Improbable Solution

by Judith B. Glad

  She shrugged, the motion again pushing her bottom against him.

  "Nothing much until supper time. The committee is probably setting up the barbecue, but mostly people nap or visit."

  With her first word, he was rolling upright, hoping he wouldn't have to keep his hand in his pocket for long. "Let's go."

  "Where?"

  "To your house. My apartment. I don't give a damn. But let's go!"

  She smiled a secret, satisfied little smile and pushed to her feet. "Your apartment is closer."

  "You're sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  Without another word, they walked together toward Main Street. Gus was afraid to touch her for fear he would burst into flame at the slightest contact.

  INTERVAL

  At last!

  THIRTEEN

  They saw no one on their way to his apartment. Sally noticed, through a haze of anticipation, that the empty town seemed different, somehow. With none of the people she was used to seeing on the streets, it was almost like a stage, waiting for the actors to walk on and give it life.

  She shivered. Was that all she and Gus were—actors on a very large, slightly shabby stage? Were they going through the motions the script called for instead of following their hearts?

  She shook her head slightly, banishing the fancy. There were no hearts involved in this afternoon's interlude. Just bodies, too long alone. She had nothing to give Gus, for she'd already given too much of herself away.

  And all he wanted from her was sex.

  She looked up at him from the sides of her eyes, saw the twitching muscle in his jaw. She knew how he felt, for she was as tight as an E-string herself.

  Their steps seemed to echo off the blank faces of the empty stores lining Main Street. Sally found herself wanting to look over her shoulder, to see who was watching. When they finally reached the recessed entry to the stairs beside the drugstore, her spine was stiff as an iron rod and the back of her neck prickled.

  Gus grabbed her as soon as they were in the stairwell.

  "The park never seemed so far away before," he murmured into her ear as he nipped the lobe. His big hands were on her back, on her bottom, pulling her tight against him. The ridge of his erection pressed against her. "Thank God, we didn't meet anybody. I'm in no shape to be sociable."

  For a delicious time, she enjoyed his hunger as he covered her face and neck with hot, wet kisses. She allowed the enlarging core of passion within her to feed on his muttered words of desire. This time there was no need for her to wall it into a cold corner of her soul.

  She heard him speak, his voice hoarse and distorted, but had no idea what he said. It was more important that she taste the salty tang of his skin, feel the shifting tendons and muscles under his light shirt, clutch at his tight buttocks until he was painfully hard against her soft belly. When he swung her into his arms, she let her tongue explore the underside of his chin, the line of his jaw and the complex curves of his ear.

  The door at the top of the stairs stopped him, and he had to set her down. She was glad he kept one arm about her, for she wasn't certain her legs could support her. When the door swung open and he pushed her gently forward, she stumbled. He caught her immediately, and they went through the door together.

  It slammed behind them, and Gus pulled her back against him.

  "Sally. Sally. Sally." He spoke her name again and again as his hands, hot against her skin, found the fastenings of her dress, her bra. She could not move, for he held her captive in the fiery blaze of his desire.

  Soon she stood before him, clad only in wispy yellow nylon panties and white strap sandals. With wonder in his eyes, he reached to touch her breasts, cupping gently and stroking her budded nipples with just his fingertips.

  Sally gasped with the force of the now-familiar shock. She felt herself sway and was immediately lifted again. The room blurred about her as Gus carried her past a folding screen.

  And then they were together on a bed. He covered her face with hot kisses, explored her with eager teeth and tongue. His hands were firm and knowing on her breasts, on her belly, on her thighs. She bucked against his hand when he lightly stroked the silky fabric of her panties, felt its heat when he cupped her. His fingers were rough against her skin as he hooked them in the elastic and slipped her last covering away.

  Then his mouth was hot on her. The gathering storm within her broke, carrying her along on its winds. She heard its scream, felt its force. She knew the scream was her own, recognized the force from pale comparison.

  Gradually, she returned to here and now, still buffeted with the aftermath of her passion. Gus knelt between her legs, fully clothed.

  "Oh, no!" she said, embarrassed at her incredible selfishness.

  Immediately, his smug grin changed into a concerned frown. "What?"

  "I didn't...you didn't...you should have..."

  He moved quickly, stretching beside her. Wrapping one arm about her, he pulled her close to him.

  "I'll last about ten seconds, if I'm lucky." He kissed her, lightly, quickly. "There's plenty of time."

  But there wasn't, because the afternoon was already half-spent, and they would be missed if they weren't at the barbecue. Sally wasn't ready for the whole town to know about her and Gus.

  She touched his head, just above his ear, thinking how his hair still seemed as if it would burn her. "So bright. So red. I've never seen hair like yours before."

  He smiled, but didn't answer. His hand was busy stroking along her body, from throat to navel, with occasional forays into the soft curls hiding her feminine core. Each time he almost touched her, she gasped, aware that her hunger had been merely teased, not fulfilled.

  "Is all of your hair as red?" She tapped his belt buckle.

  "Why don't you see for yourself?"

  "I intend to." Flattening one hand against his chest, she pushed.

  He resisted.

  She rose to her knees. "It's my turn. I want to make you as crazy as you did me."

  "You already have," he growled, but he let her push him onto his back.

  Slowly, deliberately, she unfastened the two buttons at the neck of his shirt, loosened the buckle of his belt, and slipped the hook free on the waistband. A fraction of an inch at a time, she slid the zipper down, watched his erection force the fly open. She looked, admired, but did not touch.

  His shoes were already gone, but he still wore socks, the same rich russet as his shirt. She pulled them off, letting her short fingernails rasp along his arches as she did.

  His legs jerked in response.

  "You'll have to sit up, now."

  Obediently he rose onto his elbows. Sally, with the expertise of months spent undressing a non-cooperative man, removed his shirt. The dense triangle of impossibly red hair on his chest gleamed dark against ivory flesh. She paused to rub her cheek against it, inhaling his distinctive man-smell. She let her fingers explore, enjoying the minute quivers that followed her touch. He might be sitting rock-still, but he was not unaffected by her light caresses.

  "Down," she commanded, and he lay back. She grasped the waistband of his trousers, rolling him slightly from side to side as she pulled them downward.

  "Careful," he gasped, as her hand deliberately brushed against his woody.

  "Oh, I'll be careful," she said, and smiled, cat-full-of-canary-like, at the power of her touch. When she brushed a butterfly kiss on the soft knit of his briefs, his breath hissed between clenched teeth.

  He caught her wrists and began to pull her toward him.

  "No," she commanded. "Turn me loose."

  "Why?"

  "So I can torture you some more." She trembled with anticipation, seeing the urgency, the barely controlled fire, in his eyes.

  Sharing it.

  When he released her, she finished working his trousers over his feet, and then ran her fingernails lightly up his legs, circling his knees and zigzagging along his thighs.

  Again the hissing inhalation.

 
"I supposed I should take these, too." She slipped one finger under the leg band of his briefs, moved it to the side, back toward the center.

  When it came into contact with delicate, pebbled skin, he cried out, his hips jerking in automatic response.

  Sally took mercy on him and reached for the waistband.

  He gave her no chance. With a quick movement, he was naked, magnificently naked. And the hair on all of him was that same incredible, flaming red.

  He pulled her to lie atop him. His hands were urgent on her, kneading, caressing, stroking, smoothing. Again she had that stretched-to-the-limit feeling, as if his slightest touch would set her thrumming like a plucked violin.

  "Do you have..." A long time had passed since she had played the dating game. Any man-woman game, at all. She no longer knew the moves, but she knew that unprotected sex was a far greater gamble now than it had been when she was in college.

  Would he provide his own condom? Or should she have brought some?

  "I have," he said, as if he'd read her mind. "I bought a dozen."

  "That should be—" She gasped as he cupped her breasts and his thumbs flicked her turgid, tender nipples. "—enough!"

  Then he kissed her and she forgot everything else.

  His knee worked between her thighs, spreading them. Sally knew what he wanted. She pushed erect and straddled him. Sitting back on his thighs, she felt again a subtle quiver, telling of his tremendous need.

  Deliberately, firmly, she moved her hands up, until they framed his narrow waist, down again, over his flanks and back, until her thumbs could reach across his abdomen and almost...almost touch him. She drew small circles on his skin, watching as his mouth open in a rictus of passion.

  "Are you ready?" she said, knowing the answer already.

  "Are you?" he challenged.

  She had been so involved with bringing him to the verge of explosion, she had not paid attention to her own state. Now, with his question, she became aware of a heaviness in her belly, a tingle waiting to become an explosion.

  "Almost."

  He sheathed himself, tossing the torn foil aside. His fingers sought and found her. A purposeful stroke and she was at the brink.

  "Gus," she cried, knowing that one more touch and she would lose all grasp on reality. "Oh! Please!"

  He took her waist in his hands and lifted her, pulling her forward and down. And he rose to meet her, filling her as she had never been filled before. As the first waves of her completion broke, she felt his spasms begin. Then she was aware of nothing but the all-consuming, blazing heat of her own climax. And his.

  She dozed in his arms until the afternoon sun sent a dusty beam across the bed, awaking her. From the angle, she knew it must be well after five.

  "Gus!" She shook his inert body. "Wake up."

  "Hmmm?" He nuzzled against her throat, tightened his arm around her waist.

  "We have to go." How she wished they hadn't slept their precious time away.

  "Why?"

  "Because I want to be seen at the barbecue. If I'm not, Lyle might come looking for me."

  "What business is it of his?" Gus said, definitely awake now. His frown brought back the grim, unsmiling man he'd first appeared.

  "You've never lived in a small town," she said, while looking around for something to cover herself with, "or you wouldn't ask that."

  Gus rolled out of the bed.

  "Was Lyle your lover?" He tossed the words over his shoulder as he stalked, naked and unembarrassed, to a door that, when he opened it, revealed a small bathroom. From behind the door, he retrieved a dark green robe. He tossed it to her.

  She hadn't asked him about his outrageous claim to have killed his wife. Why should he think he had the right to know about the men in her past? She answered anyway.

  "No, although there was a time when he would have liked to have been." She had always regretted that she felt nothing beyond fondness for Lyle. He was such a good friend. "I don't love him that way."

  His face closed like a steel trap.

  "You're right," he said, and his voice was lifeless and cold. "We need to get back. Go ahead and take the first shower." He strode out of the bedroom, still naked.

  Sally could have bitten her tongue off and ground it up for cat food. She didn't love him, but he'd read her answer that way. She'd have to make him understand she didn't expect any more from him than companionship, affection and sex. And only for as long as they were both in Whiterock.

  Gus heard the shower go on as he stood at his front window looking down on a still-empty Main Street. Motion down by the Post Office caught his eye, but when he looked in that direction, he saw nothing. Probably a dog. Whiterock had no leash law.

  He could not allow Sally Carruthers to fall in love with him. Love meant dependence, and dependence meant he would have to take the responsibility for her welfare and happiness.

  He could not. He lacked the strength, the courage. He lacked whatever it took to be that kind of man. His apartment showed what a hollow man he was. There was nothing of him here. He could be gone in a couple of hours.

  Damn! First he'd have to find Bernie and tell him he was losing a mechanic.

  And he'd given his word to take charge of the cleanup after the May Fest. He couldn't walk out on that obligation.

  Tomorrow. I'll leave tomorrow.

  He wasn't aware Sally had finished her shower and dressed until her arms came around his from behind. He should have jerked her clasped hands apart and thrown her aside. Instead, he laid his hands over hers and for one last, brief moment enjoyed the sizzle of electricity her touch always brought to him.

  "I didn't mean it the way it sounded," she whispered. "I like you, but..." She paused, rubbed her face against his shoulder blade. "Darn! There's just no good way to say this."

  "Then don't."

  "I have to."

  He felt her voice vibrating in his chest, felt the soft fabric of her skirt on the back of his bare legs.

  "I don't want you to misunderstand how I feel. I don't want you to go away scared."

  "Scared?" How could she know?

  Her quiet chuckle shook him slightly. "Pop once told me there are two kinds of men who say 'I love you' after sex."

  He appreciated her choice of words. They hadn't made love. They'd had sex.

  "So?"

  "So, one kind is sincere, but he's already said it before. The other one..." Her fingers tightened on his hands. "The other kind is simply asking for a repeat performance."

  Relief so strong it almost made him weak washed through him.

  "Are there women like that?" he wondered aloud, knowing that once would never be enough, not with Sally.

  "There must be," she said, and her words were a breathy whisper against his naked back, "because I want more." She released his hands, letting him turn to face her. "But later. Right now we've got to get back to the park. It's almost six."

  Again relief, as Gus realized he needed time to think before experiencing another cataclysmic encounter with her.

  "It won't take me long to shower." Taking her face between his hands, he kissed her—her eyes, her nose, her parted lips. "You're not alone," he said, his voice gruff with unwelcome tenderness. "I still want you, too."

  Before he lost the strength to do so, he released her and walked into the bathroom.

  Sally didn't need him for anything but great sex.

  He didn't have to run again.

  * * * *

  The sun was sinking toward Bendire Mountain when Gus and Sally returned to their blanket, replete with barbecued pork, baked beans and assorted picnic delectables. Many of the out-of-towners had gone home after eating, but those with roots in Whiterock were still here, waiting for the bonfire and dance.

  Gus was pleasantly tired, and at peace as he had not been for a long time. He turned when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Lyle Curran was squatting behind him, his lips twisted in an effort not to laugh.

  "What's up?" he said.


  "You're not gonna believe this." Lyle allowed one small chuckle to break free. "C'mon."

  He rose, and waited for Gus to do the same.

  "I'm coming, too," Sally said.

  "Fine with me," Lyle agreed before Gus could say no. Despite Lyle's amusement, anything that involved the police was not something he wanted Sally exposed to.

  While leading them across the park, Lyle said over his shoulder, "I meant to keep my eye on those kids, but a couple of punks with their snoots full decided they should see who was the better man, and I got distracted."

  "Who won?" Sally was half-trotting to keep up.

  "They both lost. I put 'em where they could sober up before they did too much damage to each other." Lyle came to a halt a few feet short of the elk. "Now, I want you to close your eyes and let me lead you the rest of the way. So you'll get the full impact."

  Obediently, they both closed their eyes and let Lyle pull them forward. Gus felt the roll of gravel beneath one foot just before the other trod on pavement. Three steps on pavement and Lyle stopped them.

  "Okay. Open 'em."

  There was a barricade—well, a couple of sawhorses with signs on them—across Main Street. The hand-painted signs read "Road Closed" and "Detour," with an arrow pointing up Fifth toward the Carruthers place.

  "Oh, my," Sally said.

  Gus was more emphatic. "Oh, shit!"

  Lyle roared with contained laughter, and soon all three of them were laughing like fools, still standing in the middle of Main Street.

  As far as Gus could see, bright ribbons stretched in a tangled maze, crossing and recrossing the street. Stretched from one anchor-point to another, the neon pink, orange, yellow and green ribbons wove back and forth, back and forth, from doorknob to lamp standard, from signpost to telephone pole. Bows hung on every upright, and the old cement-block library building was tied up like a Christmas present.

  When Sally was finally able to stifle her laughter, she said, "Ben Kemp?"

  "I can't imagine anyone else with this kind of devious sense of humor." Lyle wiped his mouth, but the smile remained.

  Gus said, "I wonder where they got the flagging tape." The narrow plastic ribbon decorating Main Street was commonly used by construction workers, foresters and surveyors to mark sites and routes. "It must have cost them a fortune."