The thump of the refrigerator door shutting was followed by his footfalls as he approached the bedroom. Goosebumps raced from the back of her knees to her earlobes when she felt his nearness—his warmth but not his touch—as he stood behind her.
“Maybe just a little dust,” he whispered in her ear.
She turned and crooned, “Uh, uh. I’m ready for a mud bath,” then found his mouth with hers. As her kisses deepened, he responded, ready to commit to her, motivated by raging hormones, not common sense, the urge to breed stronger than his love and respect for the person.
She reached down with her good hand and unzipped the pants she had borrowed from him and shimmied out of them as her lips slid down his neck, pausing at the sweet soft point between his collar bones at the base of his neck, finally able to kick off the pants completely, the suction of her mouth keeping her upright.
On tiptoes now, she lifted one leg and wrapped it around his hip. Rocky reached down and pulled her closer, his hand slipping up her thigh until he reached her backside and realized she wasn’t wearing panties.
He wanted to tell her to slow down, that at this pace they would soon get to a point where he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. He’d done that once and swore he’d never let himself go with another woman until he knew for sure that she was the one.
“Alexandra Oppenheimer! What do you think you’re doing? Don’t you ever go all the way with a man unless you’re married to him. Make him want you, treat you to all the nicest restaurants in the city, shower you with gifts. Remember the old saying, ‘Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?’ Stop acting like a dairy!”
It had only been one time and she’d been caught the morning after. She should have thrown the panties in the trash before they left the park but hadn’t thought of it. “What were you doing with that Collins boy last night?” her mother screeched, holding her blood-spotted panties in her hand. “You lost your virginity last night, didn’t you? And with a store manager’s son? If you’re going to spread your legs, sweetie, at least choose someone with some status like a lawyer or judge’s son. At least there we can claim you’re pregnant and you can elope. Or better yet, get some hush money and then have a…ahem…miscarriage or abortion. Worked for me. Three times!”
That had been the summer before she started her sophomore year of college. She was never so eager to get back to classes. The tsk-tsking and head-shaking her mother shamed her with at least once daily almost made her run away from home. She didn’t have anywhere to go, though. She didn’t know where her grandmother lived, and she’d been told her father had died when she was a baby. However, the older she got and the more aware she became of her mother’s true personality, it wouldn’t have surprised her if her father had run away!
“Do you think we should slow down?” X panted, her inner conflicts raging, her mother’s guilt-whipping winning out over her passion.
Rocky groaned softly as he released his clutch on her bottom, the loss of contact between their bodies a cold, achy void in his chest and in his loins. “Depends on which head I’m thinking with,” he said, and chuckled nervously. “I think I’d better listen to this one,” he said and tapped his temple. “Let’s lie down and recover a minute.”
They lay on their sides, face-to-face, her bandaged hand on his upper arm as he traced the line of her jaw with his finger. “You’re so perfect,” he whispered.
She chuffed briefly and half-smiled nervously. “You must have forgotten about my flat chest and patchwork belly. My face may not be scarred, but I’m far from perfect.”
Rocky’s hand drifted down the sleeve of her kuspuk to the hem of the overdress. He pulled it up to her hip and said, “Lie back.”
X rolled onto her back as he gently tugged her kuspuk up, exposing her belly and more. He reached over and grabbed the scarf he had covered her chest with during the surgery and placed it lower as a modesty cover. “I really should check the sutures,” he said. “Besides, maybe if I see that you’re still healing, it will calm down my excitement.”
X’s eyes looked at the bulge in his pants. “I don’t think so,” she whispered, then looked toward her belly, “but I can’t see what you’re seeing, either.”
Rocky pulled the dress back in place, then got out of bed and went to the window.
“What…where are you going?” she asked.
He removed two of the brown paper grocery bags from the top window panes. “I’m getting more light in here so I can see if there’s any infection started.” He reached down and rearranged himself. “And getting more comfortable. Those windows are high enough that no one can look inside.”
X lifted her bottom and tugged her dress and undershirt up so he would have better access to her body, then quickly cupped her hand in front of her mouth, huffed, and checked her breath again. Pizza. At least they both tasted the same.
Rather than sit on the stool as he should have for a better view, Rocky knelt beside the bed. He felt as if he was worshipping her body, not examining it. He leaned forward and looked at each stitch in the first wound, his finger gliding next to each one to feel for swelling, then moved to the next one. He realized that her back was arching toward him at his touch. He stopped his examination. “Are you purring?” he asked.
Her back relaxed into the softness of the bed at the loss of his touch. “I suppose I was. I didn’t realize it until you said something. I wasn’t doing it on purpose.”
Rocky resumed his visual and tactile inspection of her last and longest wound, her murmurs of contentment resuming at his touch, ceasing when he pulled his hand away.
“Do you have to stop?” she asked. “Can’t you look for something else? Maybe there are some glass slivers you missed? You did say they might pop out later. It might be easier for you if I took off the kuspuk and the shirt. I’ll need your help, though.”
Rocky inhaled deeply, the request by a woman—his ideal woman—to be naked before him was almost too much for him to consider rationally.
Inspecting for glass shards with the kuspuk and tee shirt on or off—which would be easier to conduct and more conclusive? If she was in a doctor’s office, he’d have her strip and put on a gown, not work around her day clothes. Think! Think with a physician’s mind, not a lover’s!
“Yes, it’d be best if you took off your clothes.” He saw her begin to toss the first item aside, and rephrased his decision, “Yes on the everything else, but leave the scarf.”
She set it back with a, “Hmph” of frustration, then reached out and let him help her sit up.
He pulled her clothes off over her head, shook them out, then folded and set them on the stool in the corner. He knelt back down beside her, ready for the examination, a mix of lust and fear giving him goosebumps that matched hers in size.
“I don’t think it’s fair that I’m mostly naked and you aren’t,” X said, licking her bottom lip then biting it, hoping she wasn’t being too slutty. She sniffed back her embarrassment, then straightened her back, her resolve to be with him suddenly shameless. Fearless. Determined.
He set his forehead down on her thigh and closed his eyes, sighing in frustration that was so intense, he was afraid he’d wind up in tears. Should he give in to his lust and ruin what could be theirs for more than an afternoon or a few days, or hold off and see if she was willing to wait for now but be with him for the rest of their lives? He kissed her thigh, realizing the answer to his question was in his question.
“I can take off my shirt so you can touch my back and arms, but the pants stay on. If we’re meant to be together, our feelings for each other will still be as strong tomorrow, next week, or next month as they are right now. I don’t want to be like the Russian trappers who came to this area, found a moment of passion with a few of the women, then left them, ripping out their hearts, maybe leaving them with a small person to bring into the world, but with no man to take care of them or their children.”
“But you don’t have to worry about that with me…”
Rocky put up his hand, hovering it near her mouth without touching it. “I know, because we’re not going to do anything that would make a baby.”
“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind,” X said dejectedly.
He gently traced the invisible line that ran from her belly button up to the soft spot at the base of her throat. “I will check you for bits of glass, and I promise to make it as enjoyable as possible. I’ll do it as a lover, not a doctor. Deal?” he asked, then detoured down and to the right, creating a circle of sensation around the perimeter of her breast with the light touch of his finger.
Her back arched and her nipple hardened at the tease. “I don’t know if I can let you do that all night long without attacking you or needing to be restrained, but I’ll take all you can give me.”
“Deal, then?”
“It’s a deal,” she purred and relaxed into the bed, ready for her lover’s touch.
Chapter 7
“He said to meet him here at first light or eight o’clock. We left the house at twenty ‘til and have been here for,” X looked up at the sky and pretended to gauge the time by using hand-widths to mark the sun’s position, “at least an hour.”
“I think that’s him coming now,” Rocky said. “At least, that’s Fran and her black Cadillac taxi.”
“Huh?”
“The only taxi in town. At least, it’s black under all the mud.”
Rocky stepped forward, his hand extended to greet the man wearing a scowl, mirrored-sunglasses, and a new fur-hooded nylon parka.
Dr. Jackson glanced at Rocky, then looked away and walked past him with open arms to greet his personally picked intern, Alexandra Oppenheimer, the best-looking woman in the archaeology program.
“Ms. Oppenheimer! How good to see you!”
His attempt at a hug was thwarted as X quickly stepped aside, instinctively moving close to Rocky.
Dr. J. winced at the slight, then realized he had a whole two months to win her over. “I hope you don’t mind if I call you Alexandra—or maybe Alex—since we’re going to be working so closely.”
“Ms. Oppenheimer will work just fine,” she said coolly. “I take it you didn’t have any trouble finding the site?”
“Oh, no. That lovely lady—Ann, I believe she said—took me on a tour of the city. Or village. It really is quite quaint. Did you know that most of these homes don’t have running water or flushing toilets?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did know that. And did you know that plumbing hasn’t kept these people from thriving in one of the most hostile environments in the world? I wonder, do you think you or anyone else at the university could survive one winter, much less generations, up here without electricity?”
Dr. Jackson snorted at what he perceived as an intentional insult to his intelligence. “Well, I could if my parents had taught me what to do!”
“Well, maybe,” she said, “but somewhere along the way, that parent’s parent’s parent had to figure out how to keep warm and fed.” She looked over at Rocky and smiled. “And I think you missed saying hello to my friend and assistant.”
X held up her bandaged hand. “I had a little accident. Sergei Rachmaninoff has offered to help me out.”
“Ah, a Russky got a little frisky with grandma, eh?” the professor snipped.
“I don’t think my grandmother would appreciate that comment, sir,” Rocky said and stuffed his hands in his front pockets, making sure the arrogant man of letters knew he didn’t want to shake his hand. He had offered once and been snubbed. The second introduction had ended in a slur against his family. Hopefully, this overeducated boor would tire of the terrain and mosquitoes in a hurry and go back to the elitist circle he had come from.
“I don’t know if Ms. Oppenheimer,” Dr. Jackson looked to X when he said her name and winked, “instructed you on our procedures, so I’ll go over them again.”
Rocky’s jaw clenched every time the senior archaeologist got close to X, rubbing up against her—or trying to—as he illustrated basic digging and sifting, and how he wanted the gridded area documented and photographed. When X almost tripped a second time trying to elude his pawing, Rocky stepped in between them.
“Sir, Ms. Oppenheimer sustained more injuries than are visible. If she falls, she could reinjure herself and be hospitalized. I suggest you give her a wide berth.”
“Who are you,” the professor snarled, “her doctor?”
“As a matter of fact,” X piped in, “he is.”
“Where’d he get his diploma? The School of Hard Knocks?”
“My physician’s accreditation is not your concern,” X said. “You’re here to supervise the dig. I’m here to assist and get experience. Now, I didn’t plan to get hurt, and I spent the majority of my savings to get here, so if this skilled person who has volunteered his valuable time to assist me as I direct him on where to dig and what to catalogue won’t work out for you, then tell me now. I’m sure Scotty would be more than happy to buy a last-minute ticket to Alaska and buddy up with you on this project.”
Rocky stood back, his arms crossed in front of his chest while the man rightfully called Dr. Jackass took his dressing down, the arrogant man’s close-shaven cheeks scarlet at being told off by a twenty-one-year-old female intern.
“Well, it looks like you went and picked up an attitude along with that ratty old Native dress you’re wearing,” he snipped, then turned around and realized he had nowhere to go. He hadn’t been paying attention on the ride in and was disoriented. He knew the hotel was nearby but didn’t know where. He had a cellphone, but there was no service up here. He was stuck and at the mercy of an impertinent and soon-to-be discharged intern and her Native boyfriend.
“The hotel’s that way,” Rocky said, pointing down the road. “Be careful not to get mud on your new shoes. We backwards Natives haven’t figured out how to pave the roads yet.”
“So I see,” Dr. Jackson scoffed. “I’ll be back after lunch to see how you two are coming along. Try to get a better attitude or you, Ms. Oppenheimer, may have to make another career choice. In order to get an endorsement from me with regards to archaeology, you have to be a team player.”
X walked up to Rocky and threaded her arm through his, holding him close. The two watched as the clumsy professor—his nose literally held high in the air—stumbled, tripped up by the occasional loose stones on the hard-packed gravel road.
“Why don’t they pave the roads?” she asked, her head now against his shoulder.
“Perma-frost. It’s better this way. You don’t want to trap the heat in the roadbed and melt the permafrost underneath it. It’s better to keep it cold and even.” He reached around and patted her other shoulder, stopping short of a full hug in case the professor turned around. “You’re right. Dr. Jackass does fit him better.”
“Yeah, and by ‘team player,’ he was saying I’d never get anywhere unless I slept with him. Since he’s tenured and I’m just a graduate in need of experience, looks like I’m either going to have to find another college to be associated with or change career paths.”
Rocky chuckled. “That’s my girl.”
“What do you mean?”
“You didn’t even consider sleeping with the man to get ahead.”
“Ew! I’d rather clean toilets—or honey buckets—for a living. Come to think of it, though… Remember when we were talking about my mother?”
“I remember when you told me about her.”
“Yeah. Anyhow, she’s the one who wanted to be an archaeologist. She had the hots for the actor in those movies. I don’t know if she thought I’d be bringing home Harrison Ford or golden icons, but either way, it was her dream, not mine. I’d rather help heal people—like you do—than dig dry bones.”
“It’s never too late to go back to school. Even if you worked as an aide until you could get a new set of letters after your name, you’d be helping real people…”
“Instead of placating lettered philanderers.”
They both laughed.
“There we go again,” Rocky said.
“Finishing each other’s sentences,” X added.
“And lovin’ it.”
“Ready to dig in to see if we can find great-grandma’s dishes?” X asked.
“Just show me where. Oh, and by the way, Q told me that the potlatch Grandma was trying to put together was for the young woman they found here.”
“Better to have her funeral late than never, I suppose. Come on, my remote-controlled hands, we’ll start over here. I doubt I’ll continue this career path, but I hate to leave a job undone. Besides, this is for great-great-grandma and your village, not Dr. Jackass.”
“Amen to that!”
***
“How about some soup for dinner,” Rocky asked as they approached the house, arm-in-arm.
“I was hoping for something besides pizza. It was good, but it got old after having it for breakfast and lunch, too. Even if we hadn’t eaten it all, I don’t think I could handle another bite.”
“I have some potatoes, onions, and frozen fish. I can make some chowder.”
“I’ll contribute my can of condensed milk. Since they still haven’t found my luggage, I don’t have my fancy tea. I guess I don’t need it, huh?”
Rocky looked down at the rolled-up cuffs on the borrowed corduroy slacks and mended kuspuk. “Looks like you’ve gone Native to me. It looks good on you.”
“I know winter is rough, but it’s the people who make a town—or in this case, a village—a great place to live. I mean, where else can you walk to the beach to go to work, have your boyfriend at your beck and call, doing everything you ask, and then he still volunteers to make dinner for you?”
Rocky tugged her close and whispered, “You forgot to say where you also have your own personal physician.”
One Arctic Summer Page 8