Rainsinger

by Barbara Samuel

  Overhead, the entire sky was a deep, almost violent shade of pink, laced with the pale blue-gray of high, wispy clouds. At the horizon, the sun had not yet emerged, but a brilliant glow promised it would not be long. Trees lifted their branches into the watercolor sky as if in worship, and a wild chorus of magpies, sparrows and ravens sang a hymn of greeting.

  And there against the wild-rose sky stood Daniel. Like Winona, he’d come fresh from his bed. He wore only a pair of soft, worn jeans, his feet bare, his arms and back shawled with his loose, black hair. He stood utterly still, his head tilted to the morning. Percival, a ball of gold and brown and cream, leaned companionably against his leg.

  A thousand emotions rushed through her, but foremost was joy in the beauty of the scene. Daniel looked as if he should be there, long hair spilling in glory over his brown torso, his naked feet planted on land he loved. A thousand years ago, one of his ancestors might have stood in this very spot, reveling in the same timeless, unchanging desert dawn.

  Her heart ached with the joy.

  For the first time, she wondered if he did have a greater claim to this land than she did. For one long, piercing instant, she thought of all the blood that had been spilled, all the tragedies that were written in the annals of American Indian history.

  Long, long ago, one of Daniel’s ancestors had stood below this very sky, his feet on this land. She didn’t even really know where her forebears had lived—some in Scandinavia, some in England, some likely in Germany. Places she might never see, and even if she did would have no meaning for her. Not the way the land resonated here for Daniel.

  The way it resonated for her.

  As if she’d made some sound, he turned and caught sight of her. He didn’t move for a moment, then held out his hand for her to come to him. Winona unfroze and moved forward, careful to put her bare feet down in bare dirt, avoiding clumps of grass that might hide goatheads and burrs from last summer. The powdery dirt was unexpectedly pleasurable, cold and soft against her naked arches. It was rare that she went without shoes.

  Daniel smiled as she joined him, then looked back up to the brilliant sky. “I think Percival wanted someone to see this besides him.”

  She was too dazzled to speak. Up close, with that mass of black hair tumbling free over a walnut-colored chest, over his naked arms, he was even more beautiful than the sunrise, more moving. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  Unaware, he closed his eyes and tipped back his head, as if to absorb the color pouring down upon them. Winona drank in the line of his chin, the column of his throat, her body tingling. His chest and arms gleamed, and her eyes caught on the fine, soft hair extending from his belly button to the jeans that rode low on his hips.

  “This is when I wish I knew the songs, the old things,” he said. “So I could make the right offering.”

  “There is not just one,” she said. “Sing anything holy.”

  He looked at her, as if this had never occurred to him. Quietly she began to sing the doxology. Her voice was nothing like Joleen’s husky, powerful one, but it sounded sweet enough, holy enough for an offering of praise.

  “Again,” he said when she was done.

  Winona complied, singing slowly, and he hummed the tune with her. Without being asked, she started again, and on the fourth time, he took her hand and they sang together, his voice halting now and again on the words. When they had finished, he looked at her. “One more time. I think I have it.”

  Heart afire with unnamable things, both holy and corporeal, Winona raised her voice once more. Daniel’s bass rolled through her soprano, and he lifted his hands, taking hers with him. Birds twittered counterpoint, and the sky blazed, and the sun rose.

  Winona felt a kind of fullness, like laughter, deep in her chest as they ended. She turned to Daniel and saw the same fierce pleasure in his face. And without thought, they moved close to each other, body to body, the fiery sky overhead. He hugged her exuberantly, rocking her back and forth, and she gladly embraced him back.

  But slowly, subtly, the embrace began to change. Winona grew aware of his warm, big hands on her back, rustling the poppy-colored silk of her robe. Without fear, she lifted her head and, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, wound her fingers through his loose hair, touching it with a kind of exalted wonder, letting it splay over her palms, marveling at the cool, coarse texture.

  He pulled her closer, and bent his head, and kissed her. Winona put her hands on his chest, open-palmed to feel his flesh, and tilted her head to receive his mouth, soft and exploring. His hands moved down her back and he stepped into the deepening embrace, putting their thighs and stomachs in contact. She opened her mouth and invited him in.

  With a small, pleased noise, he entered, his tongue as lingering and sensual as the sun’s slow rise. His hands slid down her back, his fingers curved to fit the dip of her spine, and fell lower, moving in light exploration over her hips, her buttocks, circling and dipping as his tongue and lips explored her mouth. With a groan, he pulled her into him, pressing his hips, letting her feel his fierce arousal. It gave her a wild stab of pleasure, the feeling of that rigid muscle against her more yielding body, and the sound that came was from her throat this time.

  His touch was unlike anything she’d known, without artifice or false control. His palms moved firmly on her buttocks, kneading and stroking, sometimes sliding up to the small of her back. He moved his hips, moved himself against her softness, and she eased closer, amazed at the pleasure such simple movements roused in her. Her breasts, free below her nightgown and the silk robe, pressed into his chest. She slid her hands over his shoulders, into his hair, and held his head, touching his jaw with her thumbs.

  All thought was gone. All past, all future, all considerations were gone. There was only Daniel, half-naked, his hair tumbling free, his mouth and tongue singing with her own.

  His hands roved, and she let hers wander, too, over his arms, around to his back, over skin as smooth as river-polished stones but a thousand times more supple, a million times as warm.

  And as they kissed and kissed and kissed, Winona felt some long-sleeping creature arise in her deepest heart, in her deepest place, a sinuous creature full of zest and sex and understanding. Winona moved with the promptings of the ancient being and knew it was not her lack of experience that had kept her apart from men—it was just that this sensual creature within her breast had only now been awakened.

  Daniel groaned and raised his head. He swallowed, looking at her in wonder. He seemed about to speak, but instead simply smoothed a wisp of hair from her face and pressed his mouth to hers again, as if he couldn’t resist one more sip. A faint mischievousness gleamed in the quirk of his smile. “Does that count as a blessing, do you think?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He touched her mouth with his thumb, a soberness stealing now into his face. “Yes, I think it does.”

  Winona wanted his hands on her, all over her. She was astonished to learn there was such wildness in her, but if he’d suggested they stretch out on the soft earth and sate their desires right there, she would have complied. Her body ached for his touch, and her mouth burned with the imprint of his lips. But she remained still, her hands open on his upper arm, and let the roaring need slow.

  His dark eyes moved on her face, and he seemed to be absorbing everything about it—the curve of her cheek, the cut of her mouth, the angle of her eyes. Winona had never been the object of such reverent attention, and it moved her. He smoothed her cheek, her hair.

  “I’ve been trying not to kiss you for weeks,” he said, and there was a curious soberness in his expression.

  “Why?”

  He looked skyward, as if to see if the answer was written there, then back at Winona. “I can’t remember.”

  She grinned. “Well, then, I think we should do it again before the reason comes back to you.”

  It surprised him, that light, sexual teasing. She could tell it did. Surprised him just enough
that it chased away the shadows, and for one hopeful second, Winona thought he was going to do it.

  Instead he let go of her. “No. This is the wrong thing for us to be doing.”

  She crossed her arms, suddenly all too aware that she was standing outside in her nightclothes. That she’d invited his kiss, that she’d been altogether too bold. She touched a stone on the ground with her toe and hated the size of the foot she saw, hated that she wasn’t a dainty little thing who might look fragile at moments like this.

  How humiliating it all was. She’d rather not ever have kisses if it was always going to be like this.

  And it always was.

  “Winona,” he said quietly, and stepped closer. She smelled him, his skin and the soap he used. From the corner of her eye, she could see a thick hank of hair lying against his bare flesh, and even that stirred the awakened being inside her, made a thick pulse move low in her belly. She shifted so she couldn’t see it anymore.

  “I’m not good at this, Winona. I’m not good at being with women, at saying all those pretty things you all want. I never learned and now I’m too old.”

  It wasn’t what she’d expected. She raised her head. He moved his mouth. Dipped his head. And the swath of loose hair swung forward, making her think of men on painted ponies, of a thousand years of men like him. She wanted to feel that hair on her—It was the last straw. She raised her hand. “Don’t say anything. Just—” she shook her head “—don’t.” She started to walk away. Before she’d gone three steps, he grabbed her arm, not gently.

  “Wait.”

  He kissed her again, kissed her deep, touched her neck and put his palm on her chest above her neckline. Winona felt herself succumbing to the languorous heat he roused, felt herself aching to respond, to touch him again. Furiously she pushed him away.

  “Stop it, Daniel!” She backed off, her body on fire, her head in a muddle, her heart racing.

  * * *

  Daniel stared after her, his blood popping and kicking like sap in winter trees. In the cave of his ribs, his heart thudded uncomfortably. His groin ached. She backed away, her pale eyes accusing. Her hair was tousled with sleep and his hands, and her lips showed a glaze from the moisture of their kissing. Below the dawn-colored silk robe, a slash of white nightgown showed, and he thought of the way her unbound breasts had felt. Even now, he pulsed with the feeling of her body against him, the ample rear end in his hands, the taste of her lush, sensual, giving mouth on his. Percival whined softly at Daniel’s side. He let go of a sharp bark as Winona retreated, as if to call her back, but she turned and ran, her strong body moving as fluidly as a deer.

  Daniel bent and patted the puppy on his haunches. “Go on,” he said. Percival needed no further urging. He sped after his mistress, his ears flopping, his clumsy puppy paws sending tufts of dust flying into the still, dry air. Winona opened the screen door, and the puppy barked urgently. Daniel saw the war in her, the need to put as much distance as possible between herself and Daniel, but she paused, looking over her shoulder. The tumble of corkscrew curls fell forward and she had to catch them back as she looked down, crooning something to her puppy. Quickly she bent and scooped him into her arms, then stalked inside, letting the wooden screen door slam behind her.

  He swore. What the hell was wrong with him?

  For three days, all he had thought about was sex. Winona Snow made him want it like no woman he’d ever met, like no woman he’d ever seen—like no one he’d ever imagined. Her long-legged, swaying gait, her siren curves, her strong, healthy body made him crazy. She had only to walk into a room and he was ready.

  More than that, she made him think of sex in ways that he never had. Like making love all day and all night. Like wanting to do it in the full sun, where he could see all of her while they moved. Like tearing her clothes with his teeth and making her yell.

  For three solid days and two long, long nights, all he’d thought about was a thousand different ways to be naked with Winona.

  In frustration, he picked up a rock and threw it at a cottonwood. The rock hit the trunk with a solid thunk. Something about the sound or the movement satisfied him on some dark plane, and he scooped up a varied handful of quartz and granite.

  Just now, when he’d kissed her and felt her unarmored curves against him, the reality had been better than his fantasies. He’d felt something stir in himself, something rich and hot and deep, and felt its reflection in Winona. The melding of them made things stir. Things that should have been left silent.

  The trouble was, he liked her. He enjoyed her company. She was smart and strong and full of a zesty good humor that balanced neatly his brooding, persnickety nature. None of his scowls or blustering or political posturing seemed to put her off. She fought back if she didn’t agree, but mostly she just smiled the darkness away.

  And to his amazement, he let himself be pacified.

  With a growl of frustration, he hurled a chunk of white quartz at the tree with all his might. She was dangerous to him in a way no one ever had been—not even Jessie. She upset the order of his world, the order of his thoughts. He got so confused thinking about whether he should resist or give in to his chemical need for her that it didn’t even make sense anymore. He had to leave her alone, for his sanity as well as hers.

  But even now, his most urgent wish was to follow Miss Winona into her room, tear off that sunrise robe and touch her all over, bury himself between her solid thighs.

  He rubbed a hand over his face. Luke and Jessie would be stopping by tonight with Giselle. Maybe Luke would have a sage word or two. He was the one who’d always been good with women.

  * * *

  Winona had decided on a simple meal for their supper, since no one was quite sure when Daniel’s friends would arrive. In the late afternoon, she chopped fresh vegetables for a salad to go with a light corn soup she’d made. The low, seductive music Daniel had on the CD player in the living room made her more restless than every though she would have died rather than admit that.

  They’d barely spoken all day. When he came into a room, she left it. And that was often. Her only comfort was that Daniel Lynch was as restless as she was. Darkly, she hoped he suffered.

  Because he’d certainly made her suffer. All day long, as she pruned the trees, or listened to Joleen tell her the plots of three movies she watched on the VCR, or shucked corn, she’d been plagued with sharp, visceral images of his mouth on hers. She’d lift a branch, and there would be a ghostly image of Daniel’s mouth, his breath coming from him on a low, hungry sound. Or Daniel’s handprints on her bottom, squeezing. Or Daniel’s unbound hair in her palms.

  All these years, she’d managed to keep these feelings at bay. One sizzling kiss from Daniel, and her discipline was shot.

  Fiercely she tore lettuce into pieces and threw them in a bowl. The awakened creature in her moved all day, seeing in the most innocent things an expression of sexuality. The tiny knobs of embryonic peaches aroused her. The papery pink flowers of the prickly pears seemed unbearably ripe. Even now, the plump tomatoes on the counter, glistening with water, made her think of lush, sensual pursuits. She grabbed one and viciously started chopping it.

  “I’m going to shoot some hoops. Want to play a little one-on-one?”

  Daniel’s voice, cutting through her reverie, startled her. She jumped, nearly cutting off her finger. Annoyed, she turned, sucking blood from the small cut. “You scared me half to death,” she said.

  “Sorry.” He looked at her finger, back to her face. “Are you okay?”

  “Do you want to play?”

  She sucked her finger, frowning. Did she? It might improve her mood. “In a minute. Let me finish this salad and I’ll throw on some other clothes.”

  Daniel bounced the ball. “All right. I’ll be waiting.”

  With a flourish, Winona scattered chunks of tomato over the salad, sprinkled a handful of sunflower seeds into the mix and tossed it lightly. Carefully she wiped up her mess, then put the knife in the s
ink and went to her room.

  She wore a simple peasant blouse, white and gauzy, with a plain skirt. As she pulled the blouse over her head, her hair crackled and sparked with static electricity, strands of it flying forward to stick to her eyes and cheeks as if magnetized. Irritably she brushed them away, rubbing her face where the strands had stuck, feeling the pull of dry skin between her shoulder blades.

  Would it never rain?

  Her favorite basketball tank top was dirty. Winona scrambled into her shorts, tossing her skirt on the bed, and dug through her drawers for a T-shirt or something to put on. There wasn’t much: an ancient, threadbare T-shirt fit only for the ragbag, which she kept because of its slogan—Plants Do It Organically, a blue button-up shirt that had always been too tight through the shoulders; and a loose cotton tank top that somehow always made Winona look like Jezebel, for reasons she could never quite figure out. It was a little short, but that wasn’t the problem.

  If she had been going to the slabs in her old hometown, she would never have worn it, but this afternoon she had nothing else. The threadbare T-shirt was bound to be worse. Slipping a sports bra over her regular bra, Winona stubbornly donned the Jezebel shirt. A slice of tummy showed below the hem, and there was no doubt—even in the controlling, squashing sports bra—that she was female. When she swept her hair into a ponytail, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and sighed. The shirt did the same thing it always did—somehow she looked like a loose woman in it. Tugging the cotton hem, she tried to cover the slice of tummy it exposed, and yanked on the top to make sure her cleavage didn’t show. There wasn’t really anything else to be done.

  Joleen and Percival were in the backyard, playing tug-of-war with a piece of cloth. Joleen wore her new sundress and the green tam, and she grinned at Winona when she came out. “I love this dog!”

  The outfit must not be too outrageous, Winona thought. Joleen would have said something. “Me, too.”

  The sound of the basketball thumping against concrete reached her. She walked to the crude court. Daniel shot baskets methodically, one, two, three, then turned.