Okay, now I like this kid. You go, girl, tell him he needs to settle down with a nice moderately attractive school teacher, someone who knows how to be a good wife and mother.
Vic’s concern bounces from me to Hanna, as he grips her arms to still her quaking anger. “Hanna, Ellen is different.” he says, desperate to calm her down. “We knew each other as teenagers. We worked at the same camp in the Adirondacks.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth, when Hanna’s head snaps back and she stares intently into my face. The blood drains from her cheeks and she cries, “It’s her! That woman in the pictures! The ones you and mom argued about, I heard you fighting. You said she was dead. Dead……..you lied! She’s alive! Where have you been hiding her?” Hanna cries out, sobbing. “Mom begged you to get rid of those pictures; she said you could never love her until that other woman was gone.”
Oh my God...I cringe. The pictures in the loft. Was he nuts? The thought of his wife and daughter seeing me in a moment of teenage lust brings a flush of embarrassment to my face. I flop down on a hay bale and rest my head in my hands. This is not how I wanted to meet Vic’s daughter……crap.
“Hanna, listen to me.” Vic says, working to keep the panic out of his voice, knowing his daughter feels betrayed. “I thought Ellen was dead. Our parents deceived us. You must believe me. My father purchased a gravesite and engraved Ellen’s name on a headstone. Dates and everything. He took me there, showed me her grave. I was so young and stupid I believed him. Then he had a woman impersonate my aunt and call Ellen, telling her I died in a motorcycle accident.”
“I don’t believe you.” Hanna says, her voice choked with tears. “You said she was dead. You lied to us, Dad!” The look on her face cuts Vic to the quick; she turns on her heel and runs out of the barn, sobbing.
“Shit, that didn’t go well.” He sits and leans back against the stall, running both hands through his hair. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Deep breathe.” I suggest. “Vic, I’m so sorry. If I had been more careful, this wouldn’t have happened.” My voice filled with remorse. “I feel terrible. I would never hurt your daughter.”
He pulls me into a hug. “It’s no one’s fault. And on a scale of one to ten, your entrance into the barn was one of your best Klutz-Ellen’s. God, you should have seen your face, it was pretty damn funny, if I were in a laughing mood.” He blows out a long sigh.
“It’s not funny. I could have been killed.” I give him a playful punch on the arm. “You’d better go to her. I’ll slip up to our room and stay out of sight until the coast is clear. Go, go, I understand. I’ve raised two teenagers, I know how sensitive they are about……..everything.”
He pulls me into his arms for a slow lingering kiss, tracing the outline of my lips with his finger and growls, “I’ll deal with you later. Maybe even give you a little spanking as punishment for getting me in all this trouble.”
“Me! Punished! You got yourself into this mess, Mr. Casanova. If anyone deserves to be punished, it’s you. How dare you throw me out of a warm cozy bed, half naked into a hay pile, force me to crawl around in the dark and nearly fall to my death. Just wait and see what I have planned for you. I’m thinking of something with whips and leather.” I point to the riding crop hanging on the wall with a wicked leer on my face.
He raises his eyebrows. “Ummm, I think we have a date.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” I call out scornfully to his retreating back.
“Buttercup, you should be.”
…
“Good God, you look like something the cat dragged in off the street.” Bridget exclaims, as I tip-toe through the kitchen door, hoping to advert any further disasters. Drat.
“Are you hurt?”she asks.
“I think I twisted my back a little. Nothing a hot bath and a muscle rub won’t cure. Oh, Bridget, I’ve gone and done it this time.” I plop down on a kitchen stool with a wince. “Hanna is so upset, heaven knows, I can’t blame her. Her father’s latest lover tumbling down at her feet, screaming, half dressed and covered with straw.”
“Ohhh, I heard all about it.” Bridget mouth twitches and she dissolves into laughter. “You flying down that hay chute with your knickers half off, landing at her feet. I can just imagine the look on Hanna’s face. Priceless!” Laughing she sits down on a stool next to me, mopping the tears from her face with a handkerchief. “Oh, Lord have mercy on my soul, I can see it now. Mr. Vic standing there his mouth hanging open caught between the two of you.” Oh, she is enjoying this way too much.
“Wait until Miss Sophia hears about this one. The proverbial shit will hit the fan. She was not in love with those pictures hanging in the gallery. Mr. Vic said they were art, she said they were pornography.”
I groan. “I’m worried about Hanna.”
“Don’t be.”
“Bridget! How can you say that? She’s very upset.” I look at her incredulously.
“Hanna’s parents are actors;; she is well versed in the fine art of melodrama. She has been practicing for this role since she was two years old. Luckily, her parents recognize the symptoms and treat her accordingly.” Bridget says dryly. “Trust me, Hanna will live, that child is a survivor.”
“If you say so,” I rise from the stool holding my sore back. “I think it’s best if I make myself scarce. A hot bath and a cup of tea is all the medicine I need right now.”
“Run along and pour your bath.” Bridget says. “I’ll bring the tea up to you in a minute.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you.” I ask, leaning against the door jam.
“Go, I’ll bring up the tea.” Bridget makes shooing motions with her hands, erupting into peals of laughter. …
It’s almost seven o’clock when I come down for dinner. Pausing at the doorway, I chew on my lower lip working up enough nerve to go in and face Hanna. Hey, it’s no big deal, I tell myself. She’s a fourteen year old kid, not like I’m going to face Attila the Hun. Think positive, what’s the worst she could do to me...poison,
switchblades, hand grenades….
When I reach the door to the outside veranda, I stop and listen. Very still. Has Vic miraculously managed to deflate Hanna’s raging anger? Entering the dining room, she’s seated in quiet conversation with her father.
“Elle, come join us.” Vic says, rising from the table, pulling me into his arms for a quick kiss. I cast a glance at Hanna, prepared to duck the poison dart aimed at my heart. Nothing, just a withering glance of dismissal cast in my direction. Vic continues, “You seemed to have recovered from your fall. How are you feeling?”
“Ummmm……. Amazing! A hot bath, a cup of Bridget’s Irish tea and a little nap, I feel like a new woman.” I say, slipping into the chair he’s pulled out for me, checking the seat for protruding nails….. live grenades…...spiny sea urchins. When assured my life’s not in jeopardy, I extend my hand to Hanna. “Hanna, I’m Ellen O’Connor, I hope you will forgive the
circumstances of our earlier meeting.” I continue, “I don’t make it a habit of introducing myself to people half dressed with underwear hanging out my pocket.”
Vic snorts with laughter, my eyes shoot daggers at him. You’re not helping!
Hanna views my extended hand with suspicion but good manners and breeding force her to accept the gesture of apology. “Yeah, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” What her voice lacks in enthusiasm is further covered by a cloak of teenage disdain she wears like a mantle. She adds under her breath, “I guess.”
Vic takes my hand and turns it over, tracing the line of scar running from my wrist to index finger, encircling my hand in his, our eyes meet across the table. He leans in and kisses me lightly on the lips. Reaching across the table to caress Hanna’s arm, he entreats, “Elle is important to me, Hanna, I’m hoping you can be open minded about our relationship.”
“Eewww, enough already, Dad.” She rolls her eyes. “Seriously, if she makes you happy and you stop screwing the rest of the
world, I’m all for it, but enough of the romancy stuff.” Hanna grumbles slouching in her chair. “If you two can suck face at the table, then I can text.” She casts a disparaging look in our direction and picks up her phone. “When I get as old and lame as you, just shoot me.”
Vic leans his forehead against mine and moans, “God help me.” And I can’t help but think; he’s going to need it…
Chapter 35 Giddyap Cowgirl Strains of rock music rouse me from slumber. “What the hell?” I mumble into the pillow, peering through the mass of hair falling over my eyes. And realize I’m naked, I never sleep naked. What happened to pajamas, I always wear pajamas? At least the old Ellen did…….this new amorous Ellen….maybe not…I sigh….too much wine and too much…..oh, yes…..
For a moment I lie still. My head is pounding with rhythmic pain, like some sort of massive jack-hammer drilling music with deep bass notes into it, and I realize it’s not my head, but the music pouring through the house.…………Is that Inagoda divida , blaring from God knows where? I’m transported back to the 70’s. I’ve died and gone to Rock and Roll hell as War, what is it good for, absolutely nothing, thumps through the walls. Wiggling off my stomach onto my back like a beached turtle, I see a vision standing in the doorway. Okay, maybe hell just turned into heaven.
“Hey, sleepyhead, time to get up . The day is wasting away.” He shoves a mug of steaming coffee in my face. “I’ve got big plans for us today, mia, mia.”
Please tell me he is not talking about the two of us jogging together…..I’m not sure I can walk, let alone run. It’s not that I’m against exercise; I just like a point to it. I enjoy a game of tennis, a hike to the top of a mountain, kayaking to a picnic on some far off shore, biking for breakfast. I realize exercise usually results in food, like a carrot held out to a donkey. And I don’t understand this running for fun stuff. The only way I’d run…is if I had a serial killer chasing me with a sharp axe. Running clothes aren’t even cute…..too tight and too much thigh.
Struggling into a sitting position, I gratefully accept the mug, take a sip, and snuggle back into the pillows with a contented sigh, blowing him a kiss of gratitude. He flops down next to me, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. “Great view, huh?” He asks, pointing at the windows framing the forest below. Outside a stream meanders through the woodland understory, beams of sunshine break through the tree branches on a path bordered with wildflowers.
“ This house is magical, Vic.” I nestle deeper into the feather down comforter. “Except for that awful music, it’s perfect. I’d never leave.”
“The music is my morning wake up mojo, gets me charged for the day.” Really, what happened to quiet morning meditation, no sweating, cuddling up against him in the lotus position……worked for me. He is a complex man. Stealing a peek at him over the rim of my cup, I admit, complex or not, he is really cute. Day old beard stubble, hair tossed back in casual disarray, T-shirt under an open flannel shirt, artfully worn jeans; he looks as if he stepped out of a high-end outdoor catalog.
“Speaking of leaving,” he drains his cup, setting it down on the nightstand. “Hank is waiting down at the barn, he saddled a couple of horses and Bridget packed a picnic for us. Come on, girl, vamonos! Get your cute little ass out of bed.”
“What time is it?” I ask, stifling a yawn, still not comprehending the get out of bed, horses, outdoors, picnic stuff.
“Six -thirty.”
“Oh, good God, I forgot you’re a morning person.” I crawl back under the covers. “This relationship is doomed. You can’t keep me up all night and then wake me at the crack of dawn.”
“Sure I can, watch.” With a laugh, he yanks the comforter off my naked body, and playfully slaps my butt. “Bridget packed Twinkies for you.”
Twinkies…………okay, now that’s more like it, food and the promise of him.…I’m up. …
While Bridget is perpetual energy in motion, her husband, Hank is like a quiet, slow moving stream, more comfortable with animals than people. The stable area of the ranch is his domain. He prefers spending time in the barn, and working a small herd of cattle. He is tall, sparse and lean, steel gray hair cut short with piercing blue eyes,
and his skin is the color of worn leather.
“Morning, Ms. Ellen,” Hank greets me respectfully,
touching the rim of his hat. “I picked out a nice quiet
mare for you. Vic said you had a couple of bad falls,
making you a little skittish around horses.”
Skittish is an understatement. We had horses for years
while the kids were growing up. Jack and the kids were
natural born riders. I, on the other hand, not so much. I
always loved the grace and beauty of horses, but they
didn’t love me back. I tried riding with the kids, but the
minute I put my foot in a stirrup, the horse knew they
had a sucker on their back, and the bucking, jumping, and
running away games began. After a few falls, I hung up
my spurs, until today. Maybe I should have taken up
running, less distance between me and the ground. “Thanks, Hank,” Taking a deep gulp, I approach the
horse, petting its soft muzzle, introducing myself.
“What’s her name?”
“Why, we just call her, Pretty Girl, because she is so
dainty and pretty.” Hank says with a chuckle, looping the
reins over the horse’s neck. “Do you need a leg up?” “No, thanks, I’m good. Well, here we go, Pretty Girl.
Just take it easy with me.” I pat her neck, putting my foot
in the stirrup, and swing my leg over the horse’s back.
Settling my butt in the saddle…… Ouch……… just came
up with another plus for running. Squirming, I get the
lady parts situated;; I’m going to have to pace myself. I
think I’ve had more sex in the past few days than the last
three years of my marriage. And Jack was a horn dog.
Ouch……wiggling a little bit more, finally, everything
settles in place.
“Are you okay up there, Ms. Ellen?” Hank looks at
me, a pained expression on his face. “You’re jiggling
around up there like there’s a burdock on your butt. Can
I fix something for you? Shorten the stirrups?……his
voice trails off.
“No, no, this is fine.” I answer brightly, reaching for
the reins in Hank’s hand. Straightening, I see Vic lead a
massive black horse out of the barn. Holy Man O’War.
Look at that brute. Pretty Girl and I instinctively shy
away.
“You look like a natural up there,” Vic says,
mounting the sleek black stallion. “Diablo will help keep
her in line. Won’t you, boy?” I bet he will. I mutter to
myself, giving Pretty Girl a sympathetic pat on her neck. “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?” Vic
reins in Diablo next to Pretty Girl, his eyes inquiring.
“Absolutely!” I say with false bravado. Liar, liar, pants on
fire……again. I’m going to need an audience with the
Pope to confess all the sins I’ve committed this weekend. …
Chaparral and wild oats blanket the foothills as the
horses trot leisurely toward the cathedral-like groves of
conifers growing up the mountain slope. A few deciduous
trees are turning red and gold bringing in the first colors
of autumn. Sparkling drops of dew cling to the leaves,
glittering like jewels. The sun on our back chases away
the early morning chill. The air is crisp, clean and
refreshing. Relaxing, I enjoy the rhythm of the horse
moving beneath me, the creak of saddle leather, and the
muffled sound of hoof beats on the
trail. Turning from
the foothills, the path climbs deeper into the mountains
coming out in a small clearing with a slow moving stream
veiled in a canopy of cottonwood trees and willow
bushes.
Vic reins his horse to a stop near the rushing stream.
“I thought we’d stop here. This is one of my favorite
places on the ranch.”
“Perfect.” Sighing, I settle back in my saddle,
appreciating the view of pine covered foothills and
mountain meadows. Smiling at Vic from my perch atop
the horse, I admit, “I enjoyed the ride. I think Pretty Girl
and I are going to be great friends. Look, I’m still on her
back.” I flick my hand at a stray fly buzzing the horse’s
ear.
Vic dismounts and comes to stand at the left side of
my saddle, “Here, let me help you down.” Placing my
hands on his shoulders, my body scrapes against the
rough material of his jacket in a slow abrasive slide down
his torso, a wave of sensation shoots through me as he
pulls me astride his steel-muscled thigh in an erotic glide,
oh giddyap……..my fingers dig into the muscles of his arm.
His lips come down feasting hungrily on mine and before I know it, he slips his hand between our bodies, flipping open the buttons on my shirt, and slowly unzips my jeans. I protest only when he breaks our kiss, and steps
back. Holy cow or holy horse.
“Where are you going?” I whisper, grabbing his
forearms.
“Nowhere without you.” He loops his finger into the
strap of my tank top, gliding it down my shoulder. Pulling
me closer, he trails kisses down my neck to the sheer silk
of the shirt, stabbing at the pink crests with his tongue. I
close my eyes; and a sigh escapes my parted lips. Oh, he is
so….good, even if I don’t want it……..I want it! With infinite
care he undresses me, kissing every inch of my body,
drawing soft, pleasured sounds from my throat. He pulls
the boots and socks from my feet, lowering jeans and lacy
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