou? Do you have time?”

  “Are you kidding?” Maggie returned. “If I don’t get food pretty soon, I’ll eat the dashboard.” She sighed, touching her stomach.

  “Great.”

  “I’ll buy lunch, since you’ve so generously introduced me to such a glorious place.”

  He grinned. “Fair enough, I guess.”

  They drove into Manitou Springs, the somewhat Bohemian sister city that joined the western edges of Colorado Springs. Over sandwiches and huge glasses of iced tea, they laughed and talked as easily as childhood friends, a fact Maggie didn’t even notice until they were nearly finished.

  After lunch, Joel led her into a games arcade that was built over the stream that ran out of the mountains and through Manitou. Shops stocked with scenic photographs and souvenirs of Pikes Peak for the coming tourist rush lined the labyrinthine open-air mall. Laughter spilled out of a skeeball parlor.

  “When I was little,” Joel said, “my dad used to bring me here at night.” He paused on the wooden slats and looked down to the creek running below, its water giving a rushing, echoey undertone to the sound of the bells and buzzers on the games. “It used to scare me to death to walk on these boards in the dark and know I could fall all the way down there.” He grinned. “I never let go of his hand.”

  As she stared at the quicksilver water visible between the boards, Maggie touched her forehead and blinked, imagining what it would be like here at night, with red and blue neon flashing and crowds pushing around her.

  Joel chuckled. “Gets to you, doesn’t it?”

  As she was about to answer, a great crack of lightning split the sky, followed almost instantly by a resounding rumble of thunder. Maggie started violently and clapped her hands to her ears. “Looks like we’re going to get our storm early today,” she shouted.

  He touched her arm. “Do you want to make a run for the truck or duck into a doorway?”

  The question was settled as another bolt of electricity split the sky with pink light. Maggie and Joel ran for an archway a few feet away, cringing as thunder cracked again. Joel pointed to a park bench nestled under a stone roof, and they ran to reach it between the cracks.

  Maggie’s hands were shaking as she sat down. The coppery odor of raw wattage hung in the air, and the hairs on her arms stood up. “Did you know,” she said in the most conversational voice she could muster, “that more people die of lightning in Colorado than in almost any other state in the country?”

  “Does it scare you?”

  “Not if I’m safely inside.” A small ribbon of nervous laughter spun from her throat.

  Joel smiled and started to slip an arm around her shoulders. As he touched her, a current of static electricity spit between them. He laughed. “Sparks are flying.”

  And not only those in nature, she thought as he wrapped his arm around her fully, pulling her closer to him. She bit her lip at the sudden flush of awareness jumping to life all over her body. She fixed her eyes on the dazzling sky.

  Joel watched the storm play on her eyes, his nerves trained on her reactions to him. At his touch, she’d gone taut, but she didn’t resist him.

  Her earlobe, hung with a silver-and-coral earring that matched her heavy bracelet, peeked out from below her hair. Joel touched it with his fingers, tracing the curved edge, then moved down to the angle of her jaw, where he brushed the invisible hair
protecting her skin.

  He’d forgotten how soft a woman’s skin felt. He traced the edge of her face to her chin, drinking in the symmetrical slants, and Maggie sat poised, as unmoving as a doll. Under his arm, the muscles of her shoulders began to relax.

  With infinite patience, he turned her face to his and waited until she looked at him. Her eyes fluttered closed as he let himself move forward to touch his lips to hers.

  The storm went silent behind them, or, Joel thought, he simply couldn’t hear it through the rush of noise in his ears. It wasn’t just the static hanging in the air that stung his lips and lifted the hair on his neck, either. It was her lips, tasting of the sugar she’d put in her tea; lips infinitely succulent and warm.

  A sample was all he’d intended to take, but in his soft exploration, he drifted. He felt the pale heat of her hand as it fell on his shoulder and the shift in her body as she eased ever so slightly into him. Her mouth opened in invitation, and he joyfully met the opening.

  At the first blazing touch of their tongues, Maggie gasped and Joel with her. For one aching second, both hesitated, but as thunder cracked again overhead with a violent, sky-shattering noise, they were lost.

  Joel grabbed her close to him, pressing them together as he gave himself up to the maelstrom that had been hovering all day. He buried his hands in her hair, feeling his chin bump hers hard, their kiss so deep he could barely breathe.

  He was losing control and he knew it. In a moment, he’d be tearing away her dress to taste the soft roundness of her breasts.

  With his hands on either side of her head, he quieted their joining with slower and slower movements. “I knew you were in there,” he whispered, swallowing when her darkened eyes, limpid with passion, met his.

  “I don’t think I was your maiden aunt, after all, Captain,” she said with a smile.

  He grinned and glanced over her shoulder. “The coast is clear on your side. Is there a crowd behind me?”

  “I think we’re safe.” She relaxed her hold, a brittle trembling lingering in her fingers as the full impact of his kiss settled into her brain. “I guess it’s a little late for a blush,” she said, her eyes focused upon the hard rain falling now just beyond their enclave.