Sweet Water

by Anna Jeffrey

  Not confident of her answer, she hesitated. “Sometimes.... Do—do you?”

  “I’m starting to.”

  If she had ever met anyone who wouldn’t believe in fate or karma or any kind of mystic explanation for feelings, it was Terry. “I do believe in a special chemistry,” she said softly. “I’ve read about it. I think I can see it in Tanya and Jake.”

  “Yeah?” He cradled the back of her head with his hand and kissed the tip of her nose. “How come you’re so smart?”

  “I’m not. But sometimes there’s no other explanation for why two people are together.”

  “Us? Do we have chemistry?”

  “I—I don’t know. It feels like it.”

  He smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth. “I think so, too.” He hugged her closer. He was so good at hugging. “When do you have to go?”

  She smiled and ran her instep up his calf, loving the idea that she could, and took their joined hands to her lips. “Soon. An hour maybe.”

  He buried his nose against her neck. “I don’t want you to go. I wish we could stay right here.”

  She wished the same. She knew of nothing that compared to feeling small and protected as she lay against his big solid body. To drop off to sleep in his arms was an even greater temptation than making love with him in the first place. She snuggled closer, pressed her face to his armpit, wanting to permanently mark her senses with his every scent.

  They lay in silence, their breathing audible, him holding her like she might bolt and escape. She wanted to say, A penny for your thoughts, but didn’t dare. He might ask her the same question and she could no more define her emotions at this moment than she could fly.

  Just when she thought he had dropped off to sleep, he rolled on top of her and gazed into her eyes.

  She laughed softly. “What? I thought you went to sleep.”

  “If I’ve got just an hour, I’m gonna make the most of it.

  She gave a low chuckle. “Go ahead. You’ll get no complaints from me.”

  He chuckled, too. “I’ve got one more rubber.” His mouth moved down her body until he reached her gold navel ring. “This thing. It’s been driving me crazy ever since I first saw it.” He closed his mouth over the tiny gold orb and gently tugged, flicked her navel with his tongue and moved on down.

  “Whoa!” he said, sitting back on his heels and she knew he had spotted her happy face tattoo.

  He put his finger on it, his eyes drawn into a squint. “Where’d you get that?”

  She lolled there, smiling up at him, feeling soft as a kitten, helpless as a lamb. “Dallas. A long time ago.”

  “How?...And why?”

  “July Fourth. Too much catfish. And maybe too much beer.”

  “And after that, you quit what? Eating catfish or drinking beer?”

  “Both.”

  “I don’t like some tattoo character seeing you there.” He covered her mound with his hand.

  She laid her hand on top of his. “He didn’t see me. I had on a bikini. Those guys are like doctors anyway. They put tattoos everywhere. He wasn’t turned on.”

  “I still don’t like it. He saw a private part of you. He’s made a mark on you. That little part will be his forever.”

  She gasped and laughed. “You’re jealous?”

  He fell forward, braced on his hands, and kissed her hard. “You don’t know the half of it. Now that I’ve found you, I don’t want to share any part of you.”

  A thrill coursed through her. She could think of worse things than having Terry Ledger feel possessive. She slid her hand up his arm and found his nape. “You’re my man,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. “Make love to me again. Give me something to dream about. As if you hadn’t already.”

  They parted at midnight. Almost as an afterthought she told him Aunt Radonna would be coming on Tuesday.

  Chapter 23

  Terry knew no word to describe the euphoric state of mind in which he began his day. His steps felt more solid during his morning run. The sunrise seemed more golden. Even his coffee tasted better.

  He had known instinctively that sex with Marisa would be good; he had not known it would be off the chart. He couldn’t stop thinking about how her body had responded to his every touch, how she had given him so much more than he expected. He had known they had a connection; he had not known it was so strong that he wouldn’t be able to put her out of his mind even to conduct his business.

  He called the balloon company and made arrangements for a “romantic breakfast ride” on the coming Tuesday, then set Kim to finding a great place to stay in Albuquerque. When “Good Morning Beautiful,” came on the radio, he stopped studying blueprints, listened to the words and remembered the first time he had kissed Marisa. He thought again about how waking with her every morning would indeed make his days beautiful.

  He willed himself to work. He discussed some changes in the home designs with Chick in Fort Worth. He discussed the test results on the water well with an engineer in Austin. The contractor who had given him a bid for demolishing Pecos Belle’s building called, seeking a commitment, but Terry put him off, unable to bring himself to cause Marisa or her mother any more hardship than they already faced.

  At noon he found himself on his deck wasting time talking to the roadrunner as if it were a person. Ben shuffled over in sandals, wagging his guitar. “Don’t tell me you’re talking to spacemen, too,” he growled.

  Terry looked at the musician’s rumpled clothes, his spiky hair, his unshaven jaw and concluded that he had already been enjoying his favorite beverage. “Just visiting with Hercules, here.”

  The roadrunner cocked his head as if he understood. Ben coughed, cleared his throat and spit on the ground. The bird jumped off the deck rail and hopped away.

  Ben dug a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit up. “I was afraid Bob had converted you. O’ course, it might be even crazier talking to birds than it is talking to spacemen.”

  Terry laughed, braced his hands on the deck rail and looked down at the musician. “What’s going on?”

  Ben propped his guitar against the deck steps, pulled a flask from a pocket in his khaki shorts and took a long swallow. He looked up, a squinty glare coming from his rheumy eyes. “It ain’t none o’ my business, but I seen your truck over at the cafe late. I seen lights in that apartment bedroom.”

  There was no mistaking the edge in Ben’s voice. Terry felt his cheeks warm, felt himself withdraw, surprised at being confronted by the musician. He gave him a squint-eyed look right back. “You’re right, buddy. It’s none of your business.”

  “I’m a friend of Marisa’s,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “I wonder.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That girl ain’t never had a daddy. She ain’t never had nothing or nobody, but she’s never taken a thing off o’ nobody. She mostly gives more than she gits. I love her mother like a sister, but she didn’t win no prizes in the parentin’ department. Marisa pretty much grew up on her own. And she done a fine job of it.”

  “I figured that out. Your point is?”

  “I don’t wanna see anything hurtful happening to Marisa.”

  Terry had come to like Ben Seagrave, but he resented his prying and resented being challenged. He was willing to tolerate Ben’s drinking and commentary only up to a point. “Are you threatening me with something, Ben?”

  “Ain’t ever been a threat to nobody. I’m a lover, not a fighter. But I’m telling you straight out. I’ll look out for Marisa if it takes my last breath or my last dime.”

  Terry doubted if Ben was capable of looking out for anyone, but he admired the man’s loyalty. Being a true friend to all of the citizens of Agua Dulce, Marisa naturally inspired loyalty. Embarrassed that his private evening with Marisa wasn’t private anymore, Terry cleared his throat. “Get a grip, buddy. I don’t intend any harm to Marisa.”

  Ben cocked his head, his eyes still boring i
n. “Yeah?...I might be an old drunk, but I know a thing or two. I spent my whole life ‘round you slick types. The music bid-ness is full of ‘em. You don’t mean her any harm ’less it gits to be nesses...ness-a-sary....‘Less she gits in your way.”

  “Go home, Ben. Marisa’s in no danger from me.”

  His euphoria punctured, Terry turned and walked into his mobile and slammed the door, leaving his antagonist outside.

  Fuck. All of a sudden, he had that feeling of everything spinning out of control again. His Larson’s project had stalled, waiting for a decision from the top, progress on his subdivision suffered from lack of attention and he couldn’t keep his mind on work and off Marisa. Even his buddy Chick, in this morning’s phone conversation, had remarked about his absentmindedness.

  He had thought that once he had sex with Marisa, the tension within him would settle, but he had been wrong. Now, it was worse. She was under his skin in a way no woman ever had been. Holding her, feeling her loving and giving, was like finding his way home after being lost in the desert. Sinking into her sweet body was like stepping out of a plane at ten thousand feet, roaring balls-out across a lake on his Jet Ski, hang gliding off Oahu’s North Shore. All he could think about was getting back into her bed again, of spending his every waking and sleeping moment with her.

  He watched Ben shuffle across the RV park yard, headed for the café. Marisa serving lunch sprang into Terry’s mind.

  You could wipe out me, Terry.

  Not true. He would jump without a chute before he would hurt her.

  You’re my man....Give me something to dream about.

  If a woman had said that to him eight months ago, he would have run in the opposite direction. Today he wanted to give her every dream she had ever had. He wanted her blessing for everything—his plans, his projects, the very clothes he wore. He wanted to take her out of that café, wanted to see her work less and enjoy some of the luxuries of life, material things he could provide. He wanted the feel of her in his arms, in his bed every night. He wanted her respect. He wanted her...what?

  As the music from the radio died away, he ran a hand through his hair. Christ, was it her love he wanted? Was this the big IT? Was he in love with Marisa?

  ****

  Terry’s failure to appear in the café the next day caused a niggling worry within Marisa. The hours of lovemaking in the apartment bedroom burned in her memory and would every time she saw him from now on. As she left the café, disappointed, she peered toward the back corner of the RV park, but her view of his mobile was blocked by several campers.

  Ben came in after lunch and she fed him coffee. He was drunk, but not as far gone as she had seen him before. He was irritable and restless to the point of pacing. She tried to talk to him, but he smoked and drank his coffee and responded to her attempts with growls and sharp remarks. He had a burr under his saddle, but she couldn’t guess the reason.

  Later, she spent a restless night wondering why Terry hadn’t come to the café or even called her. The next day at noon he brought her a bouquet of flowers from the grocery store in Odessa and she reacted like a silly kid. He told her the trip to Albuquerque was all arranged. They kept a discreet distance. She appreciated that. She even put the flowers in the kitchen out of sight. No sense arousing the busybodies in Agua Dulce. She suspected something was going on with his plans for Pecos Belle’s, but didn’t ask, not wanting to taint the fun she was having or the happiness that filled her heart for the first time in years.

  Marisa was in the café when Aunt Radonna arrived Tuesday, her fifty-seven-year-old body covered by tight red capris and a black T-shirt that declared in glittering rhinestones across her ample chest, I’M HERE FOR THE PARTY. She had red spike heels on her feet, bands of clicking bracelets on her wrists and a cloud of fragrance surrounding her. To Marisa’s astonishment, when they left the café and walked back to the singlewide, Mama called Aunt Radonna by name and asked her who she was dating now. Instantly Marisa had a better feeling about leaving Mama in her sister’s care.

  In the evening, Marisa walked through getting Mama ready for bed with her aunt. Afterward, when she went to her room to pack, her aunt followed.

  As Marisa stuffed toiletries in a small duffel, Aunt Radonna rummaged through the closet. “Honey, you don’t have any clothes. All I see is jeans.” She held up one of Marisa’s cowgirl shirts and scowled at it. “And these tacky shirts.”

  “In the café, I dress Western, you know.” Marisa glanced down at her aunt’s long, sculpted nails. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to get along in the café?”

  “Hamburgers in the microwave. Frozen pizza in the toaster oven. If I haven’t learned anything else in the bar business, I’ve learned that much.” Radonna rehung the shirt and plucked a plain black dress from the closet. “Well, at least you’ve got a little black dress.”

  “I don’t think this is going to be a dress-up trip,” Marisa said, suddenly intimidated by her lack of wardrobe.

  “You’ll go out to dinner, won’t you?” Aunt Radonna bobbed her eyebrows and gave Marisa a conspiratorial look. “You’ll need food for energy, you know.”

  Marisa had forgotten how much fun her aunt was. No doubt Terry would plan a dinner, and maybe at a fancy place. He struck Marisa as being that kind of guy.

  “Now, your mama used to have some nice turquoise jewelry. Put that with this little black dress and—” Aunt Radonna leveled a hard look at her. “Raylene still has that turquoise squash blossom, doesn’t she? The one I wanted for myself for about twenty years? As old as it is, it must be worth a fortune by now.”

  Marisa had sold the coveted handmade Zuni piece long ago—along with Mama’s old Dodge pickup and numerous other personal treasures—to pay for Mama’s medicine. She sank to the edge of the bed and shook her head.

  “My God, Marisa. That was a one-of-a-kind. And the Indian who made it’s dead.”

  A rush of tears flew to Marisa’s eyes. “It’s been hard, Aunt Donna. We needed the money.”

  On a sigh, her aunt came and sat down beside her and embraced her, nearly smothering her in cloying fragrance. “Well, you had to do what you had to do. I hope you got what it was worth. I wish I could help you more.”

  Marisa quelled the sarcasm that flitted through her mind.

  Her aunts could help more. If nothing else, they could put in an appearance every once in a while and give Marisa a few hours’ respite. “Mama had an appraisal. A big shot from Midland bought it for his wife.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was just a bunch of blue rocks.” She released Marisa and returned to the closet, came up with a plain red knit top. “Darlin’, this is pathetic. You have no clothes. ...So who’s this guy? Somebody just passing through town? Or something more permanent? I hope he’s not a cowboy.”

  “He’s half permanent. He’s the one who bought Agua Dulce and the XO.”

  Aunt Radonna’s eyes flared and she gasped. “Why, my God, Rissy. He’s rich.” Her manicured fingers wrapped around Marisa’s wrists, her blue eyes wide with a fierce intensity. “This calls for a whole new strategy.”

  She whisked out of the room and returned with a handful of clothing. Bracelets clicking, she flapped out a hot orange low-cut top with spaghetti straps and a diagonal ruffle across the front. Why her aunt had brought something like that to wear in Agua Dulce, Marisa couldn’t guess.

  “Now this is sexy,” Aunt Radonna said. “If you’re going off with a guy, especially a rich guy, you want to look sexy. And it shows just a little cleavage. Not too much, just enough to tease.”

  Marisa fondled the top’s fabric. It felt soft and slithery.

  “Silk knit,” Aunt Radonna said, then clasped the top close to her breast, closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Heavenly.”

  She pulled Marisa to her feet and pushed her to the dresser mirror. “On you this color will be great.” She wrapped her arms around her and held the top in front of her. “See?”

  Marisa tilted her head and st
udied her reflection. The orange color did look pretty good.

  Radonna stuffed the garment into Marisa’s hands, turned away and picked up a drapey skirt that would strike Marisa above the knee. “You wear that top to dinner with this little black skirt. Take my word for it, he’ll have his eyes on your boobs all through dinner. He won’t even notice what he’s eating.” She gave a giggle. “Or the prices on the menu.”

  Marisa laughed. Mama had always called her younger sister a glamourpuss who spent all her money on clothes and considered herself an expert on men. And maybe she was. No telling how many lived in her past. Marisa had to agree about the outfit. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be careful with it.”

  Aunt Radonna flopped a wrist, her bracelets jangling. “Don’t worry about it. You won’t have any fun being careful.” She began to sort through other pieces of clothing she had brought into the room. She held up a plain emerald green knit dress that Marisa could tell fit like a glove. “Deep colors, baby doll. With your coloring, deep colors for you. I wore this to a party at the Midland Country Club once.” A dreamy expression passed over Aunt Radonna’s face.

  Marisa had expected her aunt’s clothes to be on the trashy side, but while her taste in colors was bold, the styles were subdued, which suited Marisa. The green dress was beautiful and Marisa found herself wanting to wear it.

  “Try it on,” Aunt Radonna said, a gleam in her eye.

  Reluctantly Marisa disrobed and wriggled into the green knit. Radonna was right. The dress looked great. Finally Marisa had to ask. “Aunt Donna, this is Agua Dulce and we’re talking a couple of days. Where did you think you were going to wear clothes like these?”

  Radonna tilted back her head and gave a deep, rich laugh. “Baby doll, my motto is be prepared, like a damn Girl Scout. You never know what”—she winked--“or who will pop up. Sean Connery might pass through.”

  Marisa laughed again. “Haven’t seen Sean in ages.” She looked down at the clothing scattered on the bed. “I can’t wear this stuff. I don’t have shoes—”

  “What’s your size?”

  “Nine.”