Relatively Crazy

by Ellen Dye

  I settled for a noncommittal grunt while fishing through the cupboard for a mug.

  “Val and Mitzi send their best,” he said, adding a glance toward the phone. “They were pretty worried.”

  I nodded, took a sip of coffee, and promptly burned my tongue.

  “Careful, it’s hot,” Sam cautioned—much too late, in my opinion.

  I settled for giving him a look and pulled out the chair across from him at the scrubbed oak table, just as he rose, presumably in search of more coffee. “Tell me what?” I inquired, settling myself.

  “Val wants you to meet her and Mitzi for brunch around noon tomorrow at the diner,” Sam replied, now back at the table.

  I shrugged slightly in acknowledgement and was rewarded by a slip of strap. Before I could give it a tug, Sam gasped slightly before toppling the contents of his freshly filled mug across the table.

  Quickly, considering my condition, I grabbed a dishtowel from the counter and began mopping up as Sam promptly did the same. We collided mid-mop, nearly (our height difference considered) torso-to-torso.

  And then I looked up into his warm, chocolate brown eyes, and for some strange reason everything began to move in slow motion.

  How had I missed this? Had he always been so ruggedly handsome? So incredibly sexy? The heat radiating from his body burned through my covering of thin, cotton batiste straight to my center.

  “Ah… Oh…” Sam stuttered, making to disentangle himself.

  I sidestepped, slid through a puddle of momentarily forgotten coffee and toppled forward into his arms. Grace itself—clearly me today.

  “My God, you’re beautiful,” Sam whispered, stroking one large, calloused hand down my bare arm.

  I blinked in utter bafflement. I’d spared a passing glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror as I ran a comb through my damp hair. Bloodshot eyes with dark circles beneath and not a speck of makeup in sight did not constitute beauty. Unless…

  I shifted forward just a touch, gently pressing my length against Sam.

  Hello.

  Ah, that explained it. Such conditions usually tend to provoke momentary blindness. Or so I’d been told.

  Sam closed his eyes and groaned.

  I quickly glanced down and then back up to Sam’s now open but slightly glazed eyes. Yep. Desire, I realized, feeling slightly heady at the prospect.

  Sam gently cupped my face and leaned closer. The Kiss: Part Two my muddled thoughts registered, seconds before his lips tenderly touched mine. And then, once again, I stopped thinking altogether as the tender touch of his kiss deepened and the slow burn inside me grew into a raging inferno.

  Oh, hell, yes. Desire, this was.

  I moved closer, wrapping one arm around his neck, tumbling headlong into the sensation of Sam’s kiss—and his reaction, as well. Hello bypassed Glad To Meet You and had now arrived at Want To Come Out And Play. I became acutely aware of the few thin layers of fabric separating us. A few too many for my current state, I quickly decided.

  And then, abruptly, Sam pulled away.

  Again? I silently groused, opening my eyes slowly. What this time?

  “Ah, this probably isn’t a good idea.” Sam pulled back, running one hand through his hair.

  I stepped closer. “It was until just now.”

  Sam backed up, although it didn’t really seem as though his heart was in the effort. “You’ve been drinking—” He squeaked the last word, his gaze riveted to my shoulder, where the thin cotton strap had dipped quite low.

  Not breaking eye contact, I gave a shrug, and the strap dipped lower.

  Sam squeaked.

  Victory.

  “Yes, I was drinking earlier. I’m fine now.” I took a mincing step forward, leaving a scant few inches of separation between us.

  “Uh…”

  “Are you saying you’re not interested?”

  Sam slowly shook his head from side to side, mouth slightly open. His gaze was glued to my strap, which was now dangling completely off my shoulder. One more tiny shrug and the entire gown would be nothing more than a puddle of pastel cloth on the kitchen floor.

  “I am a grown woman.”

  “Oh, God,” Sam moaned. “I can see that.”

  Rapidly, I weighed my options. To shrug or not to shrug, that was the question. For a second, complete humiliation warred with possible victory in my mind. Now or never, I decided. I shrugged, delighting in Sam’s appreciative gasp as the gown slid down to my bare toes.

  Sam blinked. Twice.

  I wrapped an arm about his neck and pulled him downward. “Take me to bed. Love me,” I whispered seconds before bringing my lips to his.

  For once, Sam didn’t argue the point.

  ****

  Seconds later, as Sam gently deposited me on top of my rumpled quilt, a slight shiver of fear slithered its way down my spine, and I began to wish Sam had argued.

  What the hell was I doing?

  I was in my bed—naked—while my childhood best friend was breaking speed records to become likewise naked. The brazen courage I’d found while dropping my gown in the kitchen evaporated completely.

  My fingers inched their way toward the rumpled quilt as my thoughts screamed for me to cover up quick before he got a really close look.

  Amplified images of the stretch marks criss-crossing my stomach, coupled with my definitely not-as-firm-as-they-once-were thighs flashed through my mind. I knew that, for my age, my body wasn’t a particularly bad one—but it was hell-and-gone from what it had been at age twenty.

  I grabbed the quilt, tugged, and succeeded in freeing approximately four square inches that weren’t trapped firmly beneath my butt.

  Firmly, My, and Butt. Ah, now, there were three words that shouldn’t exist in the same sentence.

  Now I really wished Sam would have chosen to argue the point.

  My mind did an about-face the second Sam’s pants fell to the floor. Oh, my. Now that was indeed a point.

  All further thoughts about the shortcomings of my aging anatomy were burned away like early morning dew hit by sunlight as Sam lay down next to me.

  “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Sam whispered seconds before claiming my mouth with his.

  The fire in my center Sam had ignited with The Kiss, what now seemed so long ago, burst into a four-alarm raging inferno.

  “It’s always been you, darlin’.” Sam did shiveringly delicious things to my neck with his mouth. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever really wanted.” He paused, moving the Shiveringly Delicious activity slowly downward. “Only you. So beautiful.”

  I arched my back, thrusting both hands through his hair as he paused at my breasts in his downward trek.

  Shiveringly Delicious continued fanning my internal four-alarm inferno into a bone-deep need. And Sam, ever attentive to detail, moved downward still.

  Oh, God. What is that?

  Sam paused with a chuckle. “It’s called foreplay.” He trailed his tongue across my inner thigh. “Do you like it?”

  Oops, spoke that last aloud, did I?

  Sam returned to Shiveringly Delicious, and I managed to groan, “More.”

  He seemed more than happy to comply.

  “Oh, God,” I moaned, as Shiveringly Delicious connected to my center. My hips arched, of their own accord, seconds before my middle-aged body, heedless of the age part, spasmed in a soul-deep climax.

  “Wanda Jo,” Sam said, pausing above me. I forced my lids open. “You’ve always been the only one for me. Say you’re mine.”

  “Yes,” I moaned.

  As we began to move together, I knew it to be true.

  ****

  I drifted toward awareness, most unwillingly once again, as a near balmy Indian summer breeze flittered through the partially open window. Instead of opening my eyes to the warm sunlight, I squeezed them closed as a mental replay of last night ran through my mind like a movie.

  Oh, my.

  Sam’s large, calloused hand
s gently gliding over my body. His hot, lush mouth following in the wake of those amazing hands.

  And then he…

  And. Oh. My. God. I…

  Wow.

  I stretched luxuriously, feeling last night’s remaining tingles all the way down to the tips of my bare toes, which were still partially curled beneath the percale sheets.

  You’re mine, Sam’s sexy baritone whispered through my mind.

  Absolutely, I agreed, snuggling deeper beneath the covers.

  So that was what all the fuss was about. Amazing. In less than twenty-four hours my entire opinion, of not only sex but its necessity, had changed entirely.

  And speaking of necessity…

  I inched my fingers across the mattress, expecting to connect with Sam. Unfortunately, his side of the bed, as several hand pats quickly revealed, was no longer occupied.

  I settled for the pillow he’d slept on. Pulling it close, I was rewarded with a lungful of Sam’s sexy, woodsy scent. With both arms around the pillow, I hugged it close and buried my face in a sheet of paper.

  Paper?

  I cracked one eye open, still reluctant to lose the warm, fuzzy afterglow. Yep. It was definitely paper, complete with writing. With a small sigh of resignation, I opened the other eye, propped myself up on one elbow, and glanced over the words, hoping for some indication of Sam’s return.

  By the time I’d reached the end, my deliciously fuzzy afterglow was down by half. And I was also not nearly as anxious for Sam’s return.

  Surely this was a mistake.

  Forcing myself to a sitting position, I took a deep breath and slowly read through Sam’s precise, clipped script once again.

  Dear Sugar Buns…

  I mentally paused with a cringe. Okay, not what I would personally have chosen as a term of endearment. But I could deal with it later. I read on.

  I’ve gone ahead to the diner. Don’t worry about rushing over, I’ll take care of it. I’ll make sure the deal is squared with Val and Mitzi. And this is just a start—because from now on I’ll be taking care of everything. You’re mine now.

  All my love,

  Sam

  Oh, boy. I forced myself to stare at the bottom.

  The ominous L Word. Sam had actually not only used it, he’d put it in writing. The most sought after word in the entire English language. And Sam had just freely given it to me. Did I believe him? In a way I did. Did I return the feeling? Absolutely. I’d always loved Sam; he was family. But really, were the two sorts of love so vastly different?

  Maybe so. Maybe not.

  This last immediately brought my thoughts to one of the least sought-after words in the English language. Namely “But.” And in this case it was one heck of a big “But.”

  My gaze drifted to the line just above Sam’s declaration.

  You’re mine now.

  Last night those three tiny words had sounded so passionate, so unbelievably sexy when whispered in Sam’s deep drawl.

  But now the sun had risen, and my hormones had set, and those same words were inspiring me toward a whole new feeling. Plainly put, a fear that felt as stark as the black ink in which they’d actually been written.

  I knew Sam’s meaning, full and well. He was promising me a lifetime of being taken care of. A life where I didn’t have to worry about the pesky realities of earning a living as a responsible adult. Or, come to that, even take responsibility for myself. In short, he was offering me a sheltered life where failures, like yesterday’s Green Fiasco, wouldn’t exist.

  But, as I realized in the honest light of morning, that simply wouldn’t do. Not for myself. Not for Olivia. And most certainly not for Sam. We all deserved something better.

  And amazing as the concept was, I knew exactly what I had to do.

  I glanced at the clock and then hurriedly swung my legs out of bed, determined to get a move on.

  And then another group of words practically leapt off the page and into my line of vision: I’ll make sure the deal is squared…

  Shit. Must move very quickly.

  I launched through the bathroom, quickly splashing water here and there, before dragging a cursory brush through the tangles. I zipped to my now wonderfully depleted closet, hastily grabbing a well-worn shirt and jeans combo—one of the many I’d worn during our previous work sessions at Be Headed.

  And then I froze, clothes in hand.

  I realized, for the first time, I was actually happy not to have my enormous San Francisco walk-in closet, complete with Imelda Altar. As the epiphany fully sank in, I slowly began to realize that it never, in itself, actually had all that much value to me.

  What I’d valued was Reed’s carefully modulated, usually scanty praise—which was generally uttered when he felt I was appropriately attired. I realized, sadly, that his opinion had somehow become the yardstick by which I’d come to measure my worth as a person. Simply stated, I’d dressed up in my best and Reed took care of everything else.

  I finished dressing quickly, determined to cut events off at the pass and prevent such a thing from happening between Sam and me.

  With that last realization spinning through my mind, I rushed through the door knowing that I was capable of squaring my own deals.

  A matter of a few speed-breaking minutes later, I found myself automatically breathing through my mouth and negotiating the Lexus around a large BackHill’s waste products truck, the cause of my change in breathing pattern. I settled into a parking space in the diner’s back lot and hurried toward the back door.

  I’d crossed the threshold of the propped-open door before I realized I had absolutely no idea what exactly I was going to say to Sam.

  “No, we just can’t do that!”

  Probably not the best choice, I thought, before realizing the half-screamed statement had come from my cousin and not my own crazed thoughts.

  I focused my attention outward to the group standing in front of the electric industrial range beneath the pick-up window. Jamie Sue, her back toward me, was hastily flipping knobs as an even-more-anxious-looking-than-usual Ray peered through the window from the other side. Dottie, sensible as always, had positioned herself a discreet distance from both the range and my cousin.

  Curiosity drew me closer.

  “You just have to do it this way,” Jamie Sue paused to demonstrate turning one of the knobs.

  Several sparks shot from the back of the range.

  My evil twin emerged. “Sparklers are probably less dangerous, if you’re looking for entertainment to go with the food.”

  Ray brought one hand up to cover his smile as Dottie took a small step backward.

  “Hardy-har. Oh, Wanda Jo, you’re just so funny,” Jamie Sue returned without looking up from the controls.

  Several minutes passed while Jamie Sue fiddled and twisted, swearing colorfully under her breath. I looked toward Dottie with raised brows. She shrugged, and I turned toward Ray. He shrugged and held both hands up in a gesture of surrender. Broken, he mouthed.

  “How about we call a repairman?” I suggested.

  “I don’t need a repairman,” Jamie Sue snapped and then gave one knob a vicious twist. “There.”

  A loud hiss, followed by a dramatic shower of blue-silver sparks that rivaled the VFW’s annual Fourth of July spectacular, exploded from the back burner. Dottie and I jumped back as Ray, in a desire to preserve his eyebrows, ducked beneath the window.

  “Obviously not,” I deadpanned once the shower of sparks began to fizzle. “Clearly you’ve got the situation completely under control. Silly me.”

  “This isn’t San Francisco, Wanda Jo. I can’t just pull out my little old platinum credit card and pay a professional to handle this for me,” Jamie Sue ground out.

  “Well, then, what do you suggest?” I inquired, deciding to ignore the barb.

  Jamie Sue heaved a dramatic sigh and closed her eyes, massaging both temples with her right hand. Finally she opened her eyes and turned toward Dottie. “Just don’t use that one
. I’ll deal with it later.”

  Jamie Sue then shot me a scathing glance, ignored Ray completely, and huffed her way out of the kitchen.

  Dottie looked my way. “No ideas,” I replied to her questioning expression.

  She shot a doubtful look toward the range. “Okey-dokey.” She turned toward the warming oven.

  “You’ll have to hurry to catch up; they’ve got a pretty darned good head start on you.” She passed me an enormous platter filled to its rim with biscuits liberally covered with rich sausage gravy and an equally large portion of crisp home fries.

  My stomach growled audibly. While I wasn’t crazy about pintos, greens, or bacon fat, sausage gravy made with a splash of heavy cream hit the mark every time.

  Dottie giggled.

  My mouth began to water, and I thought backward, wondering just how long it had been since I’d last eaten. Goodness, three meals missed. How unbelievable. Especially since I’d just forgotten them completely. My body had never suffered such a malfunction before.

  “Are you sure you don’t have any suggestions?” Dottie asked, nibbling her lip as she nervously glanced toward the range.

  “Sorry. None at all. I’ve never cooked here. I suppose Jamie Sue must know what she’s talking about and will figure out how to fix it.”

  “Right, then,” Dottie agreed, but her expression clearly showed her doubts.

  I shrugged and headed through the swinging door to the dining room, still unsure of what I was going to say to Sam once I got him alone but very sure my first priority would be demolishing every last morsel of this fine breakfast.

  As I filled a mug with coffee, I took a discreet look around the mostly deserted dining room. Only two families were seated in booths, a far cry from the usually busy mid-Saturday. I wondered if the lack of business was behind Jamie Sue’s reluctance to hire a repairman.

  My gang was waiting in the center, seated around two tables pulled together. All were at various stages of progress with their own heaping breakfast platters.

  As I crossed to the table, Val gave a wave, and a small bottle waggled from her fingers. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” she called, voice cheery. “Aspirin?”

  I declined with a small headshake.