Starfall

by neetha Napew

"I know. Damn me if I know what makes you so dif­ferent than all the other men I've seen."

  Doc shrugged.

  "So, you think you'd really like to have that bath with me?"

  "At the moment, dear lady, I can think of nothing more that I'd want to do."

  Annie approached him and took his hand. "Then come with me."

  "Madam," Doc said earnestly, "I have every intention of doing just that." Her touch was electric.

  RYAN JOINED DEAN in the hayloft. The boy shifted slightly, making room. He kept his Browning Hi-Power in his fist.

  "Anything?" Ryan asked. He stared down into the inner courtyard of the trading post. The sec men floated in loose, easy circles on the elevated boardwalk built on the palisade walls.

  "They keep moving around," Dean said, "but mainly they're just checking the perimeter. Keeping things but­toned down. Guys act like they're on condition red."

  Ryan silently agreed. He lay on his stomach and sur­veyed the sec men.

  "It would be better," Dean said, "if we could just get out of here now."

  "Yeah."

  "Can't do that without Doc, though. And I don't think Krysty's up to traveling tonight if the river's going to be rough."

  "You're right." Ryan glanced back inside the barn. Krysty was in the horse trough below, soaking in the water. He'd helped her bank the fires around the trough, bringing the heat back up. J.B. brought new buckets of water as the water started to steam more forcibly. Krysty's skin pinked up with the heat of it.

  None of the Idaho Falls survivors had interacted with the companions and stayed huddled in their group. They'd been given self-heats from the provisions Ryan had taken from Max, and were working their way through them.

  Morse's oldest boy had gotten up from the place where he'd been sitting and was casually making his way around the barn's interior. His path was gradually bringing him closer to the stall where Krysty bathed in the trough.

  It was one thing, Ryan knew, for the companions to see each other undressed. That was just naked. It happened when a person took his or her clothes off, and there were plenty of reasons to take clothes off. But the Morse boy's interest wasn't to be tolerated.

  Ryan signaled, catching Jak's eye.

  The albino cut his gaze to the approaching Morse boy. Jak slipped one of his leaf-bladed throwing knives from inside his clothing. With a quick flick, still from a seated position, he threw it at the Morse boy.

  With a squall of real pain and fear, the boy jerked his head back, raising a hand to his face. When his fingers came away bloody and he saw it, he screamed again.

  Morse jumped to his feet, turning toward Ryan in rage. "Cawdor, what the fuck are you doing?"

  "Your boy's nose was getting too long for his own good," Ryan said. "Took a bit of it off for him."

  Morse grabbed his boy when he came close enough, peering in consternation at the wound. Maybe a quarter inch of the boy's nose had been removed at the end of his face, sliced cleanly, giving it a whole new tilt.

  "You had no call to do that!" Morse screamed.

  "Could have chilled him then and there," Ryan said. "Still can if I want to. The boy's eyes were wandering too much for his own good. I could have had those taken in­stead of a bit of his nose."

  Morse glowered at Ryan, then bellowed at his other son to go get water and rags.

  "Use some kerosene on his nose," Ryan said. "You don't want infection to set in. His face'll rot off if you're not careful."

  Finished with her bath, and maybe self-conscious because she figured out what the event had initiated, Krysty got out of the trough, dried herself and dressed. "Ryan," she called out when she finished.

  "Be there in a little bit," Ryan called back. "Want to take a look around first." He turned to his son. "Dean, you go on down and get a bath."

  Dean didn't look happy about the prospect.

  "Go on," Ryan said, "and make sure you get clean."

  Reluctantly Dean clambered down the ladder leading up to the loft. He hooked his feet on the outside edges and slid down.

  No longer worried about being spotted by the sec men roving through the trading post, Ryan stepped out of the hayloft and grabbed the outer edge of the roof. He pulled himself up onto it with a smooth roll of muscle. Gaining his feet, he carefully moved across the sharply slanted roof. In winter the slant would aid in keeping snow off the roof, but now it made the way treacherous. Still, the roof got him close enough to the boardwalk around the interior of the palisade fence to jump the distance.

  He landed hard, one hand still clutching the Steyr. He kept walking toward the river side of the trading post, knowing he'd drawn the attention of the roving sec men. His new boot heels gripped the rough bark of the half-cut trunks making up the boardwalk, and the sound of them hitting echoed around him. As he neared the river, he heard the thunder of it, louder than he remembered when they'd put in at the small pier at the bottom of the drop-off.

  When he reached the palisade wall, he peered down.

  The river had swollen a lot more since they'd arrived at the trading post. The water level was now up high enough to run over the top of the pier, spilling whitecapped runnels across the surface like a spiderweb. The boat yanked at her mooring lines and anchor, bucking restlessly, like a live thing in a trap as it sought to follow the river's course.

  Getting away from the trading post by boat was out of the question, Ryan knew. Even if Junie survived the effort, there was no guarantee that they would be able to stay aboard and work the sails.

  He turned away from the river and made his way back to the barn. At the moment, they were all trapped by their needs.

  He wondered what was keeping Doc.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Annie's quarters inside the main house included a huge bathroom with a large tub. The walls maintained the same wooden finish as the rest of the house, but here scented cedars had been used, creating an atmosphere that was im­mediately different than the rest of the house.

  The tub had been crafted of colorful ceramic tiles no bigger than two-inch squares, some of them broken and chipped to create the contours for the corners. The tub was over three feet deep and over nine feet across.

  "My extravagance," Annie stated. "Took me over a year to build it. My husband thought it was totally useless and refused to bathe here. But I made it into my place."

  Doc walked around the room, noticing the carvings made into the wood. They were meticulously done, displaying forest scenes from rough and rugged country. There were snowcapped mountains and dogsleds, small cabins and lonely campfires. He ran his fingers along the edges, amazed at the detail and obsession with the same.

  "My tribute to the stories by Jack London," Annie stated. "Got a lot of wall space left to me, but during the winters, when trading's down and there's not much to oc­cupy my attention here, I work on it."

  "Dear lady," Doc said, meaning what he was saying, "this is truly fabulous."

  "My husband considered this a waste of time, as well." She stood in the center of the room, her arms around herself, almost looking embarrassed. "Outside of Max and Jubal, less than a handful of people have seen this room."

  "Then I shall indeed consider myself fortunate." Doc turned to her. "If you'll show me where the buckets are, I shall endeavor to draw a bath for us."

  "It'll be easier than you think. I constructed a cistern on the roof to hold water. Over a hundred gallons, all of it warmed by the sun. I use a hand pump up there to keep the cistern filled. That way I don't have to waste a lot of time heating the water. Winters, of course, I have to lay in a fire to bring it up to a more reasonable temperature."

  She walked to one of the walls and opened up a section, revealing a length of coiled hose inside. After pulling the hose out and laying the end in the tub, she opened a faucet. The tub filled rapidly.

  Doc watched the water swirl into the tub with fascina­tion. "A remarkable achievement."

  "I put down roots here," Annie said, "and I meant for
my life to have some pleasantries. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

  Doc shook his head. "Indeed not. Cleanliness is next to godliness, I have always heard."

  "Don't know about godliness," the woman replied. "Haven't seen much of that except for a wandering Bible thumper every now and again. Didn't have much use for them, but some did have nice stories to tell. Wars and kill­ings and such like that. I've always enjoyed the story of Moses, but I never could figure out why God cut David so much slack."

  Reaching into the tub, Doc found the water to be quite warm. It was also already nearly a foot deep and showing no signs of slowing.

  "Temperature okay?" Annie asked.

  "It's fine."

  "Good, 'cause we don't want any shrinkage, do we?"

  Doc turned to the woman and grinned, even more amused to see the red flush creeping into her features. She broke eye contact with him self-consciously.

  "Sorry about that," she said. "Mebbe joking wasn't ex­actly called for."

  "Laughter is the very essence of life," Doc argued, drawing his hand from the water. In the large room, with the sound of running water in his ears, he was even more aware of her sexuality. Part of him felt torn, knowing he should be back with Ryan and the others, planning on their departure. But he was drawn to the wild, restless woman before him, attracted by the hard exterior she exuded, and by the mixture of the parts that made her up. "We could never have too much of that."

  "Not much left in the world these days."

  "It only makes you enjoy it the more," Doc replied.

  "You have a strange way of looking at things. Not like any man I've encountered before."

  "Then I will tell you I am flattered," Doc told her.

  "Your friend Ryan Cawdor," she said, "men like him I've known all my life. He's rough and hard, used to getting what he wants, wanting not much more than to survive with no thoughts of any too far-off tomorrow, and willing to die to see himself free and able to do the things he wants."

  Doc nodded agreeably. "I think that is an entirely fair summation of him. And I will tell you now that it has been those qualities that have kept our little group alive during some mean circumstances."

  "You're more of a dreamer, Theophilus."

  "Sometimes," Doc said, feeling his voice thicken as he thought of the dementia that occasionally took him into its seductive embrace, "I am too much of a dreamer."

  "One of these days, I'd like to hear about those dreams."

  He thought of his lost wife and children, and the mel­ancholy that was so much a part of his existence. A twinge of guilt struck him as he looked at the woman before him. His wife had been good with her hands around the house, as well, using her skills to turn it into a home.

  "Those dreams, madam," he said, "are too often filled less with laughter than sadness. You might not like hearing about them."

  She turned her head, looking at him. "You're nursing old wounds."

  Doc gave her a grin, but it felt weak. "I would say that anyone who attained our age has more than a few regrets and disappointments."

  "And tragedies? Like the ones Shakespeare wrote about?"

  "Those, too. Though I think if the bard had lived at these times, he'd see what true tragedy really was. This canvas that is the world around us now is pared down to the basest of emotions and desires. But our mere living our lives, with effort to conduct them the way we want to, has to be con­sidered a triumph. Take this trading post you've built. Not many people would have invested so much of themselves into such a structure."

  "Lot of back-breaking work went into the construction of this place."

  "And a lot of heart, as well." Doc ran his fingers along the carving on the wall.

  "Couldn't leave this place if my life depended on it," Annie told him. "Got too much invested here."

  Doc nodded. "You say that, but if it came to it, I think you would survive. Despite our best intentions, those of us strong enough find ways to survive no matter what we ex­perience."

  Annie crossed the distance between them and took Doc into her strong arms. "Bath's ready. If you're ready."

  "Yes," he replied.

  She reached into the wall beside him and turned the fau­cet off. Then she placed a hand on the front of his trousers and stroked his erection.

  The pressure against his groin surprised Doc because he hadn't noticed exactly when the erection had sprung into being. The aroma of the cedar in the wet environment had grown stronger, flooding his senses. He bent his head and crushed his lips against hers, tasting the honeyed tea on her breath.

  "You're ready," she declared. Her hands fumbled with the buttons on his pants but couldn't quite manage the feat.

  Gently Doc stepped back from her, then undressed her first. Despite the age and the extra pounds, she maintained a womanly figure. Her breasts were larger than he'd ex­pected, capped with brown nipples too big for him to en­circle between his thumb and forefinger.

  He bent his head to them, taking the first into his mouth. He tasted the perspiration that clung to her, the saltiness on his tongue mixed in with some kind of herbal scent. Her nipple came erect at once, and she moaned in a low voice as her pleasure took her. He nibbled at both her breasts, noting the scarlet flush that crept under her skin. She held him tightly, pulling his mouth against her breast.

  His hand crept down, slipping between her thighs. At first, she tried to block his progress.

  "Can't," she breathed huskily. "You touch me there, and I'm going to go off. Been too long since the last time, and I don't remember a touch ever being so gentle."

  "Good," Doc told her. "But if you do, do not worry about it. There will be other times."

  She pulled his head back from her breasts. "Are you sure? I don't want to waste this one building."

  Doc chuckled good-naturedly. "I'm sure, dear lady. We have only just begun."

  Her thighs parted, allowing him to touch her inner re­cesses. Doc's fingers slipped into her at once, exploring the depths and finding her surprisingly tight. His thumb brushed against her clit, locating the throbbing pulse of her lust beneath the pubis mound.

  Without warning, she erupted, gasping and trembling. Doc felt the extra moisture trickle through his fingers and spread heat across his hand.

  "I've got to sit," she said, fighting against buckling knees.

  Doc guided her to the edge of the tub and helped her sit. Her body still quivered from the aftereffects of the climax.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  She smiled at him. "More right than I've felt in a long time." Her hand dropped to his erection and worked it vigorously.

  Doc's response came unbidden, his buttocks suddenly pulsing with a life of their own as he bucked against her hand. Still, he managed to hold himself back. He breathed in the scent of the woman's sex between them, discovering the scent of cedars might have been a kind of aphrodisiac.

  He gently disentangled her hand.

  She looked confused. "Am I doing something wrong?"

  "No, dear lady. But I must insist on a modicum of con­trol from myself. I am no teenage boy on a lark. Together, we'll build your desire, then we'll find mine."

  "I'm afraid I'm through," she said.

  Doc smiled at her. "You may not realize it, but you've only just begun." He gently guided her into the tub's warm water. She waited in the center of the tub while Doc stepped in. She took him by the erection at once, leading him to one of the seats that allowed him to lie back against the tub wall and keep his head above water.

  "Are you ready now?" she asked.

  "Incredibly ready," Doc admitted. He pulled her to him, helping her straddle him. His cock stood up erect, grazing across her wet flesh, feeling the coarseness of her pubic hair against his underside.

  Then she had his diamond-cutter where it would do the most good, tucking its head just inside the lips of her sex. She sank down on him, covering his erection with her hot, moist center. She bucked against him, and Doc met her stroke for str
oke, not taking a break until it felt like the top of his head blew off.

  LATER, LYING in the big upholstered bed in the bedroom adjoining the bathroom, Doc lay in blissful surrender. A warm lassitude filled him, draining away all the days of hard travel, making his arms and legs feel heavier than anything human should have.

  The room was growing dark as dusk settled over the trading post. It was small and compact, with everything in its place. More books lined one of the walls in the room, and magazines depicting home and garden decor. The var­ied collection of reading materials revealed even more of the dreamer that Annie was.

  "Dear lady," Doc said, his gaze heavy lidded as he re­garded her strong, handsome face, "I feel as though I have died and gone to heaven."

  She had her hand on his cock, pumping hopefully, and Doc was surprised to find himself reacting. "Well, if you're in heaven, mebbe you won't mind if I blow old Gabriel's horn for you."

  Before he could respond, she took his cock into her mouth. Her tongue swam around it, igniting the passion that seemed insistent on taking over his body and mind.

  He fumbled for her breasts, finding the nipples and tweaking them into full hardness with his soft touch.

  "No," she said, pushing his hands away from her body. "Don't want you distracting yourself from what I want to give you. You just lay back and enjoy this one."

  "Your wish is my command, dear lady," Doc whis­pered, not knowing if he could speak plainly. He gave him­self over to his own lust, feeling it pool quickly in his loins. He knew it wouldn't take long, and that it would be just as shattering as the previous climax he'd had.

  Long minutes later, when the departing sun had drawn even longer shadows on the wall, Doc came, losing control and grabbing the back of Annie's head, pulling the woman's mouth down on him hard. He apologized pro­fusely afterward, shocked at his own loss of control.

  Annie smiled and licked her lips. "It wasn't a problem. Kind of liked seeing you lose that control you seem to be so proud of."

  "Still, no gentleman—" he began.

  "Theophilus, you've been every inch the gentleman." She traced a forefinger against his chest. "Tell me, do you really like the garden and the tub and this place?"