Call Me Softly

by D. Jackson Leigh

  “Hasn’t changed.”

  Gloria wrote the check quickly. When she turned to leave, she spotted Swain smiling from across the room. “My, my. Looks like this day just got a lot more interesting.” Gloria’s grin grew as she sashayed across the room. She skipped the usual social pleasantries and went right for a quick kiss on the lips, then ran her fingers through Swain’s dark hair. “Looks like you’re past due for a haircut, hon. My last appointment’s at seven. How about you drop by around seven thirty?”

  Swain glanced over at Lillie, who was ending her phone call. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans and shied away from the distraction of Gloria’s combing fingers. “Can’t tonight, G. I’ll call and make an appointment for next week. I’ve got too much going on right now.”

  Gloria stepped back, but rested her hand possessively on Swain’s forearm. “Oh, honey, I heard about Abigail. I am so sorry. When’s the visitation and the funeral?”

  “Friday night, Saturday afternoon. You coming?”

  “Of course I am.”

  Swain glanced again at Lillie, whose attention was focused on Gloria’s hand on her arm. “Uh, Gloria, this is Lillie Wetherington, Abigail’s granddaughter. Lillie, this is Gloria.”

  “How do you do?” Lillie said politely.

  Gloria didn’t move her hand from Swain’s arm, but smiled broadly at Lillie. “I’m just fine, sugar. You came all the way from England? Abigail never stopped talking about you once your daddy finally let her come for a visit. You have beautiful hair. So did Abigail. Now, you don’t worry about a thing, hon. I’ll call the funeral home right away and let them know I’ll be over before the visitation to make sure her hair and makeup are perfect. It’s the least I can do after all the years she came to my shop every week.”

  “Thank you.” Lillie looked at Swain uncertainly.

  “Gloria is…was Abigail’s hairdresser,” Swain said.

  “For the past fifteen years,” Gloria said. “We’ll talk more at the visitation. I just love your accent.” She squeezed Swain’s arm and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “See ya later, stud. Gotta go. Time’s money. See y’all Friday.”

  They stared after the chattering whirlwind that was Gloria.

  “Stud?”

  Swain blushed at Lillie’s amused expression. “Gloria’s known for her colorful exaggerations.”

  “I see. Let’s post this advertisement. I’m getting hungry. How about some lunch?”

  “Only if you promise to help me exercise ponies this afternoon. That is, if you aren’t too sore.” Swain had noticed Lillie’s stiff movements as she got in and out of the car.

  “I’m fine. Perfectly fine,” Lillie said lightly. “Of course I’ll help.”

  “The old British stiff upper lip, eh?” Swain mimicked Lillie’s accent.

  Lillie raised an eyebrow at the tease and snatched the car keys from Swain’s hand. “Let’s see just how stiff your lip is, shall we? I’m driving, sugar,” she said, parroting Gloria, but failing to duplicate the accent.

  Swain made the sign of a cross and raised her eyes to the sky. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned—”

  Lillie’s laughter drowned out the rest of her confession.

  Chapter Nine

  “But I want to help.”

  After their ride that afternoon, they had retreated to their respective residences for quick showers. Swain was already in the kitchen of the main house, pulling out the ingredients to begin preparing their meal when Lillie padded barefoot into the room.

  Swain nearly choked. Lillie’s cropped T-shirt and low-slung designer sweat shorts exposed long tanned legs and an expanse of soft, flat belly from which an emerald navel stud twinkled. Swain opened the refrigerator and pretended to be looking for a missing ingredient. She needed a moment to rein in her hormones and prayed the cold air would help cool the burn surging through her veins and settling in her groin. “Have you ever even boiled an egg?”

  “Are we going to boil eggs?” Lillie stepped closer to peer into the fridge over Swain’s shoulder, oblivious to her discomfort.

  “No, but boiling eggs is the most elementary level of cooking.” The jasmine scent of Lillie’s shampoo filled Swain’s nostrils and made the blood pound in her ears. She momentarily contemplated sticking her head, and other parts, in the freezer compartment.

  “How can I learn if you won’t let me help? You’re no different from Mum’s old cook, mean Mrs. McDonald.”

  Swain took a deep breath and closed the refrigerator, then laughed at Lillie’s adorable pout. “You really do want to help, don’t you?”

  “Please. I’ve always wanted to learn to cook.”

  “Okay. Come stand next to me here at the sink. Your first lesson is how to clean shrimp.”

  Swain pretended not to notice the expression of revulsion on Lillie’s face when she slapped a large, cold shrimp in her hand before grabbing one for herself. “You hold it in your left hand like this, then use your right hand to pull the head off.”

  Lillie turned a little green, but followed Swain’s movements.

  “Now peel off the shell except for the very end of the tail. Look for the dark vein that runs down the spine of the shrimp and use your knife to slice alongside and extract it.” Swain demonstrated.

  Lillie clumsily mimicked her and beamed when she held up her completed shrimp. Swain had already cleaned ten in the time it took Lillie to clean one.

  “Excellent!” Swain popped the head off the final shrimp and handed it to Lillie to extract the vein. She smiled at Lillie’s concentration. Swain let her eyes drift downward, slowing over Lillie’s hips before gliding down those long, silky legs. This was fun. Her mind was already jumping ahead to other recipes she could teach her new student. Especially if she wore those sexy shorts every time she came in the kitchen.

  *

  Even Lillie’s silk nightshirt seemed to chafe her heated skin as she crawled into the big soft bed. Too big for one person, she thought. The house still seemed to echo with her and Swain’s laughter as they cooked and dined together. Lillie couldn’t remember when she’d had such a totally relaxing time.

  The meal was scrumptious, but Swain’s company was even better.

  Lillie saw no sign of the temper that had flared the first day they met, no inkling of the insecurity she’d glimpsed in the funeral-home parking lot. She was treated, instead, to four hours of unadulterated Deep South charm, all wrapped up in one tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, sexy package. Lillie sighed, then giggled. God, she felt like a horny teenager.

  She smiled to herself, remembering the surprise on Swain’s face when Lillie had discovered Beau waiting patiently by the back door for his mistress and insisted that he join them in the house. She chuckled at the hint of jealousy in Swain’s eyes when Beau adoringly attached himself to Lillie’s side throughout the evening. She was sure she heard a muttered “traitor” when she stepped away to retrieve napkins from the pantry.

  Lillie’s face, and other parts, heated as she relived teetering on a stool to pluck a bowl from the top shelf of the cupboard, then falling into Swain’s strong arms to be lowered carefully to the floor. When she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the raspberry-vanilla scent of Swain’s skin and could still feel the strong heart thumping against her shoulder.

  Swain’s steadiness, the calm that radiated from her, was a magnet. Swain didn’t seem to notice, but Lillie had seen the stable workers and horses gravitate to her, relax in the shelter of her confidence, and defer to her leadership. She’d also had a glimpse inside, albeit briefly, of the hurt and lonely orphan when Swain learned she was listed in Abigail’s obituary. What did it cost her handsome new friend to be the post everyone else leaned on? She had seen only a flash of it that first night, but what would it be like if the tempest, the passion lurking under that composed demeanor was ever really unleashed? Lillie shuddered from both trepidation and anticipation.

  She punched her pillows and turned on her side, away from the s
eductive light of the waxing moon and from her ruminations. She wasn’t a swooning maiden. She was a grown woman, here to bury the family matriarch, take care of unfinished business, then disappear. No matter how tempting the sexy Ms. Butler was, she needed to stay focused.

  *

  Swain tightened her arms around the pillow bunched under her cheek and stared out the tall windows at the tree branches dancing under the autumn moon.

  Sharing a dark, barracks-like dorm with twenty-three other girls when she was growing up made her relish this spacious bedroom flooded with natural light. Lying on her stomach, she savored the soft cotton sheets against her breasts. Normally, she reveled in the privacy, the solitude that allowed her to sleep nude.

  But not tonight.

  She closed her eyes and imagined the press of smooth flesh and hard nipples against her back. Her nostrils flared as if to call up an elusive fragrance. Her skin tingled as her thoughts conjured the sensation of silky curls brushing along her bare backside.

  She opened her eyes again to the moonlight and stared blankly at the stars. Because her mind wouldn’t shut down, she decided to let it work. She ticked off the list of horses that needed to be ridden the next day. Maybe she’d head over to the track and look at that filly Tim had mentioned. If Lillie did close the stables, she would go back to Florida with a string of her own ponies. Maybe she’d buy that filly for herself. That’s what she’d do tomorrow. But now, she needed to sleep.

  There were no bedtime stories at the orphanage, so Swain had learned that if she would meditate on certain things, they’d sometimes fill her dreams the rest of the night. She closed her eyes, willed her body to relax, and concentrated on random images. Soon, she began drifting into that woozy place between consciousness and dreamscape.

  She’s pounding down the polo field on horseback with her mallet raised high, riding an opponent off course, leaning over her steed’s shoulder and feeling the solid thwack as she connects with the ball. It flies between the goalposts and she lifts her mallet in celebration. Her teammates thunder toward her, guiding their ponies close enough to touch the heads of their upraised mallets to hers. Someone yells, “Who’s our captain?” They begin to chant her name. “Swain, Swain, Swain!” The chorus of male voices swells and fills the air around her until its tenor changes. Now it is a single feminine voice, a siren calling her.

  She’s suddenly in a different field. Swain wheels her horse around and sees her. She’s riding effortlessly, her thick mane of curls flying, her white steed cutting a path through the flower-filled meadow. Swain’s heart lifts and she canters forward to meet her. When she reaches the center of the field, she jumps from her horse and holds her arms up, beckoning and catching her queen. They laugh as they fall onto the ground to roll in their bed of wildflowers. When they stop their tumble, smiling brown eyes blink up at her. She feels the length, the heat of the body resting under hers and lowers her head to capture the full lips that have summoned her.

  Swain jerked awake. She rolled onto her back and brushed her hand down her belly. Her fingers slid between her legs and she groaned. She was wet. She was ready. Lillie had done this to her. It was Lillie in her dream.

  Swain often enjoyed the company of women. Strong and athletic, or soft and feminine. It made no difference. She loved all types. She admired their strength and stamina. Their grace and intelligence charmed her. She enjoyed their beautiful bodies.

  But when she was with Lillie she felt more than appreciation, something new—exhilarating, yet comforting.

  She circled the hard prominence under her fingers and it swelled further. She needed release…release from the ache between her legs, from the pounding in her veins, from the primal need to take and be taken. Most of all, she needed to escape the spell Lillie was weaving over her.

  Chapter Ten

  After a restless night, Swain’s internal clock that woke her every morning at six failed. Beau was still snoring, too, when she woke with a start and turned to look at the clock. Shit. It was a quarter to seven, and Tim was due any minute to trim hooves and reset shoes on five horses.

  She rolled out of bed, took a three-minute shower, and dressed quickly. She was shoving the last bite of a hastily toasted bagel in her mouth when Beau began to paw at the door leading downstairs to the barn. He barked sharply and his long tail began to whip.

  “Hold on,” Swain grumbled, pulling on her boots. “You’ve never been that happy to see Tim before.”

  As she followed Beau down the stairway, she could hear Tim’s unmistakable low rumble. But a softer, feminine voice made her pause on the steps.

  “Maybe I should go check on Swain. She usually has the first horse in the cross ties waiting for me when I get here. She must be sick. That’s it. She must be under the weather.”

  “She seemed fine when I saw her last. Perhaps I better go. She may not be dressed.”

  “No! I mean, what if she’s contagious? I’ll go. I’m immune to everything, never catch anything.”

  Swain shook her head at Tim’s efforts to protect her from Lillie. He was most likely worried that she was upstairs lingering over some overnight company. It wouldn’t be the first time. Fending off the deadly lash of Beau’s tail, she opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the hallway.

  “Beau!” Lillie called in a delighted voice. She knelt to give his ears a good scratch.

  “There you are.” Tim sounded tremendously relieved.

  “We were just coming to check on you two.” Lillie smiled up at Swain.

  Swain smiled back. “Must have been the rich food. We overslept a little.”

  “Dinner was wonderful. I’m ready to sign up for the next class.” Lillie’s smile dimmed. “I guess we won’t have time for that tonight.”

  Swain had to stop herself from smoothing the worried wrinkle in Lillie’s brow. “Probably not. The visitation starts at seven, so you’ll need to be there before that.”

  “You’ll go with me, won’t you?” Lillie’s eyes were pleading. “I’m a bit nervous, not knowing anybody.”

  Tim jumped in to answer. “Of course she will. And I’ll be there, too. You know me. And Rob will be there. You know him.” He was babbling. Lillie seemed to have that effect on men, so Swain decided to rescue him.

  “We’ll all be there and promise not to leave you to brave it on your own.” Swain squeezed Lillie’s hand gently. She hated the worry on Lillie’s face, so she changed the subject to something lighter. “Now, what can we do for you so early this morning? Did you really want to see us, or were you just hoping for breakfast?”

  Lillie playfully bumped her shoulder into Swain’s. “I’ve had breakfast, thank you very much. I do know how to pour cereal. I thought if I came down here and you put me to work, I wouldn’t sit around all day fretting about tonight. If Tim is about to shoe horses, I’d like to watch and learn what I can.”

  Swain nodded. The more time Lillie spent around the ponies, the better. She clapped Tim on the shoulder. “Tim’s the best farrier in the state. I’m sure he’d be happy to have an assistant.”

  “Sure, sure. I can always use the help,” Tim said, beaming. He hitched up his sagging pants and motioned for Lillie to follow him. “You can help me get the equipment from the truck.”

  *

  “Okay. You have to hold the mallet firmly, but at the same time relax your wrist and shoulder so you can properly rotate them when you swing.”

  It had surprised but delighted Swain when Lillie asked to learn the basics of polo after she finished helping Tim shoe the horses.

  “Like this?” Lillie’s face was a study in concentration, making her practice swing stiff and forced.

  “Not bad, but you need to relax more.” Swain took the mallet from her and demonstrated again. When she handed the stick back, she moved around to stand behind Lillie. “You also need to get used to bending at the waist at the same time, like you would in the saddle, to reach all the way on the ground. Some riders hang over their pon
y’s shoulder as they approach, then swing their arm. But that can throw your pony off balance as he runs. You should bend as you swing. It’s all one smooth movement. Here, let me show you.”

  Swain wrapped an arm around Lillie’s waist to pull her close. She was only about an inch taller, so it was a perfect fit as she molded her body against Lillie’s back and wrapped her hand over Lillie’s on the mallet. Together, they raised it. Swain’s chest pressed against Lillie’s shoulder blades as she guided her down through the sweeping movement. But Lillie remained stiff and the first attempt was jerky.

  “Relax.” Swain wasn’t surprised at the huskiness of her voice. Lillie’s clean scent was making her head buzz. The graceful curve of her neck was inches away from Swain’s lips, and her hips pressing into Swain’s groin was making it hard to think. Lillie trembled, then relaxed against her. They swung the mallet together again, this time in a smooth arc. “See? Exactly like that.”

  “Again?” Lillie’s request was little more than a whisper.

  “Close your eyes this time, bend your knees like you’re in the saddle, and visualize yourself galloping down the field.” Lillie closed her eyes. “You see the ball midfield and turn your pony toward it. It’s coming closer, closer. You’re a long way from the goal, so you want to hit it as hard as you can. Don’t bend yet. Wait. You’re five strides away.” Swain guided her arm to raise the mallet. “Now.” As they swung the stick downward together, Swain prayed Lillie couldn’t feel her nipples harden as they brushed against her shoulders. “Very good.”

  “I might have taken my eyes off the ball at the last minute and missed. Maybe we should do it one more time.”

  Was Lillie flirting with her? Swain smiled and was about to comply when Rob approached on the pony he’d been saddling in the barn. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of how their position—Lillie bent over with Swain pressed against her hips and back—probably looked. She abruptly straightened and stepped back as her neck and ears grew hot. “Um, I think you get the idea. Let’s get you mounted, uh, in the saddle so you can try it on horseback.”