Sweet Wind, Wild Wind

by Elizabeth Lowell

  They decided to swim and eat lunch before tackling the photographing of the Rocking B’s various boundary markers. The ride to Long Pool was only a few miles, but there were six gates. Lara got in and out of the pickup each time like the well-brought-up ranch child she was, grumbling for the last three fences that the only reason Carson had brought her along to the swimming hole was so that he wouldn’t have to open all the gates himself. He agreed with a solemn voice and a wicked smile that lighted up warning signals and nerve endings all through Lara’s body.

  The first rush of the spring melt had already passed, restoring the Big Green to its normal summer size and clarity.

  Despite the river’s name, it wasn’t very large. In most places the Big Green wasn’t a lot more than a hundred feet wide. Nor was the river particularly deep, except in the pools, which were often twenty-five feet deep or more, having been gouged out during spring floods. At the pools the water poured in swiftly on the upstream end, churned in shades of white and green and blue, and then flowed sedately toward the shallow, downstream end of the pool where eddies swirled slowly and smaller trout fed.

  Thickets of willow and an occasional granite boulder taller than Carson studded the riverbanks. He spread their picnic quilt in a nest of grass shielded from the wind by one of the huge boulders. In addition to being a windbreak, the pale granite made a very good heat reflector, adding several degrees to the already warm picnic site. With a sigh of pleasure, Carson sat down on the quilt, pulled off his boots and socks, tossed his hat aside, unbuttoned his shirt halfway to his belt and rolled up his sleeves. Lara watched the quick, efficient motions of his hands with something close to fascination. It had always been like that for her – watching Carson’s combination of size, strength and coordination had never failed to please her. When Carson had finished making himself comfortable, he closed his eyes and turned his face up to the sun with an appreciation that made Lara’s heartbeat quicken. More than anyone she had ever met, Carson was alive to his senses and to the physical world around him.

  “You can change here or in the thicket,” Carson said without opening his eyes. “I won’t peek.”

  Lara’s cheeks flushed suddenly with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun. The thought of being naked in front of Carson frankly terrified her. It was too close to her memories, to her nightmares. Even the idea of wearing a swimming suit around him made her very uneasy.

  “I don’t – it’s not hot enough to swim,” she said quickly, looking away from him.

  Carson’s eyes opened. He looked at Lara for a long moment, seeing her fear, sensing the darkness of the past reaching forward into the sunny day. He could have pointed out that it was at least eighty degrees in the sheltered spot, more than warm enough to be comfortable in a swimsuit, but he knew that it wasn’t the temperature that was preventing Lara from swimming. She had been naked when he had walked away from her four years before. He had been fully dressed. She remembered that as well as he did, probably better, and she had no desire to duplicate the humiliating moment. With a silent curse Carson yanked off his shirt. He had hoped that swimming together would help diminish Lara’s nervousness about being less than fully dressed around him. He had even hoped to see a flash of sensual interest in her eyes when he eventually stripped to his swim trunks. Instead, he was afraid that he had done nothing but increase her fear, reinforcing the past’s dark grip on his future. Wide-eyed, Lara watched Carson’s lithe, muscular body emerge from the concealment of his clothes. She was so caught up in the moment that she wasn’t even aware of staring at him. She hadn’t fully realized just how powerful he was until she saw the bunch and flow of his strength unblurred by concealing cloth.

  Carson’s legs were long, muscular, and gleaming with hair that was so intense a brown it was almost black. Vaguely Lara noticed that he had worn swim trunks beneath his jeans and that he must have spent a lot of time at Long Pool through the years because his legs had the same tan that his chest did. His shoulders were half again as wide as her own, and his chest tapered to a lean waist and hips that were the result of both a lifetime of hard physical work and a genetic heritage that was unknown but must have been excellent.

  “What are you thinking?” asked Carson, his voice low. The words were as soft and unthreatening as the breeze sliding through the grass. Lara answered automatically while she admired sunlight pouring like honey over Carson’s body, making everything it touched gleam with golden light.

  “Your parents must have been physically perfect,” Lara said simply.

  For an instant Carson didn’t understand that Lara wasn’t referring to Sharon and Larry Blackridge but to the unknown man and woman who had conceived him. When Carson did understand, he looked down at his own body as though he hadn’t ever seen it before. It was the first time he had looked at himself through a woman’s eyes, seeing the raw strength of his own flesh compared to Lara’s smaller, softer body. It occurred to him that it was a miracle she trusted him enough even to be alone with him. The difference in their physical strength was so great that it had to be frightening.

  And then Carson realized that not only did Lara trust him, but also she approved of the very differences between their bodies.

  “You’re amazing,” he said, shaking his head.

  Lara looked up into his eyes, surprised. “What?”

  “I’m twice your strength, half again your size and must look about as hairy and generally cuddly as a hungry grizzly. Logically, you should be running away from me and screaming. Yet you stand there and tell me that my parents must have been physically perfect. You’re amazing.” He laughed and held out his hand to her. “Come on, my brave, crazy fox. Walk with your tame grizzly down to the river.”

  Smiling almost shyly, Lara took Carson’s hand, enjoying the warmth and strength of his touch. He interlaced their fingers until their palms met and rubbed with a sweet friction that sent tiny quivers of awareness through her. She giggled when Carson winced as his unprotected feet found the stones lying in ambush along the way to the river.

  “Tenderfoot,” she teased.

  “Literally,” he agreed, smiling crookedly as he boosted Lara onto the top of a huge, water-smoothed rock ledge that overlooked the deepest part of the pool. “Even though I go barefoot around the house a lot, I still have to toughen up my feet every summer.” He braced his hands on the chest-high granite outcropping that made up the ledge and levered himself up next to Lara in a single, easy motion. “It’s worth a few stone bruises, though,” Carson continued, sitting next to her, close but not crowding. “The men have learned not to bother me when I head for Long Pool. They know I come here when I need some time to myself.”

  Glancing sideways at Carson, Lara saw both the lines of strain on his face and the subtle signs that he was relaxing in the presence of the rushing water and radiant sun. She could understand the soothing lure of the pool. The patterns the water made were almost hypnotic, as was the sound of the river itself, and the sun was a continuous caress over her whole body. Deep inside herself, she sensed knots loosening, releasing her from a tension that had been part of her for so many years that she had come to accept it as normal. But it wasn’t. She was learning it with every breath she took, relaxation overtaking her like a benediction.

  Lara wished she were in her swimsuit so that her body would be free to absorb the warmth and peace unhindered by clothes. Being naked would be even better, feeling the sun over every inch of her skin, all knots loosening until her body softened and turned to honey. The thought would have startled Lara if she hadn’t already been so undone by the sun and the murmuring green water. She hadn’t enjoyed being naked for years, not since she had curled around herself after the door had closed behind Carson and she had felt cold to her soul.

  That was the past This is now. Go away, memories. Let me dream in the sun. It feels so good, both the sun and the dreaming. Closing her eyes, Lara leaned back to brace her weight on her hands and turne
d her face to the sun. Carson watched hungrily, wishing that it had been his touch that had brought the sensual softening to her mouth. He wished that he could settle her gently between his legs, letting her rest her weight on his chest while he kissed the sensitive center of her palm and the tempting line of her neck. Then she would use his bare thighs as an armrest, stroking him with her soft fingers while he unfastened her blouse and her bra and held her breasts in his hands.

  The direction of Carson’s thoughts had an immediate and unmistakable effect on his body. Abruptly he decided that it was time to go swimming in the river’s bracing green water. If Lara saw him before he had his unruly sex under control, he doubted that she would feel quite so relaxed around him. In fact, she would probably run like hell.

  The small sounds that Carson made as he stood up were lost in the soothing rush of the water. He went into the pool in a shallow dive. Lara blinked, looked around and saw Carson swimming cleanly downstream. When the water became too shallow for swimming, he turned and swam upstream, his body slicing through the water with the speed and grace of an otter. She remembered hearing that he had been on the swimming team at the university during one of the best seasons the team had ever had. As she watched, she had no doubt that Carson’s presence had contributed to the team’s success. It was also clear that he was at home in the water in a way few Montana ranchers were. He swam easily, swiftly, powerfully, as though the pool were only fifty feet long instead of more than fifty yards. She wondered if Carson’s father had been a swimmer, too, and if his sheer physical beauty had caused some girl to succumb to an ill-advised passion.

  But that was something Lara suspected she would never know. If Carson had any curiosity about his biological parents, he had never expressed it aloud. As he had told her two weeks before, he never looked back. In all their hours of talking, if the past had been discussed, it was because Lara brought it up. That included any of the past, not merely what had happened between them four years before. Carson would talk freely enough about the ranch’s history and the old stories the cowhands told around the bunkhouse at night, but when it came to talking about the Blackridges and the Chandlers, Carson usually found a way to change the subject; and the closer the questions came to the past four years, the more quickly the subject was changed. The soothing, sibilant, rushing sounds of the river beckoned to Lara, unraveling her thoughts. It was warm on the big rock where she sat, almost hot, and the breeze had died to nothing. A sheen of sweat slicked her skin, making her itch to go swimming. Carson was heading upstream on either his fifteenth or sixteenth complete circuit of Long Pool. She had lost count, and he showed no signs of slowing. Lara slid off the ledge, went back to the picnic blanket and shook out her swimsuit. She undressed almost slowly, savoring the feeling of freedom that came as her confining clothes dropped onto the quilt. She hurried only when she replaced her bra with the swimsuit top, and her panties with the bottom. The suit was the most modest one she had been able to find short of buying from the granny racks in the local department store.

  The one-piece suits that were cut up to the hipbone and down to the navel weren’t to Lara’s taste. Nor did she like the handfuls of strings and tiny patches that were called bikinis. The blue two-piece she had finally selected was more than most women wore and less than Lara had hoped to find. Yet she had to admit that the sun felt like silk on her exposed skin. It made her want to close her eyes and stretch completely, holding out her arms to the pouring warmth. The river, however, was a good deal less warm. Lara stood undecided on the edge of the rock ledge that rimmed the deep pool, letting water drip from the foot that she had dangled briefly in the pool. A long, dark shape glided closer to the ledge. The shape evolved into Carson shooting up out of the depths, shaking hair and water from his eyes. He hung suspended in the clear water, making lazy motions with his hands to stay in place against the current.

  “Come on in,” he offered, watching Lara through half-closed eyes. He was grateful for the hard swimming and the cold water because she looked delicious standing there, her body poised between advance and retreat. He wanted to pull her into the water and feast on every lovely inch of her.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me the water’s fine?” Lara asked hopefully.

  “Actually, it’s pretty warm for early summer.”

  “Damned by faint praise, as Shakespeare would say,” she muttered.

  Carson laughed. “It’s not that bad, honey.”

  Lara gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe him. Then she dove in and came up gasping.

  “You beast!” she said, trying to get her breath. “Why haven’t you turned blue!”

  “You just got all hot lazing around on that rock,” Carson said, grinning. “Come on. We’ll swim you warm again.”

  After Lara had done a few quick circuits of the river pool, she was warmer. After six more she was getting a little breathless. When Carson turned and began the thirteenth full circuit, she groaned and rolled over on her back, letting the current take her downstream the easy way. Carson noticed that she was missing, turned, swam back and drifted alongside her.

  “I’ve found – the secret of – your great body,” Lara panted, fighting for breath.

  “Swimming?” asked Carson lazily, smiling at her, pleased by her words.

  “Sort of. Your father was – a deep-sea diver. Your mother – was a mermaid.”

  “That explains everything but the fins,” Carson said gravely.

  “Fins?” Lara asked, looking at the clean, powerful lines of his body as he drifted next to her. “You aren’t wearing any swim fins.”

  “Right. No fins a’tall,” he drawled. “Just fur.”

  “That explains it,” she said, smiling slightly.

  “What?”

  “Why I’m cold. No fur,” she said succinctly.

  Carson remembered the sight of Lara standing in the sun, her smooth skin gleaming with warmth between the blue bands of her suit. She was right. There hadn’t been a bit of fur showing on her. With an effort he dragged his thoughts away from the memory that there was one place where she was softly, beautifully furred.

  “Ready to get out?” he asked.

  “What was your first clue?”

  “Shriveled blue lips.”

  Lara buried Carson in a wave of water plowed up in front of her cupped hand before she turned and raced for the ledge. She thought she had made it when she felt his hands clamp over her thigh. Then his fingers slid slowly down her leg and off her foot, freeing her. She felt suddenly weak, but she pulled herself out onto the ledge in time to watch Carson come out of the water in a smooth rush. He shook his head, spraying water every which way. She would have done the same if she hadn’t been afraid of beating herself half to death with her heavy single braid.

  The first thing Lara did on the way back to the quilt was step on one of the rocks lying in ambush. Her breath caught at the unexpected pain, and she stumbled. With no warning Carson scooped her up into his arms and calmly continued walking toward the quilt.

  “And you call me a tenderfoot,” he said teasingly.

  Carson looked down at Lara for only an instant before he concentrated on the vague trail to the quilt. The ground didn’t need that much of his attention; he was simply afraid that she would see the desire in his eyes. Her breasts swelled temptingly from the top of her suit, water beaded like diamonds in the shadow cleavage between and her cold-hardened nipples were clearly defined by the blue cloth. He remembered all too well a time when it had been the heat and moisture of his mouth rather than a cool river that had made her nipples hard. He wanted that time to come again with a force that shook him.

  “There you go,” Carson said lightly, depositing Lara on her feet on the soft quilt. With swift motions he shook out her towel and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Warm enough?”

  Lara nodded. “Thanks,” she said, knowing that she sounded a bit breathless but unable to contr
ol it. “You’re so strong.” Instantly she winced, wishing that she had said anything else or at least hadn’t sounded quite so awed. “I’m not used to being carried,” she added quickly, as though that explained her words. “In fact, no one but you has called me little since sixth grade.”

  “Strength comes in handy with a mean steer,” Carson said matter-of-factly as he dried his face on his towel. He concentrated on briskly rubbing his hair dry and biting his tongue so that he wouldn’t say how soft Lara had felt in his arms and how sweet it had been to know that she trusted him at least that much. She had allowed him to carry her. That simple fact went through him like lightning, warming him more than the sun.

  Lara sat down and buried her face in her own towel, grateful that Carson had accepted her words as though people told him every day that he was surprisingly strong. Perhaps they did. Especially women. After all, it was only the truth. With unnecessary force Lara jerked out the rubber band that was holding her braid and yanked her fingers through her dripping hair, wincing and wishing that she had never thought of Carson’s powerful arms wrapped around other women.

  “Hey, easy there,” Carson said, kneeling and gently pulling Lara’s hands away from her hair. “Let me do it.”

  Without waiting for her agreement, he began carefully separating her braid until black strands fell slick and gleaming halfway down her back. He took his towel and wrapped her hair in it, squeezing gently until the excess water was absorbed. Then he shifted to a dry part of the towel and rubbed her head slowly.

  A small sound of pleasure escaped Lara as Carson massaged her scalp. The flash of uneasiness she had felt when he had picked her up was completely gone. He had made no attempt to increase the intimacy of the moment, although she knew he wanted her. It was as clear as the blunt ridge of flesh rising against his swim trunks. The fact that Carson was aroused didn’t frighten Lara. She knew that he couldn’t prevent his desire from showing – but he could prevent himself from pushing her, demanding something that she wasn’t prepared to give.