Summer's Freedom

by Samuel, Barbara

“No,” he replied firmly. “You’re honest—and I’m afraid I’m not.” He let her hand go with a sigh and stood up. “Ah, hell,” he said, turning away.

  Maggie jumped up with a suddenly urgent need to still him. “No.” She pressed her lips to his. “I don’t want to know, not ever. It can be yours.”

  He uttered an oath and clasped her to him. Lifting his head, he took her face into his hands. He kissed her. “I mean it when I say I’ve waited for you a long time.” A bittersweet smile touched his eyes. “Just think, if we’d met fifteen years ago, we’d both have saved a divorce.”

  “But I’d have missed Samantha.”

  He nodded his agreement and wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes. As she returned the hug, he sent out a silent prayer. Please, God, just give us a little time.

  Whatever she said about keeping his secret to himself, he knew the fabric of his untruth would come unraveled, leaving him exposed. But for the first time, he wondered if there might be a gentler way of showing her, a way to ease from lies to truth without shattering this new and vulnerable beauty enveloping them.

  He would show her, carefully and slowly, who he was. Lifting his head, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Would you like to see my birds?”

  * * *

  Maggie had seen Joel in many attractive modes—riding his bike, thighs pumping with power; laughing and teasing as the moon rose over Colorado Springs; standing proud and naked before her last night, as perfect as Michelangelo’s David. As she watched him work a falcon in the warm afternoon, however, all other visions paled.

  As he worked Maggie could imagine him performing the same act in centuries long past. In her mind’s eye, she saw the dark chestnut hair grown to the shoulders of a heavy leather vest, his stout, strong thighs encased in well-woven linen. His realm would have been thick forests; his power born of the deep link between himself and his fierce birds.

  The vivid thought exhilarated her, sent her heart soaring for the heavens once more, without even touching him. Oh, Lord, she thought, I’ve gone and done it. Fallen head over heels, passionately in love.

  The thought left her anxious for one long moment. Her parents had been ruined by passionate love, and it had already cast a pall over Joel’s life.

  But nothing this radiant, this powerful, could be wrong. When Joel motioned her to join him, she went eagerly, honored to share with him whatever portions of his life he could show her.

  The falcon itself was a surprise, for she’d expected, somehow, an evil bird, huge and fierce. To the contrary, the prairie falcon was not much larger than a raven. Its face, wreathed in black, brown and cream feathers, was small and sweet, with enormous dark eyes that gave it a childlike expression. When Joel donned a leather glove, she noticed the long, sharp talons and hooked beak and realized its soft appearance cloaked powerful shoulders and wings tailored for incredible speed.

  It was midway through recovery, Joel explained. A wildlife officer had found him in a sinkhole, and though the injuries couldn’t really be explained, the bird had wrenched enough muscles and torn enough flesh to have been incapacitated for several months.

  Like his medieval counterpart, Joel restrained the bird with a leather thong. For a time, it seemed content to ride on Joel’s arm, eyes darting around the field with alert interest. With some nudging, it flew a little here and there, once making a swooping dance through the air to snag a mouse, which it promptly deposited at Joel’s feet.

  Joel grinned at the bird. “Thank you.” With a complete lack of revulsion, he bent to snatch the mouse up by the tail, tossing it into the air. “You may have it.”

  The falcon swooped and snatched the carcass out of thin air, landing on the ground to devour the meal. Maggie turned away. “Sorry,” she said, “but yuck.”

  “It’s a good sign for this guy,” Joel commented. “He’s getting much stronger.” He smiled at her. “We’ve had some great luck in the past month—I think the birds want to get out while there’s plenty of youthful prey.”

  Maggie made a face. At Joel’s tolerant, teasing smile, she defended herself. “I can’t help it. Seems violent.”

  “They never kill except to eat or in defense of their young.” His eyes darted out to the horizon. “Unlike man.”

  She nodded, thinking suddenly of her father, a professional soldier. She’d always considered him hawkish. Now, with a strange clarity she saw that his only flaw—though it had been a terrible one—had been his inability to draw distinctions between the laws of war and the laws of home.

  Disturbed, she sighed. Lately, she wasn’t sure what she thought about anything anymore.

  Next to her, Joel laughed at the falcon, the sound rich and deep. In the sunlight his thick hair shone with ebony and chestnut and his eyes glittered with good cheer. He had upset her life, and yet, he was the one thing she was sure of. The paradox of it made her smile. “I’m hungry enough to eat that mouse myself,” she said, touching his arm. “How about heading for the store sometime soon?”

  Joel grinned, a sultry edge to his full lips. “By all means,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth. His voice deepened. “I’ll feed you whatever you like.”

  Maggie reached out to playfully run her hand over his thigh.

  “Maybe,” he murmured, “we ought to forget about eating and move directly to dessert.”

  She laughed and danced away from him. “You’d better concentrate on getting that bird home.”

  Handicapped by the bird on the jess, Joel couldn’t follow his instincts, which dictated that he take her here in this deserted field with all the hurry and power he’d controlled last night. But he promised himself, as he took Maggie in with a glance, that he wouldn’t put it off for more than an instant past his obligation.

  Chapter 10

  Spring deepened into a mountain summer as the days of June passed swiftly. Maggie watched the lilacs fade for another year and roses take their place. Joel’s garden of seedlings grew into sturdy plants in neat rows. The kitten that Moses had brought home was released from the prison of his cast and spent his days frolicking through the long grass in the backyard.

  Like the season, Maggie felt herself ripen and bloom under the spell of her love for Joel. He, too, seemed to thrive. Gone were the shadows in his eyes—he laughed and teased with Maggie, playing practical jokes with a vengeance. Once it was a rubber spider, hung on a slender thread from the sun visor in her car—a joke that sent Maggie screaming when she climbed into the car one morning. Through the open door of his apartment, she heard Joel’s booming laugh.

  Another time, he borrowed David’s leather and silver jacket, scrounged up a motorcycle from somewhere and took her cruising the main drags on Saturday night.

  In return, Maggie cooked, astonishing herself with imaginative creations full of color and balance, which Joel consumed with a vigor that pleased her beyond all reckoning.

  Although she would have been perfectly content in the first flush of love to let go of everything in the world unconnected to Joel, she did have to work. One morning, as Sharon and Maggie collaborated on the upcoming issue, Sharon said, “Are you actually humming?”

  Maggie paused and flashed her friend a grin. “Guess I am.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Sharon shook her head. “He give you a class ring or anything yet?”

  “A rubber spider,” Maggie laughed, “and a six-pack of bubble gum. Do those count?”

  Sharon grinned appreciatively. “I’m jealous.”

  “Maybe I’ll keep my eyes peeled on your behalf.”

  “You know better than to try matchmaking, Maggie.”

  “Oh, I know.” She grinned. “You should go out with my brother when he comes. You seemed to have hit it off the last time he was here. He’s supposed to be in town any time now.”

  “We did have a good time the last time he was here.” Sharon lifted an eyebrow wickedly. “Everywhere we went, the women wanted to chop me down and grab him for themselves. It was good for my ego.”

&nb
sp; “His, too.” Maggie shook her head. Although Sharon and Galen were purely platonic friends, they’d clicked as well as Maggie and Sharon had. “You know, I don’t think he has any idea how good-looking he is.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “No. He looks like my father, and because of the bad blood between them, I think Galen hates to look in the mirror.”

  “You look like your mom?”

  Maggie shifted a ruler to count column inches on the page she was working on, then flashed a grin at Sharon. “Sure. Good looks run in the family.”

  “Oh, my, you’ve even gotten a little more confident,” Sharon said with approval. “I like this guy better and better all the time.”

  “Seriously, why don’t you come have dinner with us this week sometime?” The phone rang and Maggie put a hand on the receiver. “Think about it. We’d have a good time.” Lifting the phone, she said “The Wanderer, Maggie speaking.”

  “Mrs. Henderson, it’s David.”

  “Hi! What’s up?” He’d been keeping her posted on the situation with the Proud Fox fans and the upcoming concert.

  “There’s gonna be trouble in Luther Park this morning. Thought you’d want to know.”

  “I’ll be right there.” She broke the connection and dialed the police, nodding to Sharon, who gathered her photo gear. “Possible trouble at Luther Park,” Maggie said to the dispatch operator. She gave her name and details, then shoved a notebook into the voluminous pockets of her skirt. “Here we go again.”

  “I can’t believe we can’t find out who’s behind these kids,” Sharon said with irritation.

  “One kid. That’s all we need. I have a feeling that if we can find him, we can put all the rest together.”

  “We’re running out of time.” She blew a braid away from her face. “That concert’s going to explode if somebody doesn’t do something.”

  “Thank God Samantha is out of town,” Maggie said.

  * * *

  Sharon drove with the expertise of a native of the Springs, her shortcuts and back roads cutting a full fifteen minutes off the time. The park scene was much the same as the others, a standoff of righteous indignation. The police had arrived by the time Maggie and Sharon pulled up, and the crowd was receding. Still, at the edges of the park, Maggie saw kids nursing minor wounds: a black eye, a split lip. Fistfighting, she thought.

  As she stepped out of the car, she saw a boy running. On his jacket, in bright red, was a pentagram. Maggie took off after him, dodging kids, keeping the red flash in sight between backs and shoulders.

  A tree root proved her undoing. She stubbed her toe hard and nearly fell. When she righted herself and dashed through the milling teenagers again, the red-painted jacket had disappeared. She stomped her foot in frustration. “Damn!”

  Sharon joined her. “Find out anything?”

  “Of course not. But I’m beginning to think this doesn’t really have a lot to do with Proud Fox or the rockers against the straight kids or any of the other things we’ve been thinking it is.”

  “We need that kid.”

  Maggie licked her lips, a tremor of foreboding in her belly. “Yes, we do.”

  * * *

  She got home a little later than usual to find Joel’s truck parked in front of the house. He met her at the door to his apartment. “Go wash up,” he said with a grin. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

  “You cooked?”

  He lifted his chin proudly. “I’m not completely helpless.”

  Maggie snickered. “You burn water,Joel Summer.”

  “A man can learn a thing or two from a woman.”

  “True.” She grinned. “I’ll be right there.”

  After she’d changed into a pair of shorts and a softly woven cotton sweater, she returned to Joel’s apartment. As always, the bookish clutter on his coffee table and couch made her smile, and she automatically began to straighten things, shifting papers into neat piles and stacking the books into a semblance of order.

  Joel joined her. “I found some great stuff today,” he said, looping his arms around her shoulders to nuzzle her neck.

  At the delicious sensation, Maggie sagged against his strength, her hands going lax as she let her head loll back on his shoulder. “Really?” she asked lazily.

  His broad palm slipped under her blouse and moved in circles over her belly. Against her ear, the smile obvious in his voice, he replied, “Really.”

  The familiar spiral of desire coiled up her legs as his hand roved more freely, brushing her breasts. “Joel,” she said on a sigh, “how long do you think it will take us to get tired of this?”

  “I can’t speak for you,” he said between nibbles on her neck, “but I doubt I ever will.” With a playful slap to her bottom, he pulled away. “But right now, you have to come have your supper. I’ve been slaving over a hot stove.”

  “Not a microwave?” Maggie said, trailing him into the kitchen. The scent of grilled onions filled the air, mixed with something she couldn’t quite pinpoint. On the table, set for two, were two bottles of beer next to tall, thin pilsner glasses. “Goodness,” Maggie commented. “A glass and everything.”

  Joel flashed her a grin as he bent to open the oven, from which he withdrew two huge ceramic bowls. Inside, bubbling and lightly browned, she saw white cheese and a triangle of toast. He placed them on the table with a flourish, dimpling proudly.

  “French onion soup?” Maggie said, delighted. “Did you make it from scratch?”

  “Well, I had to buy some consommé, but I did the rest.” He grinned again, blue eyes dancing. “Eat.”

  Touched and impressed, Maggie did as she was told. It was excellent—fragrant, well balanced and filling. The cold beer, poured alluringly into the elegant glasses, was the finishing touch. “My grandmother used to have some glasses like this,” she said, “but we never drank beer from them. Only iced tea.”

  “A waste. I found these at an antique store this afternoon. Which reminds me…” He stood up, cocking an eyebrow before heading for the living room.

  He returned with a cylindrical package tied with string. Maggie looked at him. “What is it?”

  “Open it and see, silly.”

  When she’d torn away the green tissue paper, she laughed. It was a Barbie doll, vintage 1968, complete with psychedelic dress. “Oh, Joel! I had a doll exactly like this once.”

  “Great, isn’t it?”

  “It’s wonderful.” Impulsively, she hugged him. “Thank you.”

  He kissed her. “I love to bring you presents—you’re always so delighted. Didn’t people bring you things when you were a child?”

  Shyly, Maggie shook her head. “Not really. My dad was a real stickler for the budget, and there wasn’t a lot for extras.” She clasped the doll to her chest. “Galen surprised me sometimes, but he left home when I was twelve.” She looked at Joel. “Did people bring you lots of unexpected treats?”

  His eyes danced. “Everybody did. Grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts—even my sisters. I had so much junk the guys always wanted to come over to my house and play.”

  “I’m glad,” Maggie said. “You deserve to be spoiled.”

  The alarming soberness wiped his face clean of any other expression for an instant. “Come here,” he said.

  Maggie rose and settled on his lap. He nestled his head upon her breasts, enfolding her completely, and there was a strange intensity to his voice when he spoke again. “No surprise was ever as good as you are.”

  Maggie lifted a hand to his precious jaw, resting her cheek against his cool hair. A swell of love greater than anything she had ever known welled up inside of her. “I love you, Joel.”

  His kiss was nearly brutal as he stood, sweeping her up into his arms. He carried her into the living room and deposited her on the couch. There, he stripped away their clothes and took her in a fierce joining. The act was devoid of artificial coyness or even play—it was pure, elemental and devastating.

  * * *
/>
  He awoke in the heavy stillness of early-morning dark, gasping for breath. In panic, he rolled out of bed, confused at his surroundings and intent only on getting air into his lungs. Pure terror filled his chest as he struggled, stumbling toward an open window. When he bent into its opening, the cool night splashed his face with a dose of reality, and he found the release to the attack. Here, there was a sky—he could see it, smell it, feel it.

  In the aftermath of the panic, despair washed through him, a black hopelessness he’d grown to recognize. Through his mind flashed a picture of Nina, white and bloody and horrified. Her ugly screams, shrewish and shrill, echoed in his memory.

  As if no time had passed, his stomach called up the last bit of the picture—his own cold realization that life would not ever be the same again.

  Behind him, a hand reached out to touch his shoulder, and Joel started violently, whirling as if to strike. Seeing Maggie, hair tousled, eyes wide with fear, he let out a hard sigh and pulled her roughly into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

  Maggie felt the trembling in his arms and soothed him with long strokes of her hands over his back. For a long, silent time, she stood with him by the open window, unmindful of the cold.

  The foreboding she’d been feeling doubled, making a thick lump in her stomach. Beneath the teasing and the love, Joel harbored a closet full of demons. “The sky!” he’d called in his sleep, before bolting from the bed like a man pursued. In the simple words had been a longing of terrible vibrance. Maggie cradled him next to her, soothing, but her heart beat with fear.

  She’d thought she could ignore whatever troubled him about his past. Now she saw that she could not. The pain needed the healing lance of confession.

  That knowledge dogged her, manifesting itself in a tight lump that wouldn’t leave.

  * * *

  She spent the morning on the phone, calling the numbers of parents culled from various lists on file at high schools around the city, to warn of the dangers involved in the concert scheduled for the next evening. Even as she dialed digit after digit, her frustration and worry grew; the reaction of most of the parents she reached was lukewarm. As the afternoon progressed, she wondered if she’d overreacted.