On Blue Falls Pond

by Susan Crandall

  She was a little taken aback that he’d kept such a photo displayed after the divorce. There was a knot in her throat as she looked at the newborn child.

  “That was the happiest day of my life,” Eric said. He’d come up behind her without her noticing.

  She didn’t turn, but kept her eyes on the photo. He handed the bottle of beer over her shoulder, and she took it without looking at him.

  “He was perfect,” Eric said, and there was such longing in his voice that Glory did turn. He was only inches from her, but looking at the picture. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to her face.

  Her hands trembled as she gripped the cold bottle.

  His thumb came to her cheek and wiped beneath her eye. “You’re crying.”

  She didn’t know she had been. She took her own hand and swiped across her cheeks and looked away. “Sorry.”

  He cupped her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his, much as she’d seen him do with his son. “Don’t apologize. It’s been a tough day.”

  He knew. She could tell it in his eyes; he knew she wasn’t crying over Granny’s eye trouble or the notes. Without her uttering a word, he knew her feelings were all tied up with the baby she had lost. And she was grateful to him for not saying it out loud, for giving her the chance to avoid the subject.

  Straightening her back, she snuffed up her tears. “I’m fine.” She put a little space between them and took a drink of her beer. Smiling, she said, “Just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Come on, put your feet up.” He walked over to the couch and planted his own bare feet on the coffee table—also the assemble-yourself kind of furniture from a discount store. He then took a drink of his own beer.

  Slipping off her flip-flops, she sat down and crossed her ankles with her feet propped beside his. She had headed to town without a thought to her appearance. Now she felt underdressed and a little vulnerable in loose athletic pants and a tank top with no bra. She fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest.

  As Eric let her sip her beer in silence, seemingly content to do the same, she began to relax. She took a few minutes to organize her thoughts before she spoke.

  “Ever since I got back, Granny’s been beating around the bush about my skewed view of my life before the fire.” She’d been peeling the label off her beer bottle, now she chanced a look up.

  Eric’s gaze was steady on her, but he wasn’t looking with curiosity or judgment. He just seemed to be . . . waiting. She went on, “She thinks I’m only remembering the parts I want to.”

  She paused and refocused on the brown bottle in her hands. “And maybe she’s right. After what you said at the falls . . . about Andrew and the baby . . . well, I did remember something.” When she halted momentarily, he didn’t prompt her to tell him, but sat quietly, all strength and caring. She had to fight the urge to crawl into his lap. “And I thought maybe if I spent some time with you, I’d be able to remember more.”

  He nodded slowly and waited.

  “Can you tell me again what you know about the fire—all of it?” She could barely breathe for fear of what he’d reveal.

  He went through an outline of his recollection of the events of that night, much as he’d done the last time she’d been in his house.

  “It was the furnace, Glory. There’s no need to try to remember that night.” Even as he said it, she could see something shuttered in his gaze, as if he needed to put some mental space between himself and those words.

  Then he asked, as if he couldn’t help himself, “Did that kick anything loose?”

  She shook her head. “But last time the memory came later.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone when the memory comes,” he said quietly.

  She gave a sharp laugh. “I’m never alone—not since I got back here.” Then what he said actually sank in. Her spine tingled, and she sharpened her gaze on him. “Why shouldn’t I be alone?”

  “It was the most traumatic event in your life, and you don’t remember it. It’s going to . . . hurt.” He took her hand.

  She had to admit she was relieved. For the briefest second, she’d worried that he was insinuating there was something sinister hidden in that memory. She relaxed more as he rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand.

  “Maybe it’s the opposite,” she said. “Maybe I need to be alone for everything to become clear again.”

  “Weren’t you alone while you were away?”

  “Oh, yeah, I was alone all right.” Until this moment she hadn’t allowed herself to realize how isolated and lonely she’d been. It felt so good to sit, holding hands and sharing with him. “But I now have to admit, my goal at the time was not to remember.”

  “And now you want to because of those notes.” It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t an accusation.

  She drew a deep breath. “Well, it seems it would be good to be able to answer with something more concrete than ‘I don’t remember.’ It’s very unsettling.”

  “Do you think you’ll be called to answer? You said it was a kid’s prank.” His tone said that he believed no such thing.

  “Well, of course it is!” she was quick to respond. “It just made me start thinking is all. And now that I’m back here, I feel . . .” She lifted a shoulder.

  “You feel what?” he asked softly.

  With a slight shake of her head, she set her beer on the table and said, “I feel like I need to remember.” She paused and lowered her voice as she twisted to face him on the couch, tucking one leg underneath her. “I feel like maybe I can stand it now.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Maybe I can stand it if you help me.”

  Eric looked deep into those incredible green eyes and knew what that admission had cost her. Her cheeks flushed slightly. Something shifted inside his chest; she was reaching out to him. After two weeks without her, he clearly understood how much her nearness meant to him, how lonely he was without their budding friendship. She wanted his help. She trusted him enough for that.

  Happiness warmed his soul, and he realized how long it had been since he’d felt this way—blessed with a moment of simple and pure happiness.

  And he realized just how much he needed her, too.

  Only the specter of past truths lay between them. But Eric wasn’t sure what those truths held. It would be best for him if Glory never remembered the events of that night. Still, did he want to walk on eggshells every day with the fear that she’d remember, and his own credibility would be called into question?

  Why was it that the one person he was most drawn to held the most potential for disaster? If Andrew had pushed her to extreme measures to protect herself, what would happen if she did remember?

  She continued to look into his eyes, tempting him to act on an impulse he might regret. He didn’t want to scare her off now, not after she’d found the courage to ask for help. But she sat there with the fingers of her right hand entwined with those of his left and her lips slightly parted, wearing that little tank top that left nothing to the imagination—oh yes, he was tempted. It had been so long since he’d felt the stir of desire for a woman. But Glory had come to him needing a friend, and that’s what he would give her.

  He set his beer beside hers, then slowly reached out with his right hand and stroked her hair, running his finger along the strands that lay upon her cheek. He’d meant it only as a comfort—at least he told himself that as she turned her head slightly and kissed his palm.

  Instead of pulling his hand gently away as he should have, he closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of her lips on his skin, of the soft brush of her exhalations against his palm. A little tremor began there and coursed up the length of his arm and shot straight to his heart.

  They were at a crossroads. He knew the honorable thing to do was withdraw. But damn, she had his heart racing and heat pooling uncomfortably in his loins. So he kept his hand there until the moment for retreat had passed. She covered his hand with her own, drawing it lower until it rested on her collarbone. Her skin was
hot under his touch, and he felt her rapid heartbeat at the base of her throat.

  As he looked into her eyes, he saw a glimmer of uncertainty, of longing and vulnerability that took his breath away. He wanted her more than he could ever remember wanting any woman.

  Slowly, he lowered his lips to the fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. Gently he allowed his lips to skim, to savor the racing of her pulse.

  Then she threw her head back, offering more of herself, drawing him closer with her hand behind his neck.

  He kissed her throat, her cheeks, finally finding the sweetness of her mouth. And as she traced her tongue along his lower lip, he forgot all about friendship and comfort and he reached for her, swinging her around until she sat in his lap.

  Her arms went around his neck, and a beautiful little moan came from deep in her throat as he engaged fully in the kiss.

  One hand traveled through her hair, cupping the back of her head. He’d wanted to bury his fingers in her hair from the moment she’d collapsed in his arms that morning in Tula’s kitchen. It was just as he imagined—russet silk, heavy and cool and smooth. His other hand slid around her back, finding the exposed place between her tank top and pants. Her skin was surprisingly hot and not-so-surprisingly soft. He let himself sink into the sensation of the kiss, of her nearness, of her eager response.

  There was only the briefest glimmer of conscience that told him he shouldn’t do this—that it was selfish. But then she pressed herself against him and opened her mouth fully, and all conscious thought vanished. There was only this beautiful, prideful, wounded woman in his arms and the knowledge he could take away all of her pain, at least for a little while.

  There was a certain desperation in the way they clung to one another, even in his aroused state he was aware of it. But like a drowning man grasping a bit of flotsam, he could no more let her go than he could walk on water.

  She moved her lips only a breath away as she grasped his shirt and pulled it over his head. Her hands on his chest shot new urgency through his veins. He slid his hands under her tank top, feeling the long, lean lines of her back.

  Her mouth moved down his neck, trailing kisses that left a blaze of heat. As she moved lower, his hands slid into her hair once again, his fingers twisting the length, and his breath caught in his belly. He didn’t breathe at all as she nipped and teased his chest. When he finally let out the breath he’d been holding, his mouth formed words the words that his mind had been holding back, “Oh God, you’re so beautiful.”

  She lifted her head and looked from under her brows. Her dark hair fell over her face, looking wildly sexy. But it was her grin that was his undoing.

  He grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it off. She didn’t give him enough time to savor her loveliness before she pressed their bodies together and kissed him.

  Leaning backward, she pulled him with her, until he was half on top of her as they lay on the couch. It was his turn to explore, and he took his time, learning her body as she had learned his. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he suckled her breast.

  Then, her quivering whisper, “Eric, I want you inside me,” brought him halfway to his senses. He raised up and looked into her eyes, now smoldering and half-closed with passion. Framing her face with his hands, he kissed her—not the kiss of hunger he wanted to give her, but one of tenderness.

  “Oh, baby, you don’t know how much I want it too.” He rested his forehead against hers.

  She grinned again. “Then we’re in agreement.” Her insistent fingers pressing his backside as she squirmed against him threatened to rip away his thin hold on his control.

  He buried his face in the sofa. Despite his effort not to, he groaned. “Glory, you came here looking for a friend. I shou—”

  He was stunned when she grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of his head and lifted his head up so she could see his face. “I came here looking for you. I came here wanting this . . .” Her kiss was one of driving need and desire that broke through all of the barriers he’d tried to erect.

  He was lost—and yet found; rescued by the caring of a woman who needed more than he could give.

  For one horrifying instant Glory thought he would refuse her. Taking the lead in asking for sex was out of her depth. She was afraid she’d ruined everything when he pulled slightly away from her kiss. Holding her breath, she looked into his eyes. He almost looked as if he were in physical pain.

  Then she kissed him, pouring all of herself into that silent plea.

  When his lips trailed down her neck she whispered against his ear, “Please, Eric, I need to be close. I need to be close to you.”

  It was as if those whispered words had held the key. She felt his resistance dissolve as his hands—those strong, capable rescuer’s hands—moved fluidly over her body. Soon they’d shed the rest of their clothes.

  He tempted and teased, coveted and caressed, making her feel worshiped and alive for the first time in a very long time. Her skin vibrated beneath his touch, fiery sparks springing forth wherever he trailed his fingers.

  And then, just before he joined their bodies, he stopped, framing her face with his hands, and asked, “Are you sure, Glory?”

  There was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her, he was trembling with need, his breath quivering in his efforts to restrain himself. She slid her hand between them and guided him home. “Yes.” And her body reached for his, welcoming the feeling of fullness, of belonging.

  Through clenched teeth he said her name as he carried the rest of the world away on the rhythm of their bodies.

  Chapter Sixteen

  GLORY LAY WITH Eric curled against her back as their sweat-soaked bodies began to cool, listening to the steady thud of her heart as it slowed back to a normal rhythm. With her eyes closed she concentrated on the sound, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. She drifted with the primal sound, her body feeling light and relaxed. She was vaguely aware of Eric’s hand wrapped around her middle.

  Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

  The sound echoed through her sleep-hazed mind, taking her back—back to the day she first heard the heartbeat of her unborn child. She remembered how she’d strained to separate the swishing beat of umbilical blood from that of her child’s tiny heart. The instant she’d heard it, she couldn’t understand how she could have had trouble picking out the separate sound of the life growing within from her own life’s blood.

  Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub.

  Eric drew her body closer to his with a breathy sigh and wound his fingers through hers. Their entwined hands rested over her womb. She pressed Eric’s hand against her belly, remembering the life that once grew there.

  The feeling of comfort and security that Eric had so unconsciously provided was what she’d longed for all of those terrible weeks with Andrew. If only he’d drawn her close in protection of the life growing within her body. But Andrew had pushed her away. Those had been the loneliest weeks of her life.

  Why couldn’t Andrew have been a father like Eric, a man so devoted that nothing would stop him from doing what was best for his child?

  A darkness lurked in the back of Glory’s mind; it wasn’t much more than a sinister tingle. There was something there, something unsettling that she just couldn’t bring into focus.

  What could it be? She’d already remembered that Andrew had been angry about the baby. But by the time of the fire, he’d gotten past that . . . hadn’t he? Of course he had. She’d been more than six months along.

  Dark, slithery whispers moved in the depths of her mind, but she could not make their meaning clear. She reached out in desperation. The only thing that solidified in her mind was a sense of fear—of what, she could not say.

  She shivered, and Eric responded by holding her more tightly.

  Suddenly all she wanted was Eric’s touch. She didn’t want to see what was lurking in the dark corners of her mind. She tried to cast away thoughts of Andrew and anger and loss. This moment was a new beginning for her; she would w
ork on the past later, when she was alone.

  She roused contentedly and turned to face Eric. His eyes remained closed and his breathing steady. He slung one leg over her thigh and inched her closer. Glory kissed his chin, the ache of finding hope again after all these dark months threatening to burst her chest.

  His eyes opened. A faint smile curved his lips. He snugged her closer with his leg and caressed her cheek. “You all right?”

  Unable to trust her voice, she smiled and nodded.

  Pulling her close, he kissed her forehead. “Liar.” He wrapped his arms around her as she laid her head on his chest. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I just have some things to sort out.”

  “Glory, I don’t want to make things harder for you. I shouldn’t have let things get so out of hand.”

  She shook her head, a quick, jerky motion. “It’s got nothing to do with you . . . us. I wanted this; it doesn’t have to make things complicated. It’s just . . . this is the first time since—”

  His arms tightened around her. “Shhh.”

  They lay in silence for a while. Glory felt herself begin to relax, comfortable in his arms, and he seemed as content in the quiet as she.

  Just when she thought he’d drifted back to sleep, he said, “Jill agreed to take Scott to a specialist.”

  Obviously, Eric had been dealing with his own tormented thoughts. It seemed odd, they’d just shared the most intimate act two people could share, and yet they’d both been transported back to problems that had nothing to do with each other. Glory nearly silenced him with a kiss, forcing him to take her back to that place where only the two of them existed. But she knew he needed a friend as much as she did.

  “That’s good, isn’t it?” she said.

  She felt him nod, his chin bumping the top of her head. “But I think she still believes he’s going to tell her what she wants to hear; that Scott’s development is slow but in the range of normal.”