Summer Dreams

by Hebby Roman

  What had happened? It was as if she'd fallen into a pit. But what pit? Afraid to move an inch, she held fast and searched her memory. The answer came with a blinding flash---the old well behind the barn. The ancient well had been her great-grandparents only source of water. Upon the advent of running water, the well had been abandoned and boarded over. Natalia had forgotten about its existence.

  Until now.

  When she'd planted the asparagus beds, she hadn't noticed the well, but now she remembered her grandmother's admonition from childhood: don't go behind the barn unless you step carefully. She knew why she hadn't seen the well before. The boarded-over hole was completely obscured by weeds.

  Now that she knew what she'd fallen into, her panic subsided. She waited several seconds, counting to ten and then twenty, taking deep breaths and allowing her pounding heart to slow. She estimated the drop. Her chest was pressed against the rim of the opening. She needed to lift herself approximately four feet. And for that, she would need leverage.

  She looked around for something to grab and pull herself out. The closest thing was a ceniza plant, about two feet away. The bush was large and looked sturdy enough. Ceniza, the purple sage of the west had deep roots to weather long periods of drought.

  She braced herself and lunged for the ceniza. Her fingertips brushed one soft leaf and then she fell back. The earth crumbled beneath her feet, leaving one foot dangling in the air. Renewed panic swept her like a bonfire. Clawing for a handhold, she found a half-submerged root and clung to it.

  "Help! Esteban, please help me. Can you hear me?" She raised her voice, shouting, "Por favor, Esteban, help me!"

  Chapter Five

  Esteban pulled the last weed from the row of squash plants. He straightened his back and grabbed the bandana from his jean's pocket and wiped his face. Thirsty and hot, he dreamed of a tall, chilled glass of lemonade. He glanced at Pura's house, knowing she was at the market and Natalia didn't want to see him. Sighing, he should have brought more water---now he'd have to wait until he'd returned to his apartment.

  He didn't know how much longer he could keep working for Pura because, this time, Natalia wouldn't be going home at the end of the summer. Seeing Natalia, being near her, but pretending as if she didn't exist, was tearing him in two. He'd be better off if he didn't have to come to the farm.

  But he couldn't leave Pura without help. Fortunately, he knew of several youths who would jump at the chance to work for her. Maybe he should speak with them and then talk to Pura. With his job at the resort, he didn't need the extra money. Better to let a teenager who needed the cash have the job.

  He bent and picked up the hoe, slinging it across his shoulder. He side stepped between the squash plants until he reached the footpath. Glancing at the sun, he judged it to be about mid-afternoon. If he wanted to get home, shower, and arrive at his job on time, he better hurry.

  He broke into a trot and ignored the hot sun overhead. A dip in the waterfall would be perfect.

  But he mustn't think about the waterfall because when he thought about their special place, he couldn't help but think about Natalia's heart-shaped ass jiggling all the way down the mountainside after their doomed picnic. Or other jiggling parts of Natalia that gave him a boner that would rival Pike's Peak.

  He thought he heard someone calling his name. His head jerked up. Probably Pura. His gaze swept the farmyard, but Pura's pickup wasn't there, only his Corolla. Shaking his head, he recited baseball greats' batting averages under his breath in an attempt to squelch his horny thoughts because they, along with the sun, must be frying his brain.

  But then he heard the voice calling again. The sound was stronger and closer this time. And even from this distance, he recognized the voice ... Natalia.

  He dropped the hoe and sprinted toward the sound, his heart in his mouth.

  ***

  Natalia shouted until she was past hoarse. She didn't know how much longer her voice would last, but she didn't dare stop. She knew if she stopped, Esteban might leave the farm without hearing her. And Pura wouldn't be home until supper time.

  As each root began to loosen, she dug deeper for another, clinging to them until her arms ached. She had perched her dangling foot on top of the other, but the crumbling ledge was too narrow to stand on properly. And she didn't know how long the muddy earth would hold her.

  Suddenly, she heard the thud of footsteps and Esteban's voice, "Natalia, where are you? What's wrong? Answer me!"

  Relief swelled in her, bringing tears to her eyes. He was coming!

  "I'm behind the barn, Esteban," she croaked, ignoring how sore her throat was. "I fell into the old well, the one behind the barn. I'm behind the barn," she repeated, not knowing if he was aware of the old well or not.

  "¡Madre de Dios!"

  She heard his astonished exclamation before she could see him. But within seconds, his blue-jean clad legs appeared, and his strong hands reached down, clasping her beneath her arms and pulling her out.

  Panting, she lay sprawled on the muddy earth for several moments, exhausted. Esteban squatted beside her. He didn't say anything; he just put his arm around her shoulders. When she sat up, she leaned against him.

  He hesitated for a second and then drew her to him. She nestled closer, burrowing into his embrace. Being held in his strong arms, sheltered against his broad chest, felt like going home again. With her face against his chest, she smelled the faint odor of starch in his shirt as well as the salty tang of his male sweat. She reveled in the man-smell of him ... and the feel of him.

  His shirt was scratchy against her cheek, and she listened to the quick hammering of his heart, felt the rise and fall of his abdomen. Her heart beat with his, and she matched her breathing with his, too. His arms enfolded her with gentleness, yet she could feel the tensile strength in them and the muscled-hardness of his chest.

  When he lifted her onto his lap, she started to protest, but the words never left her mouth. Instead, she clung to him tighter, surrendering to her need to be close to him, to have him hold her. Perched upon his lap, he began to rock her slowly back and forth, while he smoothed her hair with one hand.

  His tenderness touched her deeply, bringing tears to her eyes again. He was comforting her as one would soothe a small child. She couldn't remember the last time someone had comforted her. She melted against him, knowing she needed his comfort as surely as she needed the air to breathe.

  They rocked together for a long time. Finally, she raised her head and gazed into his eyes. "Gracias, Esteban."

  He lowered his head, and she thought he was going to kiss her. This time, she wanted him to kiss her. She closed her eyes and waited, but the kiss never came. Instead, he tenderly brushed her hair from her forehead and lifted her from his lap.

  Surprised and disappointed, she opened her eyes. When she looked at him this time, he avoided her gaze. "You didn't break anything, did you? You're not in pain, are you?"

  "No, I'm fine. My arms ache from holding on, and my throat is sore from calling." She paused and ran her hands over her limbs. "I scratched my legs on the boards when I fell through. Other than that, I'm just shaky."

  Nodding, his gaze swept her as if to reassure himself. Then he glanced toward the house and said, "I'm surprised Pura isn't home yet. She usually returns from market before this."

  "She's not coming home until supper. She stayed to work on organizing the church bazaar. If you hadn't heard me, I don't know how much longer I could have hung on."

  "Oh," he replied flatly. "I didn't know Pura would be late."

  Did she detect a flicker of disappointment in his voice, as if he suspected she wouldn't have called for him if her grandmother had been home? With a pang of guilty conscience, she realized he wasn't far from the truth.

  He rose to his feet and dusted off his jeans. Then he stretched out his hands. "Let me help you up."

  She lifted her mud-caked hands, palms up and grimaced. "I'm a mess, and I know I look a fright."

 
"You look fine to me, Natalia."

  She placed her filthy hands in his and despite his consoling words, she felt suddenly shy. She looked down as he pulled her to her feet.

  "Lean against me for a minute. See if your legs will hold you."

  Standing on her feet, she did feel wobbly, as if she might faint.

  "It's the shock wearing off," he said. "Your adrenaline was pumping and now it's drained away, leaving you weak."

  "I guess you're right." She attempted a shaky step.

  "Hey, don't go so fast. Are you okay?"

  "Sí."

  "Bueno. Just stand there for a minute, don't try to walk." He left her and peered down at the half-covered hole in the dirt. "I didn't know there was an old well here." He kicked at one of the boards, and it splintered. "The wood's rotted through."

  "It was my great-grandparents' well. When they got running water, they boarded it up," she said. "Pura warned me about it when I was a child. But that was years ago and I'd forgotten. And the weeds grew over the opening."

  "It needs to be covered again. What were you doing back here?"

  "Watering my asparagus beds." She indicated the rows behind them.

  He nodded. "That well needs to be covered with something more permanent than boards, otherwise it's too dangerous."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Mira, look. The boards rotted and the weeds covered the hole. It needs a more permanent cover."

  She grabbed his arm. "Please don't tell Pura what happened to me."

  "¿Por qué, no?"

  "Because it will worry her to death. You know how she is, and she will hold herself responsible. I'm not hurt. Por favor, telling her will serve no purpose. She'll just have you figure out how to cover it."

  "Maybe you're right about Pura worrying," he replied. "I know how she is." He leaned over the well and kicked a stone into the hole, hearing the rock hit the water with a splash. "There might be another way, though."

  "What is that?"

  "Do you know how deep it is?"

  "I have no idea."

  He dropped to the ground and inched forward until he hung over the gaping hole.

  Her heart leapt in terror. What was he doing? She held her breath, fearing the ground would crumble beneath him. "Esteban, what on earth---?"

  "Hand me that hose, will you," he said.

  "Esteban, I don't think---"

  "Natalia, just trust me, okay. I know what I'm doing, but I don't want to hang over this hole any longer than necessary."

  While she scrambled to do his bidding, she was afraid to look, afraid he might drop from sight. She handed him the hose.

  He lowered the rubber tubing into the well until it hit the water. Hauling it up, he measured the wet length against his forearm. Then he leaned forward and ran his hand along the inside surface of the well.

  She turned her head away. She couldn't watch any longer.

  Finally, he shimmied backwards and got to his feet. When she saw him standing, she gulped. Giddy with relief, her gaze wandered over him. Now they were both caked in mud.

  He frowned and swiped at the mud covering his shirt, smearing the muck deeper into the fabric. He shrugged and dropped his hand. "It's only about ten feet deep. I could fill it in with dirt. Most of the masonry on the sides is gone. It's not usable."

  "I don't think filling it in will work, Esteban. Pura told me it's fed by an underground stream. This farm is honeycombed with them. They carry the snow run-off from the mountains. During the summer, there's not that much water down there, but in the spring, the force of the water would wash away the fill."

  "Hmm, I hadn't thought of that. But some fill at the bottom might help, and I can't just board the well up again. It needs a metal cover."

  "But then you'd have to tell Pura."

  "Let me take care of explaining to Pura. I'll tell her I found it and almost fell in. I promise I won't tell her what happened to you." Glancing at Natalia, he said, "But Pura will know what happened if she sees us both like this. You better get back to the house and get cleaned up, if you don't want to worry your grandmother." He coiled the hose around his shoulder and took her hand.

  "You're right, it's getting late."

  He stopped in his tracks and glanced at his watch. He dropped her hand and smacked his forehead with his open palm.

  "What is it?"

  He dug out his cell phone and hit a contact number. "I just realized I'm almost late for work, and I still have to go home and get cleaned up. You'll be okay, right?"

  "Sure, of course." She bit her lip. "I'll be fine. Pura should be home in about an hour or so." But it wasn't Pura who she missed already---and he hadn't even left yet.

  ***

  Natalia dried the last dish and put it away. Outside the kitchen window, Esteban, sans shirt, toiled over the tomato plants. It was hot as a firecracker out there, and she couldn't blame him for taking off his shirt. But she could blame him for being so darned good looking with his six-pack abs and bulging biceps. Her face heated, and she found it hard to swallow.

  Perspiration glistened on his nut-brown skin. The muscles in his back slid smoothly beneath the surface, bunching and gliding with almost poetic grace. She watched him in a kind of trance, clinging to the side of the kitchen sink until her fingertips tingled.

  She wanted to touch him, to move her hands over his smooth brown skin, to feel the power of his leashed muscles, held in check for her. Strength tempered by tenderness, that was what she remembered from the day he'd rescued her.

  Since that day, their relationship had subtly shifted. They'd reclaimed their friendship, and she trusted him again. She knew that, no matter what, she could count on him. And he'd even respected her wishes.

  He'd had every opportunity to kiss her that day, and he hadn't. She had wanted him to kiss her. Maybe in response to her terrifying experience. But for now, she was content with their friendship, even though she was attracted to him.

  But she wasn't ready for a new relationship. Hector had hurt her more than she'd thought at first. And besides, Esteban wasn't material for a serious relationship. He was two years younger but so much more sexually experienced. If Hector had scorched her with his inconsistency, Esteban was capable of burning her to a crisp.

  Natalia watched as he paused and retrieved a bandana from his hip pocket and wiped his face and neck. Then he reached for his water bottle and emptied it in one long swallow. He tossed the empty bottle to one side and bent down again.

  She started to get him a glass of water but had another idea, remembering what he liked to drink during the summer---ice cold lemonade with enough sugar to set your teeth on edge. And she'd seen some lemons in the refrigerator drawer.

  Ten minutes later, she nudged the screen door open while balancing a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses in her hands. She stepped onto the porch and called out, "Esteban, I have a surprise for you. Why don't you take a break?"

  He gave a final twist to the cloth tie holding a tomato vine to its stake. He straightened slowly, his hand massaging the small of his back. He grabbed his shirt and shrugged it on, buttoning the thin cotton half-way.

  If gazing at his back made her want to touch him, seeing his half-clothed chest gave her heart funny flip-flops. She smoothed her perspiring hands on her jeans and stared at a point above his head, trying to avoid the devastating impact of his muscled torso, dusted with curly brown hair.

  He grabbed one of the posts, and swung onto the porch in one fluid motion. His eyes widened when he saw the lemonade, and he grinned. "How did you know?"

  "Just lucky I guess," she replied. She poured two glasses and handed him one. She sipped at the sugary-sweet liquid and forced herself not to grimace. Esteban finished his glass in one huge gulp.

  "Want more?"

  "Of course. Está muy bien. You made the lemonade just right." His grin grew wider. "I'm surprised you can stand it, though." He lifted one eyebrow.

  She took another sip, and it slid down her throat
like so much syrup. Keeping a straight face wasn't easy.

  "Can we sit? I need a break," Esteban admitted. "It's so dam--darned hot."

  "Claro qué, sí," she replied and perched on the edge of one of the antique metal chairs on the porch. "Por favor, sit down. I should have offered."

  He eyed the ancient chair and its rusty exterior, and his gaze wandered to the porch swing, tucked in a corner under a canopy of blooming honeysuckle. He smiled. "Let's try the porch swing."

  "I don't think that's a good idea, Esteban. Pura said the chains are all but rusted through."

  "Something else I'll need to see about fixing."

  Natalia knew the other thing he wasn't mentioning by name because it was their secret---the old well. With a minimum of fuss, he'd convinced Pura the hole needed a metal cover. He'd gone to the hardware store the day after her accident and replaced it. Luckily, her abuela hadn't suspected a thing.

  He crossed to the swing and tugged hard on the chain nearest the porch rail. It held. He looked at her and taunted, "Where's your sense of adventure, Natalia? It will hold, at least for one more time."

  "Okay, but don't blame me if we land in a heap."

  She rose and filled his glass again. They seated themselves on each end. The chains groaned, grinding against the hooks in the porch roof with a demonic shriek. But they held.

  Stretching out one sandaled foot, Natalia pushed off the porch and started the swing in a gentle rocking motion. Esteban leaned back, arms spread, sighing, "This is it. This is the life. I could stay here all afternoon."

  It was nice on the porch swing tucked under the shady canopy of honeysuckle. The perfumed air filled her senses, reminding her of a scented bath. Bees, attracted to the yellow and white flowers, droned in the air, making her drowsy. Even the groan of the chains settled into a rhythmic cadence, like the chirping of crickets on a warm summer night.