Secrets Rising

by Sally Berneathy

  She groped for the buttons of his shirt. "No, I just want to be together with you. I need to touch all of you. I need to do the same things to you that you're doing to me so we're at the same place together."

  He yanked his shirt over his head, and Rebecca heard several buttons ping on the wooden floor. Before she could reach for the hairs on his chest that she'd longed to explore since that first night he'd answered his door without a shirt, he unzipped his jeans and pulled them off. His skimpy black briefs barely contained his bulging erection.

  She unbuckled her own belt and let it drop to the floor, then reached behind her to unfasten her skirt, but this time he stopped her.

  Kneeling, he lifted the skirt and slid her bikini panties down her legs, tracing their path with kisses, then raised each foot in turn and slipped the underwear off. Finally he plunged his hand beneath her skirt and slid one finger inside her while his mouth again sought her nipple. Frenzied, tortured pleasure swept over her, pulsing in an elemental rhythm that matched the rain pelting the roof and the window.

  With trembling hands, she reached for him, wrapping her fingers around the bulge in his shorts, needing to take him to the same place he was taking her.

  He groaned and pulled away from her and for a moment she tensed. This couldn't be one-sided. They had to be together. He couldn't be detached.

  "I'm ready to explode, and I don't want it to be in your hand." He slid off his briefs, freeing his erection to rise against his taut stomach. "Pull off your skirt," he growled. "I want to see the body I've been dreaming about every night that leaves me with an erection every morning."

  The knowledge that he had been dreaming of her, wanting her as she wanted him, further inflamed her, made her feel special, that he wanted her, not just sex but sex with her. She unfastened her skirt and let it pool on the floor at the same moment as a bright flash of lightning lit the room. His naked, aroused body was magnificent, and she ached to have him inside her, a part of her.

  He ran his fingers gently over her breasts, the hollow of her waist, along her hips. "You're beautiful," he said, "just like in every dream I've had about you."

  He cupped her bottom and pulled her against him, his hardness against her stomach, her breasts against his chest. His lips claimed hers, his tongue darting inside her mouth to tangle with hers, pushing in then out, a rehearsal of the ultimate penetration. She clutched him to her, her hands on the bare skin of his back, her body arching against his, her desire a shrieking hurricane.

  When she thought she could bear it no longer, he stooped to retrieve his shirt from the floor and threw it over the edge of the table. "I don't want you getting splinters in that gorgeous bottom." He bent again to take a foil square from the pocket of his jeans.

  He was a gentleman, considerate of her needs. For this one moment, this one act, she was important to him, special. However many women Jake might have had or would have in the future, right now she was the one he wanted.

  She leaned back, and he sheathed himself inside her with one deep lunge, filling her, making her aware of every inch of her that he touched.

  "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I meant to go slow, but I can't. You've got me completely out of control."

  "Don't apologize. Don't stop!" Her muscles clenched around him involuntarily, urging him to continue.

  His hands cupped her bottom again, cushioning her against the table and pulling her closer as he thrust in and out, each stroke bringing her higher and higher, whirling in a tornado of increasing sensations. The storm outside had reached a peak, the lightning flashing almost continuously, creating a strobe-like effect that made his movements appear jerky, an illusion that contrasted sharply with and heightened the smooth silkiness of Jake moving inside her.

  She clutched his arms and met his thrusts, until the world exploded in a white-hot burst of flame and roaring thunder, and she wasn't sure if the storm outside had risen along with their fury or if it all came from inside.

  As Jake held her, his head drooped on her shoulder, his rapid breath on her neck gradually slowing, Rebecca became aware of her uncomfortable position against the table.

  "I need to move," she whispered, straining against him.

  Jake stepped back and pulled her upright. "I'm sorry."

  She tensed as he said the same thing he'd said after their first kiss, the words that had negated the entire act. Logically, she knew he wasn't apologizing for their lovemaking, just for her discomfort.

  She knew that logically, but his repetition of the apology brought her down from the high she'd been on, back to the small, dim shack with the rain pelting outside and Jake stooping to pick his clothes up from the floor.

  Lightning from a distance brightened the room briefly and weakly. The storm had spent its fury leaving only the rain behind.

  Jake straightened, holding a pile of their mingled clothing. "They're a mess from the rain and the dirty floor. I guess the good news is, we'll get washed off when we run back to the car in this downpour."

  His voice was impersonal, as though talking about laundry rather than clothing discarded in the haste of lovemaking. The connection between them—tenuous at best—now seemed weaker than before.

  Suddenly aware of her state of nakedness in front of this lover who'd reverted to being a stranger, Rebecca disentangled her underwear from the pile and began to dress, keeping her gaze lowered.

  Making love with Jake had been the most incredible experience of her life, but now that it was over, now that her body was satisfied and her adrenaline ebbing, embarrassment and emptiness crept over her. Had she really behaved so wantonly with him, let herself go so completely...lost every shred of control?

  For those extraordinary moments, she'd felt connected. Now that it was over, he seemed more remote than ever which shouldn't bother her, but it did. She'd told herself she only wanted that temporary physical connection, would be satisfied with that much.

  Apparently she'd lied to herself.

  Post coitum omne animal triste.

  After sex, every animal is sad.

  Was that all it was, the normal backlash after reaching such a peak?

  Or was it that she was faced once more with her aloneness, the knowledge that even the ultimate act of joining with another still left her alone?

  They finished dressing, and Jake opened the door then turned to her. He lifted one hand and cupped her cheek. His eyes, dark like the storm clouds outside, flicked over her face as if searching for answers in her chin, her lips, her forehead, avoiding her eyes. He turned away from her. "You deserve better than this." He waved a hand toward the dim interior. "Sex in a gardening shed. I should have been able to restrain myself until we could at least get back to the motel and have a bed."

  Sex. He couldn't even refer to it as making love.

  She shrugged and refrained from reminding him that she had been the one who'd insisted they go into the shack. "This place beats that crummy motel room, hands down," she said flippantly.

  He smiled and finally met her gaze. "You could be right. Are you ready to head back to that crummy motel room?"

  She nodded, and they dashed through the rain to the car. She was glad he hadn't suggested waiting until it let up. The shack had become confining and claustrophobic. She had to get away as quickly as possible, even if it meant going back to the dreary motel.

  She had to get away from the memory of that brief, glorious touching that only resulted in more distance.

  Jake drove in silence back to the motel.

  He'd completely lost his mind, making love to Rebecca in that hovel. She deserved a five hundred dollar a night room with a king size bed and a Jacuzzi. She deserved a man who had something to give instead of one who could only take.

  She deserved someone who, having taken once, at least had enough control, enough decency to be satisfied and not to be aching to hold her again, love her again, to wrap her in his arms and his body and keep her until everything was finally finished, however long or short that might be.r />
  And therein lay the problem. Rebecca hadn't yet accepted that forever had no real meaning in human relationships, that everything had an end, that a moment of touching another was the best anybody could hope for. She was bound to learn it sooner or later. But he didn't want to be the one to teach her.

  He stole a glance at her as she sat beside him in the car. She stared straight ahead, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks and shoulders without altering in the slightest her look of pride and vulnerability.

  Making love to her had been a major mistake. Instead of quenching the fire, it had only fanned the flames. Now he knew what her lips felt like beneath his. He knew the firmness and satiny texture of her breasts so temptingly outlined by her wet dress. And he knew the silky heat between her thighs, knew how it could steal his common sense and take him to heights he'd never before imagined.

  Rebecca wasn't going back to Dallas, and he wasn't sure how he was going to keep his hands off her. Especially now.

  He parked in front of the motel.

  "I'll go in and call Mrs. Griffin. See what I can find out," he said and waited tensely for her response, for the possibility that she'd insist on coming to his room to hear the conversation.

  He wanted her with him, alone in his room, in his bed, wanted her more than he'd known it was possible to want a woman. And wanted just as badly for her to stay out of his room, to remove the temptation he had no will power to resist, the void in her soul that he couldn't fill. That nobody could in the long run.

  She nodded without looking at him, opened her car door and got out into the rain that had slowed to a drizzle.

  He slid out and followed her up to her door. "I'll call you after I talk to her."

  She nodded again. "I'd appreciate that." She opened her door and went inside.

  When Jake entered his room, he noticed the red message light on his phone blinking. He hesitated, torn between wanting to get out of his wet clothes and take a shower or find out who might have called, what he and Rebecca might have flushed out with their investigations.

  Curiosity won. He peeled off his shirt, picked up the phone and dialed the office.

  A woman answered.

  "Jake Thornton. Do I have a message?"

  "Oh, Mr. Thornton. Yeah, Wilbur wants to talk to you. Hang on a minute."

  The line was silent for a moment, then the voice of an elderly man came on. "Wilbur Caswell. We got a problem here, Mr. Thornton. We got people coming in tomorrow that have your room and Ms. Patterson's reserved."

  "You do? Okay, we'll move to other rooms."

  Wilbur cleared his throat nervously. "Well, that's the problem, you see. All the other rooms are booked, too."

  "All the other rooms? You're not even half full." The man was obviously lying.

  "We will be tomorrow. Every room. Not a single one open."

  "When I made my reservations for an indefinite time, your clerk said there wouldn't be a problem."

  "She was wrong. You have to leave tomorrow morning."

  "I see. Okay, tomorrow's Friday, and you're booked for the weekend. How about Monday?"

  A long silence followed as if Wilbur hadn't been prepared for that question. "No," he finally said, "I'm all booked up for the next month."

  Jake hung up the phone and stared at it. He'd flushed out something all right. Flushed Rebecca and him right out of their rooms. At least she wouldn't have to be concerned with this ratty place anymore. They might be sleeping in the streets, but they wouldn't be coming back here.

  A rapid knocking sounded at the door.

  What now?

  He opened the door to see Rebecca huddled there, her eyes wide with fear and sadness though she was making an obvious effort not to let him see it.

  She pushed her damp hair off her face and he saw that her hand was trembling.

  Only by clenching his fists was he able to stop himself from reaching for her, from pulling her into his arms and trying to right whatever was wrong.

  "Did you talk to the front desk, too?" he asked.

  "Front desk?" She shook her head. "No." She swallowed hard. "I was going to take a shower but there's a snake in my tub."

  He did reach for her then, but she pulled back, turned and headed toward her room.

  He followed.

  The snake, a nonpoisonous garden variety, writhed in her tub, trying unsuccessfully to scale the slick porcelain sides.

  She stood outside the bathroom, hugging herself and watching him with that defenseless expression. "Jake, what's going on?"

  "Be damned if I know, but you haven't heard the latest. I just talked to the office, and we've lost our rooms."

  "What?"

  "They claim they're all booked up for a month starting tomorrow. Somebody wants us out of town real bad." He looked back to the snake, black and menacing against the white porcelain, but essentially harmless. "We're getting into overkill here. With the manager kicking us out, we don't have any choice except to leave. So why the snake? What purpose does it serve if we're already on our way out the door?"

  "To frighten me. To make us stop looking for my mother. To make us leave town for good, not just find another motel and commute."

  "Maybe. But it almost seems like we're battling more than one person.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I'm not sure. It just seems to me that we're dealing with two different approaches here. One is powerful and intimidating, sending the mayor to talk to us, the Chief of Police to break my headlight, influencing the motel owner to kick us out. The other is quieter, makes a late night phone call, writes a note, steals a dress and leaves a harmless snake. They're both trying to run us out of town, but the methods are worlds apart."

  Rebecca gave a short, brave bark of a laugh and rubbed her arms. "So what are you saying? You think my mother and my father are working separately to get rid of me? How can they hate me so much when they don't even know me?"

  He could feel the sadness emanating from her, and he wanted to reassure her. But he'd be lying. He'd tried to warn her from the beginning that things could turn out this way. Eventually she'd have to face reality. She could postpone it but not avoid it. Her mother, her father, the family of one of her parents...those were the only logical people who could be doing these things.

  Still he couldn't bring himself to tell her she was very possibly right on target.

  "We have insufficient evidence to form any conclusions." Straight out of Criminology 101.

  "Then let's get busy finding that evidence. Did you call Mrs. Griffin yet?"

  She was tough. He had to give her that. A spine of tempered steel that kept her going in spite of the broken spirit that showed in her eyes.

  Chapter 15

  November 5, 1979, Cottonwood Bend, Texas

  Mary dried the last skillet from breakfast and put it in the cupboard.

  "It's a perfect morning," Paula said, looking out the window as the dish water gurgled down the drain. "What do you say we grab a second cup of coffee and go sit on the porch a while?"

  "Sounds good to me." Mary shook out the dish towel and hung it on the rack to dry then reached down to Paula's eight-month old baby playing contentedly on the vinyl floor. "If you get the coffee, I'll get the little trouble maker here." The infant cooed and clapped her tiny hands as Mary lifted her. "Oh, you love your Aunt Mary, don't you, sweet thing?"

  "That she does." Paula poured two cups of coffee, added cream and sugar, and led the way through her house to the front porch.

  The green metal of the lawn chair was a little cold as Mary sat down, but it felt good after the stuffy warmth of the kitchen. She settled in beside her friend and arranged the baby, Cindy, in her lap.

  It was, indeed, a perfect morning. A cloudless blue sky rode high overhead with a bright yellow sun that gave off warmth but lacked the scorching heat of summer. Several trees were vibrant with the red and gold leaves of fall while others, like the live oaks and magnolias, would wear their shiny green all winter.

  A
dirt road led away from the house and down to the main road five miles away. The place was secluded. Safe. So why couldn't she stop worrying?

  "This is my favorite time of the year," Paula said, handing Mary a coffee. "The garden's in, the canning's done, all those jars lined up in the cellar to keep us fed this winter, but it's still warm enough to get outside."

  "It's beautiful," Mary agreed.

  "In a few years, Nick and I will have a small herd of cattle out here that will, we hope, grow into a big herd. That's what he's always wanted to do. Have a big herd of cattle and a small herd of kids."

  Mary gave the obligatory laugh though her heart ached at her friend's words. Just so confidently had she and Ben once planned their future. Now Ben had no future, and hers looked bleak except for one bright spot, the child growing quietly beneath her heart, giving her the courage to go on.

  "Thank goodness Nick didn't want it the other way around," Mary said. "I think you've already got your hands full with this one." Cindy squirmed to get down, and Mary reluctantly let her slide to the porch where she held onto one finger with both hands and balanced on chubby legs. "You're soon going to be walking and then your mommy won't be able to stop you from getting into absolutely everything!"

  Cindy gurgled happily in response, showing two teeth on top and two on the bottom.

  "You're spoiling her rotten."

  "That's okay. Isn't it, sweetie pie? That's what aunties are for." She ruffled the baby's soft blond curls, eliciting more gurgling, a couple of foot stomps and some jabbering.

  "You also fret over her. A lot. More than I do. It's like you're scared to let her out of your sight."

  Mary tensed and looked at Paula to see if she was being censured, but her friend's face held only concern.