by Joan Hohl
“Four.” He pushed back his chair and got up to walk to the countertop. Sliding the glass carafe from the heating plate of the coffeemaker, he returned to refill their cups. “I’m the eldest.”
“Four sons,” she murmured in awe, absently lifting her cup to take a careful sip of the hot liquid. “The mere thought of raising four boys is daunting.”
Cameron laughed, and began collecting dishes and cutlery. “Believe me, it would have taken a lot more than us kids to daunt my mother.”
Sounds formidable, Sandra mused—a veritable shining example of the traditional wife and mother, old-fashioned and outdated now, but fondly recalled, if Cameron’s expression was anything to judge by. The total opposite of her own mother, she ruminated, rising to help him clear the table. Her mother had been a career woman to the oval tips of her fingernails. She’d been forced into an early retirement a few years ago, due to a heart condition—which, thankfully, was not life-threatening-and probably would have gone into a decline if faced with the very thought of taking on the role of housewife and mother to four children.
“At present, she’s eagerly looking forward to whipping her grandchildren into shape.”
Cameron’s laconic remark ended Sandra’s introspective reverie.
“How many grandchildren are there?” she asked, looking away from the flow of water churning the detergent into a mound of bubbles in the sink.
“None.” He moved his shoulders in a light shrug, then grabbed a dish towel from a wall-mounted hook in readiness. “That’s why she’s so eager. But she believes that now, at long last, she has reason to hope.” He took the dripping plate she handed him and applied the towel as if he were an old hand at the chore.
Sandra finished rinsing the second plate and frowned as she handed it to him. “Why?” She shook her head, confused. “I mean, why does your mother now believe there’s reason to hope for grandchildren?”
“Because my youngest brother, Jake, is getting married in June.” He laughed. “It’s kinda funny. The lastborn of Maddy’s sons will be the first one to marry.”
“All four of you are still single?” The dishes done, she moved to wipe the table.
“Yes, at least for a little while yet.” He tossed the damp towel adroitly onto the hook. “I may be reading it all wrong, but something tells me things are heating up between my other two brothers, Eric and Royce, and their respective ladies.” He grinned at her; she felt the effects to the tingling soles of her bare feet. “I believe my mother’s thinking along the same lines,” he explained. “She sounded suspiciously smug when I talked to her early this morning.”
“Do you talk to your mother often?” she asked, thinking about her twice-monthly, insubstantial telephone chats with her own mother.
“At least once a week.” He paused, then shrugged. “When I can.”
Sandra didn’t require further explanation; she understood the demands of his profession.
“That’s nice,” she murmured, meaning it. But then she flashed a teasing smile at him. “You’re a good and considerate son.”
His own smile flashed; it had a wolfish look. “I’m good at a lot of things.” Appearing deceptively lazy, he strolled to her. “Exciting things.”
“Really?” Concealing a sizzling inner response behind an expression of wide-eyed innocence, Sandra watched with mounting anticipation as he closed in on her.
“Hmmm.” Cameron came to a halt with his chest just brushing her already tingling breasts. His eyes were dark, hooded, sultry. “You need more proof?”
“Much more proof and I’ll probably die from intense ecstasy,” she said breathlessly.
“Yeah, but, as the old saying claims,” he whispered, slowly rubbing his chest against the hardening tips of her breasts, “what a way to go.”
Sandra could barely breathe; she couldn’t think of anything at all—except for the riot of erotic images seducing her mind and thoughts.
“Wanna go with me?” His voice was so low, she could hardly hear him, but still she understood, understood and responded, almost violently, to the sexy intonation in his voice.
“To…to the bed?” Silly question.
“The bed. The couch. The floor.” He made a quick hand gesture. “The kitchen table.”
She blinked. “I’ve never made love on a kitchen table. I’ve heard of it, of cour—Oh!” she softly exclaimed as he deposited her on top of the table.
“I’ll be happy to expand your experience,” he said, unfastening her jeans and tugging them down, over her hips. Within seconds, her jeans and panties were lying in a heap on the floor, and his jeans and briefs were bunched somewhere around his knees.
Sandra sucked in a breath as Cameron moved into position between her thighs; in comparison to his aroused body, the table didn’t seem nearly as hard as it had moments before.
Bending over her, he tormented her into readiness for him with his body and his mouth.
Sandra moaned, deep in her throat, when his teeth gently raked her aching nipple and the tip of his manhood nudged against her mound.
Hot and moist, eager to again experience the thrill of feeling him inside her, filling her, Sandra raised her hips, inviting his possession.
There was an instant’s pause, the rustle of clothes as he kicked free of his jeans, the sound of tearing foil, then a murmured curse from Cameron.
Reaching out, Sandra stroked his hips, his tautly muscled buttocks and thighs.
Cameron shuddered in response, then plunged, deep, straight to the core of her desire.
It was fast, and furious, and utterly satisfying. In unison, they cried out in joyous release.
The purple shadows of encroaching evening dimmed the interior of the cabin as Cameron gently cradled Sandra in his arms and carried her into the bedroom.
Pearly pink dawn revealed a tangle of bedclothes and bodies sprawled across the bed.
The softly creeping light bathed Cameron’s face, waking him. In turn, he woke Sandra with a creeping series of soft kisses, to her face and neck and breasts.
She stirred, stretched, and languidly wound her arms around his neck.
“You missed my mouth,” she scolded, pouting.
“You’re right,” he agreed, kissing his way to her lips. “I missed it all night.”
His morning kiss was cool, gentle, heartwrenchingly tender. A warm moisture stung her eyes.
“That was lovely,” she murmured on a sigh when he raised his head to gaze into her misty eyes.
“And so are you,” he said, swooping to brush his lips over her sparkling wet lashes. “I could continue kissing you all day…” He lifted his head again, and gave her a teasing smile. “But you’d soon get tired of the growling demand for food from my stomach.”
Sandra smiled back at him. “Is this your way of telling me that you’re hungry?”
“Famished.” Startling her with the sudden swiftness of his movement, Cameron swept back the covers and literally leaped from the bed. “I’ll cook,” he offered, striding for the bathroom. “Why don’t you go back to sleep until breakfast is ready?”
“Wait!” Her cry brought him to a stop, hand extended for the doorknob. “I’m slept out.” Scrambling from the bed, she slanted a twinkling glance at him. “Besides, I’d much rather shower with you.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I’m not sure I can trust you. Do you promise to be good?”
Her smile mirrored the one he had given her in the kitchen last evening.
“I promise to be terrific.”
Laughing and kissing, Sandra and Cameron lathered, and bathed, and satisfied each other’s bodies.
Cameron cooked steaks on the outside grill for breakfast. Firmly refusing to even consider fat and calorie content, Sandra prepared fried potatoes and scrambled eggs on the side.
The meal was every bit as satisfying as their romp in the shower, if in a different manner.
After the meal was finished and the dishes were cleared away, they donned jackets and hik
ing boots and left the cabin to explore the terrain surrounding the building nestled in the foothills.
Their laughter ringing on the crisp spring air, they trudged hand in hand, stepping with care on the squishy ground and the patches of lingering snow along a steep mountain trail.
The outing was both exhilarating and exhausting. Sandra was panting from the exertion when they returned to the cabin.
“Time for lunch,” Cameron said, after making a trip into the bedroom to hang up their jackets.
“Past time.” She glanced pointedly at the clock; it read 1:45.
“And then a nap?” He leered at her.
“You’re insatiable!” Laughing, she went to the cabinet to take out a can of soup.
“Hungry, too,” he drawled, turning to the fridge. “You want a sandwich with your soup?”
And that was how the following days played out, slowly unwinding in an atmosphere of domestic tranquillity and sensuous bliss.
On Saturday evening, happy and content with each other, Sandra and Cameron decided to make a celebration of their first week together.
Sandra donned the two-piece confection her parents had sent her from Paris for her birthday; Cameron dressed casually but elegantly in brusheddenim pants and a crisp white silk shirt. The effect of their sartorial efforts on one another was immediate appreciation.
Seated opposite one another at the dinner table, they devoured each other with their eyes, while devouring grilled salmon, crisp salad, and the pale gold wine Cameron had brought with him.
Later that night, all her appetites sated, Sandra lay curled against Cameron’s warmth, awake while he slept, musing on the sweet satisfaction of two individuals in seemingly perfect harmony.
Maybe, she thought muzzily, floating in the nether area between sleep and wakefulness, just maybe, there really could be such a thing as an equal, balanced, happy and mutually satisfying marriage between two independent, career-minded people.
She floated off to sleep in a contemplative bubble of contentment.
As all bubbles eventually do, Sandra’s burst. The deflating pinprick came early Sunday morning, in the form of a summons from Cameron’s beeper. The muted beep penetrated her unconsciousness; the noise Cameron made fumbling with the bedside phone drew her to the surface; the sound of his voice brought her to awareness.
“It’s Wolfe. What’s up?”
Well I am, for one, Sandra grumbled to herself, shifting into an upright position in the bed.
“When?”
When what? she asked herself, covering a yawn with the palm of her hand. And what was so allfired important that it warranted a call at this time of the morning?
“Damn it all to hell!”
She blinked. Whatever the call was about, from the tone of Cameron’s voice, it sounded serious.
“Okay, thanks, Steve.” He heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be careful.”
Careful? About what? Or whom? Her curiosity aroused, Sandra watched as he replaced the receiver and sat still for a moment, staring into space. His very stillness sent an apprehensive shiver down her spine.
“Cameron, is something wrong?”
He heaved another sigh before turning to her; the look of him intensified the shiver.
“What is it?” she asked, impulsively reaching a hand out to him.
“It is a man,” he said, curling his hand around hers. “And it means the end of our time here together.”
Sandra’s spirits did a swan dive. Her hand tightened on his. “You must leave?”
“Yes.” His voice was flat, which said a lot about his spirits.
“Work-related?” Sandra knew better than to ask for anything other than the bare essentials.
“Yeah.”
She nodded in acceptance, expecting no further explanation, but he surprised her with his willingness to be more forthcoming.
“While you were waging your custody battle in court I was chasing a two-bit bank robber turned kidnapper and rapist.” The shadow of a wry smile flickered briefly on his lips. “I caught him, too.” He jerked his head to indicate the phone. “That call was from another agent, informing me that the felon escaped from the lockup where he was awaiting trial.”
“And the Bureau wants you to suspend your vacation to track him down?”
“No.” Cameron shook his head. “That call wasn’t official. But the agent thought I should know about the situation, since the felon had sworn to track me down if he ever gained his freedom.”
“But…don’t understand.” Sandra frowned. “I mean, we’re secluded here. This man, this felon, can’t possibly know you’re here. Why would you leave and put yourself in harm’s way?”
“I have a duty, a responsibility to—”
“Your responsibility in this instance is to yourself,” she said, interrupting him. “What are you thinking of doing—making yourself a sitting duck, using yourself as live bait to lure the criminal?”
A smile flittered over his lips again. “Something like that,” he admitted.
“That’s nuts!”
“Perhaps, but—”
“Cameron! Will you listen to yourself? Surely you don’t believe you’re the only agent capable of capturing this. this outlaw?”
“No, of course not,” he immediately replied. “And I wasn’t thinking of playing the macho hero and going after him alone. But I should be part of the team.”
“Why?” she demanded, fearful for his safety, and incensed by his adamancy. “I could accept your attitude if the call had come from your superior, ordering or even requesting your help, but your deciding to use yourself as bait doesn’t make sense.”
This time he didn’t smile; he grinned.
“What’s so funny?” she asked suspiciously.
“You.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You sound just like a prosecuting attorney grilling an unfriendly witness.”
She gave him a dry look. “I was trained to apply logic, and reason, and good old-fashioned common sense, you know.”
“And you apply it to advantage.”
Sandra’s spirits surfaced from the depths into the sunshine. “You’ll stay?” She didn’t try to contain the breathless, hopeful note in her voice.
“Yes.” He nodded, then quickly cautioned her, “At least for a day or so, until I hear how the hunt is progressing. But if it turns out that they could use me.” He let his voice trail away.
“I understand.” Giving his hand a final squeeze, she slipped away from his hold and left the bed.
“Where are you going? It’s still early—why not catch a tittle more sleep?”
“I’m awake now,” she said, heading for the bathroom. “And I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, well, so am I.” He grinned suggestively. “That’s why I wanted to stay in bed.”
“Guess you’ll have to settle for pancakes.”
Laughing, Cameron leaped from the bed and tracked her into the bathroom.
Five
It began raining early Sunday afternoon, a gentle spring rain—or at least that was what Sandra and Cameron believed it to be.
Sometime during the night, after they fell asleep, the temperature took a sudden piunge and the rain turned first to sleet, then to ice.
They awoke Monday morning to an unnatural stillness outside, and an eerie grayish-white light seeping into the cabin.
“Snow?” Cameron guessed, padding barefoot and naked to the window.
“Possible,” Sandra mumbled, burrowing deeper under the covers; she had experienced many Colorado spring blizzards.
“Not this time,” he returned sourly, peering sleepy-eyed through the frost-rimmed pane. “We’ve got ice—boy, have we got ice.”
“Ice?” Sandra repeated, tossing back the covers. Shivering, she came up behind him to stare over his shoulder. “Why, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, entranced by the glistening coat weighing down tree branches, shimmering on the surface of their surroundings. “It’s a winter wonderland out there.”
“Yeah.” Cameron sounded unconvinced. “The problem is, everything’s frozen, and we’re in the mountains.”
“Oh, it is spring, you know,” she said, dismissing his obvious concern. “It won’t last long.”
By midday, Sandra’s assurances appeared prophetic. Although the sky was heavy with dark clouds, the distinct sound of melting ice rattled through the drainpipe from the roof, and small puddles of mud-swirled water dotted the driveway.
Braving the wet and slippery terrain underfoot, they ventured forth for a short walk, laughing as they took turns singing bits and pieces of “Slip Slidin’ Away.”
After dinner, content to be alone and quiet together, they didn’t bother, or even think, to tune in to the radio or TV for a weather forecast, deciding it would be more interesting, and a lot more fun, to get comfortable on the floor in front of the crackling fire and play a few hands of strip poker.
Except for his shoes and socks, Cameron was still fully clothed while Sandra had lost to the tune of everything but her panties and bra, when his beeper once again shrilled an intrusion.
Sandra frowned to make clear her dissatisfaction with the annoying device.
“Duty calls, and all that,” Cameron said, making an obvious effort to sound casual as he rose and sauntered into the kitchen to use the wall-mounted phone.
Suddenly cold, Sandra tugged the patchwork afghan from the couch and wrapped it around her chilled body.
Cameron stood facing her, and though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, she could see his expression, and it was not an encouraging sight.
She read his lips when he bit out a socially unacceptable expletive. Then he turned his back to her, intensifying the chill permeating her being.
Hugging the soft wool throw to her shivering body, Sandra waited in dread for him to finish the call and return to her, certain the news was not good.
She was right. Still, he startled her with his first statement.
“You’re going to have to leave here first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Leave?” Sandra blinked. “Tomorrow? Why?”