Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1)

by Menard, Jayne

  Ivy fed the dogs and cat while Steve rebuilt the fire in the living room. As it started burning, he rose and pushed a couple of pieces of furniture out of the way to create a little dance floor. With the kindling now burning well, he added several bigger logs and put the screen in place, then with hopeful anticipation, he went over to the Bose stereo that Ivy had in the library nook, checked her CDs and chose one called "Saxy Love Songs" by Gary Scott, hoping it would set the mood he wanted. Once the music was softly playing, he went around the house, switching off lights, leaving only the glow of the fire and a light by the bed. Dinner could wait.

  He tugged Ivy into the living room and held out his arms for her to dance with him. They danced slowly to "The Very Thought of You", letting the music and the fire lull them towards each other. He stopped for a moment and tilted up her chin, kissing her in that long slow way he had decided was the only way to kiss Ivy, who was a gift to be treasured. She moved closer to him, letting her hips move gently against his in a way he found subtly suggestive. Slowly he began to undress her, discarding one piece of clothing at a time and gently kissing and caressing the delicacy of her soft skin. After waltzing her closer to the fire so she would not become chilly, he concentrated on a few special places, like the hollow between her collarbones, the inside of her elbow and the soft palm of her hand, wanting to arouse her without being too direct. At their points in life, they should savor each other. The fast passion of youth was behind them. They could take the time to discover each other with slow lovemaking.

  Ivy followed Steve's lead, enjoying his gentle approach. He began humming softly to the music with Stardust now playing as she began to undress him, laying each piece of clothing on a chair before turning back to slide her hands down the long muscles of his arms, then his back, and his chest. She let her hands play lightly on a couple of scars he had, one on the upper arm and one along his right leg. He was so aroused that she struggled to keep to his slow pace. While she yearned to have him inside of her, she also wanted this first time together to be a memory they would recall and cherish during their days or weeks of separation ahead.

  When they were both fully undressed, they circled around in a slow waltz until Ivy led Steve out of the living room. He shielded her with his body as they passed the windows that opened onto the view south, folding himself around her. Once in the bedroom, he opened a couple of windows just a little, letting the plantation shutters block any direct breezes and then joined Ivy in bed, continuing his gentle caressing, until he eased her over on top of him wanting to see her lovely, expressive face as their bodies merged.

  When he began to enter her, she flinched with pain. He pulled back, reached up and gently caressed both sides of her neck, letting his hands rest on her shoulders.

  Embarrassed, Ivy ducked her head and mumbled, "Been a long time."

  "We’ll take it slow. Long time for me too."

  "Born Again Virgins," she scoffed, her smile returning.

  Steve laughed. As Ivy gently pushed down, little by little, Steve found the sensation exquisite. The pressure inside her eased and she slid down against him throwing her head back in sensual triumph.

  "Oh Ivy," Steve said, stroking her thighs where they pressed against him.

  Ivy found Steve to be the gentlest man she had ever made love with and yet he brought out a level of passion in her that was new and unsullied. She loved the strength in his shoulders when she leaned forward to embrace him, tracing the muscles down his arms. They kept things slow and easy, appreciating each other, until their passion overcame them, leaving them breathless with its intensity. When he cradled her head against his chest before drifting off to sleep, she realized a missing part of her had been restored, taking its spot in her heart. She pressed her lips against his chest, let her eyes drift shut and nodded off as well.

  A couple of hours later, she woke up to hear Steve rummaging in the kitchen and went out to see him slicing the leftover turkey. On a cutting board next to him, he neatly laid out slices of bread spread with mayo on one side and cranberry sauce on the other. Ivy took out some lettuce and prepped it to go on the mayo side. They took the late dinner back to bed, feeding each other bits of turkey that escaped from the sandwiches and drinking big glasses of milk before sinking back down into the covers and into each other’s arms.

  ***

  That night Steve found himself awake at 2:00 a.m. Trying not to disturb Ivy, he slipped out of bed and slid on his new robe. The corgis followed him to the kitchen where Steve rewarded them with biscuits before pouring himself another glass of cold milk. Despite the joy that Ivy gave him, his nerves remained jangled. In his mind, he still saw the faces of those children in the cells. The photos of the abused adolescents from more than a dozen brothels they had shut down thus far haunted his waking and sleeping hours. They had moved over a hundred and fifty children and teens into social services organizations in eight countries including in seven cities in the United States.

  Moving quietly, he rebuilt the fire. Since the coals still glowed, he added some kindling, blew on it a few times, watched the wood spark to life, and then stacked on smaller logs. He pulled over an ottoman and sat, staring at the dancing flames and thinking about those captive kids and the terror in their drugged eyes. This was his first case involving children. Most of his cases had been against major drug lords, mob leaders, or underground fraudsters. Rarely did he deal with ordinary citizens and never with children.

  Sitting alone with his thoughts, tears started trickling down his cheeks, not something that had happened since he lost his parents. He heard Ivy come up behind him with her slippers scuffing across the hardwood floor. She sat down next to him on the corner of the big ottoman, put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, not asking questions, just being there. They sat that way for some minutes until Steve wiped away his tears, got up and put a bigger log on the fire.

  "Tell me," Ivy breathed out the words against his back, once he sat back down.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her, then back at the fire. “It started during that trip to L.A. The teenage girls we interviewed from the house that was raided were so hard and so evasive. The truth is I don’t usually work with victims. Generally we go after the crooks who do money laundering, have large drug rings, defraud major companies, or even smuggle jewels. This case was unusual in that we saw and talked with the abused children. It got to me.”

  Ivy tightened her grip around him.

  “Then there was the whole thing with our agent, Trina, imploding during our case preparation because I pushed her too hard, not knowing that she had been sexually abused as a child. I mentioned that in my email.”

  Ivy nodded against his back. She relaxed her grip on him and turned him to look at her, placing her hands on his shoulders.

  “And then Brian. Shit, I didn’t know he had been harassed by the other agents about being too . . . well, too girlie. You know how he has that slight build. I required that he masquerade as a female executive in our sting after Trina broke down. Mathew told me it was Brian’s worst nightmare. The whole operation was just one emotional issue after another.”

  “And the sting itself?”

  "Went well, but those children -- the ones we found in Sofia. Oh Ivy, it was so awful. They were in cells. They had been stolen from their families and were in that holding area waiting for appalling fates. Even though they were drugged, the kids were terrified."

  Ivy pulled him towards her, trying to take some of his pain away. He found he was crying again. She held him until he stopped.

  "Ivy I never cry like this. Cases don't impact me in that way. Not until this one."

  "You've opened yourself up a bit by letting me in. Other barriers you put up may be starting to come down too."

  He nodded, yet he remained uncertain how to deal with the jumble of painful emotions. Then he pushed himself up, tended the fire and held out his hand to Ivy. Together they walked down the hall and slid back into bed. Ivy turned to face him
, gathering him in her arms. He snuggled into her warmth, burying his face in her hair, glad to have her close as she gently rubbed his back. Sooner than he expected, he found himself relaxing into sleep.

  ***

  Around seven the next morning, Ivy slipped out of bed, gave the dogs a quick outing in the yard, showered, and made apple cranberry muffins with a walnut crumb topping. The weekend was different from what she had expected, but in its own way, it was simply idyllic -- fresh, warm, exciting, and passionate, yet comfortable too. Steve appreciated everything, the way a person does when their senses have opened and life is rushing in full throttle. Seeing Steve so overcome with emotion the night before helped allay her concerns about his harder side. Ivy found herself both calmed and re-energized by him as the new day softly sparkled around the house.

  By mid-morning when they left for the north coast of Oregon, Steve seemed more settled emotionally. He and Ivy talked further about the child trafficking case as she drove and he found that leaning on her helped him to deal with the horror of the enslaved children. Ivy headed due west on Highway 26 before turning south on the coastal highway. They had an early lunch at a little place in Cannon Beach and then battled their way through sluicing rain and battering wind, driving down Highway 101 to the scenic Salishan Lodge on the central part of the coast. Even with the heavy late autumn rain, Steve found himself drawn to the coast with its rocky shoreline, sudden sandy beaches, curves of cliffs and giant rocks rising out of the water. The more he saw of the Northwest, the more he felt as if he had come home.

  With the wet weather, their drive had been slow down to the Lodge and both of them were glad to make it to their spacious room, finding it welcoming with its casual furniture, stone fireplace and warm interior. The Lodge impressed Steve with its quiet setting in the woods overlooking the peaceful Siletz Bay. He liked the layout of the sprawling grounds where they could walk from their room to the Lodge without becoming wet by following the covered walkways. When the rain turned to fog late that afternoon, they strolled along the golf course, veering off onto a rustic path through the woods and coming out to cross a bridge over a pond before trekking on the golf cart path back up to their room.

  While they walked, Steve found himself stopping to examine the different varieties of moss, or to crouch down to check out some late mushrooms or simply to inhale the fresh air, bright with oxygen and scented with cedar and spruce. Each new aspect he discovered in the Northwest drew him to its magic, except maybe those big banana slugs. He had greased a few of those under his big feet, as he slopped along though the mud and leaves. Up ahead, Ivy was giving the corgis a boost over a tree that had fallen on the trail. He stopped, realizing that his life was like a physical book. The front cover had been his childhood and formative years. The pages thus far had been his career. He wanted Ivy to help him write the remaining pages -- their future. He jogged a few steps to catch up, took her in his arms and kissed her, hoping that she saw him in her future too.

  As they continued on, Ivy pointed out a big old stump amidst tall, younger trees. The stump was massive, soaring up about twelve feet and was nearly six feet in diameter. Ferns and a shrub she called salal grew at the base, while some plush green moss crept up here and there. Small bushes sprouted out of the top, nourished by the slowly decaying wood. Ivy told him the old trees as living specimens were rare now and were referred to as “old growth”. This stump was a majestic remnant of the forest as it had once been.

  Steve walked forward and put his hand on the big stump’s silvered surface, feeling the smooth wood where the bark had peeled off decades ago. He moved around the old tree, trying to not tramp on the ferns. The term “Old Growth” reminded him of himself and the changes he was going through. When he came back to where Ivy was waiting, he thought of the two of them in terms of nature. He was solid and at times immoveable resembling the hard stump and true to her namesake, she was more flexible wrapping around his heart like curling twine. Together they might be called Old Growth and Ivy. He had read that ivy growing in the wild could become invasive, choking trees and plants, but as far as he was concerned, Ivy could wrap herself around him as much as she wanted.

  On Sunday morning, Ivy took Steve out on the long spit that separated the ocean from the Siletz Bay. The waves were enormous and pounding the beach hard, leaving only a narrow strip of dark sand next to the grassy dunes for walking as the tide came in. While he stood staring at the waves, Steve noticed that the tops were capped with white foam, so thick it was almost like a whipped icing. When the wave peaked into the wind, the foam was pushed back, streaming out behind the wave like a white fluffy scarf.

  Steve wanted to look for shells, but few survived the relentless pounding of the surf. They did gather a few small translucent agates and found one sizeable one that still had most of its white outer coating. Ivy explained how they were likely trapped in rock that washed down the river or eroded from cliffs, went out to sea and then were returned with the outer rock layer more or less worn off. Steve put them in his pocket, wanting to take these bits of the Oregon coast away with him as good luck charms to bring him back to Ivy. They walked back to the car along the quiet road that ran the length of the spit, chasing each other as they sloshed along in the rain and playing with the corgis who scooted around their feet prancing and wriggling with excitement.

  From the beach they went to the Salishan Spa where Steve had booked a romantic couples massage. They were a little early and spent some time dangling their feet in the warm water of the spa pool, enjoying the motion of the jetted water and splashing each other with their feet in a way that was both playful and flirtatious. The room they went into at the spa had a fireplace with a quietly burning fire. During their massages, soft music played in the background, while the rain outside drummed its own soothing tune on the metal chimney cap. Afterward, they took hot cups of tea to the lounge area and watched the softly colored waterfowl cruising peacefully on the serene Siletz Bay, ducking down every now and then after some tasty morsel. While there, Steve talked about wanting to see more of the world. Ivy looked at him in surprise, knowing that he traveled most of the time.

  “I want to see places as a tourist, not as an agent. You know -- go to the historic sites, take walks in the country, enjoy the food . . .”

  Over the years, she had seen most American cities, but usually on business trips where she rushed in and out of town. Her vacations had been travel to spots where she could drop out for a time. “Even coming down here is refreshing, but I know what you mean with going to museums, buying fresh foods at village markets, and learning about the people and culture. Where do you want to go first?”

  “Travel to Norway to learn about my heritage. Roam the English countryside. Drink aged malt scotch and wander the Highlands in Scotland. Learn how to slow down in Provence or Tuscany to savor the experience.”

  “See the rugged mountains in Patagonia.”

  “Island hop in the Galapagos. Buy a really good camera and take photos along the way.”

  Ivy smiled over at him, realizing that retirement with Steve, if things worked out between them, might become the best time of her life. Torn between the tranquility of the spa and wanting more intimacy, they soon dressed and departed for their lodge room to be close. The day had been one of tenderness and romance and Steve knew that he wanted Ivy full time in his life, even though he could not yet see how to make that happen.

  On Monday it was raining hard again and they spent the morning in their room, reading, talking and packing.

  “Steve, are you religious?”

  He looked at her in surprise. While he had been baptized and raised in the church, religion had ceased to be a part of his life. “Guess I’m kind of a failed Lutheran. More of an agnostic.”

  “You want to hedge your bets, just in case the general populace is right about having a God to watch over us?”

  “More like I just don’t know. You?”

  “Dyed in the wool atheist. Raised as an Episcopa
lian, but in high school the question was raised in a debate and I realized that the formal religious stuff did not make sense to me.”

  “No faith?”

  “I have faith,” she said, jutting out her chin and looking determined. “In myself, in some of mankind, in the beauty of nature.”

  “Independent wraith, aren’t you?” He pulled her close. “Faith in me?”

  Her face grew serious then, “Beginning to. Yes, but then,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “I am foolish enough to hope there are angels.”

  Steve laughed, knowing he was no angel but he thought of himself as solid and trustworthy. As they loaded up and talked on the drive home, they found their views coincided on most topics, although sometimes they enjoyed debating their differences. They exchanged opinions on alternative lifestyles, on racism and other forms of prejudice, on politics and on their President.

  "When I fly back tomorrow, I have to pick up the threads of a case against a major drug lord -- the one who made fools of us during a sting in Mexico. We're working this case with the DEA, but I have the lead on it. It was the damn DEA who got bad information on the perp that last time in Mexico. They claim to have a more solid lead this time around. At any rate, it will be some time until I can return, maybe not until after the holidays. The good news is that if we nab this perp, I can take time off to spend with you."