by Gina Watson
Message received, Dad. Please go away now.
Now that he could walk, relatively, he planned to do a lot of it and the day drew him out. He didn’t want to spend another minute inside, cooped up with the ghost of his father.
He’d dressed in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and boots. Walking, he took it slow and easy. He’d found a stick and carried it to assist with his shifting weight. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the property. It had been a long six weeks. He’d slept little. Whenever he’d think or dream about her he’d be awakened by that song or the footsteps overhead. He thought maybe tonight he’d set up a tent out on the property just to take a break from it all and attempt to get some much-needed sleep.
Most of the land was extremely flat, but after walking for about thirty minutes, his ankle started to throb. He should have done the stretching exercises before setting out on his inaugural march.
He needed a place to sit and take his weight off of it, but currently he was deep in the woods. Recalling the cottage nearby, he set his course for the little building he’d avoided for years.
Once in a while he’d pass the cottage on horseback or when in the truck, but he’d always look the other way. He hadn’t wanted to resurrect those memories.
When he stepped from the dense grove of trees he was awarded with his first glance at the old living quarters. It reminded him of those too-sweet paintings that his mother had liked, but he’d never taken a fancy to because he thought they were a gross misrepresentation of American life.
Flowers bloomed yellow, orange, and blue in the flowerbeds that he was sure he’d burned beyond the ability to grow ten years ago when the sight of their flowering had made a mockery of his pain.
The entire place had been cleaned—the years of caked on mud and mold gone, making the little house more pristine than he’d ever known. Pavers had been laid between the beds and led up to a bright green door that drew him like a bear to honey.
The warm copper door clutch sizzled in his hand as he depressed the plunger to open the door.
Honeyed eyes met his. Her anxiety at his presence hit him in waves. She jumped up from elbows and knees where she’d lain among a sea of pillows.
“Ashton.”
Dirty Dancing played on the television. He’d stepped into the past. His mind was playing games. Shaking his head he looked at the woman in the center of the room. It wasn’t the child from his youth, but the woman he’d come to know over the last few weeks. He walked toward her and turned off the television. That’s when he saw the rug—their rug. She had all the snacks scattered around in a circle: bugles, squirt cheese, Nutter Butter.
Even the walls had been painted and the windows replaced. His eyes scanned the living area before landing on her. Her head was lowered as she picked at her nails and chewed hard at her lower lip.
“Monet.”
Looking up she let out a gasp at the sound of the name he’d called her so long ago.
“You did all of this.”
She nodded, her cheeks reddening. He sat on the sofa—the newly acquired velvet blue sofa that matched silk curtains.
“Are you living here?”
She tentatively perched on the edge of the couch, as far away from him as possible in the small space.
“No I just … I wanted … It was our place—the last time we were happy and when I saw it looking so broken and dejected I …” She sighed, and then turned, seemingly wiping at her cheeks. “I had to fix it. I had too.” She swallowed hard and cast her gaze upon him. “I’ve failed you. I’m sorry. I wanted to help, but instead I’ve made things worse.” She stood and gathered her shoes, and then she walked toward the door.
“Don’t go. Monet.”
She turned and her eyes flashed liquid honey. “Why do you keep calling me that?”
“That’s who you were when I last held you here.”
“I’m not that girl anymore.” She turned back to the door.
“No. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your curves. You’ve become a beautiful woman. You’re also very kind, patient, and smart. I owe you an apology. I’m sorry, Monet. Sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. I’ll leave so you don’t have to.”
“Why can’t we both just stay?”
“Why can’t we? Come start the movie.” She complied, starting the movie from the beginning and taking the seat next to him on the couch.
Once the movie started, they didn’t speak a word. At the water lift scene their hands found each other and laced together. The softness of her skin in his calloused hand made him realize all of the ways she was his opposite. She was forgiving, patient, and kind to him when he’d been unyielding, inconsiderate, and hurtful. He swallowed back the lump in his throat as he watched her from his periphery.
Her long graceful neck was held by a rigid back—such was his effect on her. He wanted her to relax so he began to rub circles into the palm of her hand. “I’m so sorry. I was blinded by pain and …” If he told her about the paranormal activities she’d think him completely insane. She was after all a scientist. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, Ash.”
Ash … it had been too long since he’d heard that name from her lips. His fingers closed around her upper arm. He needed a better connection to her. Her eyes watched his fingers as the tips explored her smooth skin. “I don’t deserve it, but I need you.”
She moved toward him and with the hold he had on her he pulled her across his lap, cradling her head on one arm. With the other his fingers traced her face, around her brow, temples, cheeks, and chin. Their connection held by their burning gazes. She swallowed and his fingers traced lightly down her neck.
Their love had lingered and was very much alive in the cottage. Away from the house he heard no interference from forces that were beyond his control. Their lips came together like magnets, the pull of longing for her so strong he could no longer deny it. She tasted of watermelon bubblegum—a flavor he’d remembered and he smiled against her lips.
She pulled back slightly, “What?”
“You wear the same gloss?”
“Oh yeah, I do.”
“And the same vanilla perfume.”
“Yes.”
“God, I’ve just realized how much I’ve missed you.”
“I meant what I said. I still love you, Ash. Never stopped.”
“But I don’t deserve your love.”
Her hand cupped his jaw. “You deserve every ounce of it. What you don’t deserve is to be tormented by your father.”
His body jerked. “You know about that?”
“I could hear you at night. I tried to go to you, pull you out of there, but you and him pushed me away.”
He scooped her to him, squeezing her as close as possible without smothering. “You did pull me out, I’m here now. I don’t want to go back.” He shuddered and let his nose inhale the scent so concentrated behind her ear and along her neck. “Say you won’t leave. I don’t deserve you, but say you won’t leave. I love you, Monet.”
“I’ll never leave you, Ash. I’m here now. Make love to me on our rug.”
Her words cut him to the bone. They’d never had one another. Not because he didn’t want to, but because she’d been so young. She whispered in his ear, “I want you.”
He led them down to the carpet and pillows, resting her gingerly on her back and propping her head on top of a pillow. He lay on his side next to her, tracing her collarbone with his fingers. His shoulder throbbed, but there was nothing short of a nuclear attack that would remove him from her side.
“I don’t have contraception.”
“I need you.”
“I need you too.”
He was anxious to see her, but he vowed to unwrap her slowly like the present she was. He removed just her tank top, and then unbuttoned her jeans, sliding the zipper down. His fingers lingered, discovering her waist. He watched the swells of her breast raise and lower as her breathing increased with her desire. He placed a kiss on a perfectly rounded breast
, admiring her frosted pale-pink bra as he did so. Made of lace it was feminine and sexy, but innocent at the same time. Like her, he thought.
Her fingers trailed to the hem of his shirt, tugging. He assisted her efforts and pulled the shirt over his head. Her eyes widened before they evened out.
“What?” He whispered.
“Your muscles are so defined. You’ve changed.”
“Do you not like it?”
Her fingers explored his pectorals. “I saw you chopping wood in the rain and again when you slaughtered the cow. You took your clothes off and your body is so masculine that my mouth went dry, just like it did now.”
Ashton growled. She’d always had a way with words, even when she was younger. “You were watching me? Stalking perhaps?” He teased her with his smile.
“I wasn’t trying to, but I was gardening and I heard you.”
“And here I thought I was all alone.” He kissed her lips.
“Ash, you’ll never have to be alone again. If you want me, I’ll be here.”
“I want you, but my father is trying to keep us apart.”
Her brow furrowed as a perplexed look overtook her features. He smoothed with a finger between her eyes. “It’s a conversation for another day.”
“I want to take your pants off.” She pulled at his belt buckle.
“That doesn’t seem fair. I want to take your pants off.”
“How about we take our pants off at the same time?” Her cocked brow waited for his answer.
“Deal.” He removed his belt. “One … two … three … go.”
They took in each other’s nakedness and she started to giggle—the sound so foreign he gasped from not having heard it in years. At his behavior she quit laughing—her dimples disappeared. “No, don’t stop. I love your giggles.” He pulled her to his chest.
“You’re not wearing underwear.”
“I’m not in the habit.” He smiled.
“Hmm, even in jeans.”
“Nope.”
She smiled and looked shyly down, her cheeks blooming red. “I like that.”
She however wore a pair of delicate lace panties that matched her bra exquisitely. “So”—he coughed—”I’m completely naked yet you’re still in your panties and bra.”
“Yes, I am. What are you going to do about it?”
He kissed behind her ear, and then sucked her earlobe. “I’m going to unwrap you.”
His arm slid up to the clasp of her bra behind her back, but he was using his injured shoulder and a ripple of pain coursed through him, causing him to groan. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, looking at him with worried eyes. “It’s nothing.” How lame was he?
“You’re in pain.”
“I’m not. How could I be with you laid out before me in your underwear?” He smiled through a grimace, but she caught it.
Standing, she pulled him to the couch. Yes, he was still very naked.
“I’ll be fine. I want to do this with you.”
“Oh we’re going to do it, just in a different way.”
He smiled. “All of my pain just evaporated.”
She stood before him at the couch. He was so prepared for what she had to offer that he was achingly hard—a detail that she hadn’t missed as evidenced by her smirk and the blush across her cheeks.
Her hands went behind her back, and then she slid her bra down her arms, exposing herself to his view. Full raspberry-tipped breasts graced the air before him. She was beautiful and he longed to touch her.
“Come here.” His voice was raw and gruffer sounding than he’d intended, but she complied, straddling him on the couch.
His hands reverently closed around her breasts. He leaned forward to place kisses on her curves. “You are so beautiful. You always were, but now your curves are enough to hypnotize a man.”
“I’m glad you like them because there are many.” She bestowed her dimpled smile on him.
She stood and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. Inhaling, she slid them down. With her long graceful neck and torso she was a swan-like beauty standing before him.
“Turn around.” He was dying for more and had been waiting patiently for the chance to see her bare backside.
She turned slowly and he was rewarded with a view so incredible it was enough to fill his eyes with moisture. He blinked it away in a flash, but it had been put there when he realized he was home. “You’ve given so much to me.” He pulled her back to straddle his lap. “Your grace, your forgiveness. I want to do something for you.”
“That’s not why I did those things.”
“I know, but I need to give you something. It’s really not a selfless gesture so don’t get excited.”
“What is it?”
“I just want to make a commitment to you here, now. A commitment I should have made ten years ago. I want to live in a world where your face is the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see when I wake up.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I want to be with you forever.”
“I want that too.”
He pulled her close. “I just wanted to make that commitment before touching you.”
His fingers found the juncture between her legs, intent to work her to climax so that she’d be comfortable during their lovemaking. It didn’t take long and if he already thought she was something that thought was magnified tenfold when her eyes turned to flowing honey and her pink lips opened to accommodate the moans she made. As she was climaxing she reached for his erection and positioned herself to take him.
When he entered her he was truly home. All of her goodness and patience was shared with him. The torment and all of the anger fell away and there was only the love they had for one another left to share between them.
***
Harmony collapsed on Ashton’s chest, spent from the efforts of her exertion. She’d wanted him in this way for more than ten years. Their connection was primal, cellular—two bodies starved for one another for so long. The connection they made was visceral.
Both of them reeled from the emotion they’d just experienced. She rested her forehead against his, both of them breathing the same air as they recovered together. When finally she moved to pull away, he grasped her upper arms tenderly.
“I. Love. You.”
“I’ve waited so long to hear those words from your lips.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. I’d wait another ten years for you.”
He shook his head. “You won’t have to. I need to explain something to you.”
“What?”
“I guess it would be better if I show you. We’ll have to go into the main house.” His eyes turned wide and his gaze erratic, unfocused.
“Hey.” She placed her palm on his jaw. “I’m not leaving you. Whatever it is, we’ll tackle it together.”
He nodded.
They walked back to the main house hand in hand, sharing smiles and kisses every few feet.
“Are you hungry?” She asked.
“I am.”
“I could cook something.”
“I’d like that. I love your BLT sandwiches.”
They stepped to the porch. “One BLT sandwich coming right up.”
She advanced toward the door, Turning back to see that he was following, she was overcome with sorrow at what she saw. He’d done a one-hundred-eighty- degree turn. His face was hard. He’d aged ten years in the amount of time it had taken to walk the few paces across the porch. His grave demeanor was evidenced in his defeated body language too.
“I think I’ll take it out here if you don’t mind.”
She gathered his hands in hers. “Sit with me in the kitchen while I cook.” She pulled him along and he let her.
She prepared peppermint tea and placed a cup in his hands. She waited until he sipped before she began preparations on the sandwiches.
Deep in concentration so as not to be popped by hot bacon, she was
startled to hear his grave voice lacking intonation close to her ear.
“He’s here.”
She whirled around. “Who?”
“My father.”
She stood stark straight at his words. His father had been dead for over ten years. She pulled the pan from the burner and let it rest before following behind him down the hallway.
“Ashton?”
He wouldn’t turn around so she followed him quietly into the den. He sat on the old worn leather couch with his head in his hands, pulling at his hair so hard that pieces of it fell to the ground.
Kneeling between his legs, she looked up into his tormented face. “Ashton?”
His wide green eyes pleaded for her to save him. “What is it?”
“He’s not happy.” He rubbed his eyes with his palms. His voice was pained.
“What’s he saying?”
“He smells you on me. I’ve desecrated his memory. He doesn’t want us to be together because your father filed the report.” A painful grimace had his hands clutching his ears. “That song, he won’t quit playing that song. Over and over, louder and louder.”
She didn’t know what to do so she relied on instinct. Playing a jazz artist on the CD player, she then pulled Ashton out of his defensive position on the couch. They swayed to the music, dancing. Cheek to cheek she said, “Tell him you’re happy.” She remembered his father—had good memories of him. He’d been a good dad to his children and a close friend of her father’s.
“Tell him I love you and that you love me.”
They danced, his hold on her almost painful. The way he’d lost his mother had been tragic, but to then lose his father in the same year was devastating. After being charged with vehicular manslaughter and sentenced for the murder of his wife and the driver of the other car, Mr. David hung himself while in prison. Ashton had been only seventeen.
“Tell him you plan to live at peace. You can do that here, while you take care of his legacy, or you can live elsewhere.”
Harmony didn’t believe in ghosts per se, but she did believe Ashton was extremely tormented by the horrific events leading to the deaths of his mother and father.
They danced to another song, and then another before he began to get restless.