The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  She went still. A warm flush darkened her cheeks, while at the same time she defiantly answered, “No.”

  Johnny leaned closer, drinking in the scent of her. “I think you’re lying. I think that’s why you came looking for me.”

  “The afternoon sun has cooked your brain,” she insisted, squirming beneath him and pushing gently on his chest. “Let me up.”

  Johnny shook his head, liking her hands on him. “How about we strike a bargain?”

  “No.” She shoved a little harder.

  “Ouch!” Johnny rolled off her onto his side and clutched his ribs, while Nicole scrambled to her feet. “It serves you right. I— Oh, God!” She dropped to her knees beside him. “I didn’t mean to— I’m sorry, all right?”

  “So she says after she drives my busted ribs into my lungs.”

  “Busted? They’re busted?”

  He heard her suck in her breath, and opened his eyes to see her looking worried and afraid. “Hey, I was just kidding.”

  “No, you weren’t. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”

  Johnny sat up slowly. “They’re mending fine. You like to fish?”

  She wrinkled up her nose. “Not really.”

  “Boat rides?”

  “Sometimes,” she said cautiously.

  Johnny glanced up at the blue sky overhead. “Great day for a boat ride.”

  “Are you asking me to take a boat ride with you, Johnny Bernard?”

  She cocked her head to one side. Johnny relaxed, enjoying her smile and her shapely curves accented in her well-fitting cutoffs. “Yes, mama, I guess I am,” he drawled. “I’ll show you a side of Belle that’s rarely seen. Cypress trunks eight feet across.”

  “There isn’t such a thing,” she challenged.

  Johnny stood and headed down the hillside to the bayou. “If I’m lying,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll work the next week for no pay.”

  By the time he reached the boat, Nicole was trailing him. Grinning to himself, Johnny helped her into the boat, warning her to watch her step, then climbed in after her. Knees bent, his balance cemented in the boat, he deftly maneuvered them away from the grassy bank with the long push-pole, then traded the pole for a paddle and sat down.

  In the blink of an eye, the shoreline vanished, as Johnny sent them deeper into the swamp where the sun wasn’t able to follow. Giant cypress—their massive, twisted trunks submerged in the brackish water—closed in around them, crowding the narrow channel, some stretching eight feet across at the base, just like he’d said.

  An hour passed. The scenery turned wilder, more remote. He pointed to an alligator gliding along the muddy bank. “Be a good girl, cherie, and keep your hands in the boat.”

  She did as she was told, inching her tiny backside into the middle of the boat.

  They skimmed over a carpet of water lilies so thick it could easily have been mistaken for solid land. “What did you do in L.A.?” Johnny asked, maneuvering them around a cypress knee.

  “Does it matter?”

  He slanted her a curious glance, detecting a note of challenge in her tone. “Virgil couldn’t remember what kind of work you were doing there.”

  “Virgil?”

  “Yeah, I asked him what he knew about you that first day after our phone conversation. I wanted to find out about the woman who was bent on firing me without even laying eyes on me.”

  “I didn’t need to see you to know you were trouble,” she told him.

  “Still think so?”

  “Yes.” She paused, then softly said, “No.”

  “So who’s Nik Kelly?”

  She’d been enjoying the scenery. Suddenly, she stopped and looked his way. “Are we playing twenty questions?”

  “Something like that.” Johnny grinned. “So, who’s Old Nik? The guy sure has made an impression on somebody around here. There’re paintings everywhere by him. One in every room. Mae even insisted I hang one at the boathouse.”

  “She did, did she? Do you like the painting?”

  Johnny liked the painting very much, but if the artist turned out to be a close friend of Nicole’s, he wasn’t so sure he’d like it for much longer. He said, “It’s all right.”

  “Just all right? Then you’re not interested in art?”

  “I don’t know much about it,” Johnny admitted.

  “Most people don’t. But it’s not the knowing that’s important. It’s whether you like what you see or not. Or maybe it’s not even about that. If it makes you give it a second look, makes you stop and think for just a second, then it worked.” She ran a hand quickly through her hair, sending it away from her face, only to have her long bangs fall back into her eyes. “Actually, Old Nik lives right here in Common. Would you like me to introduce you sometime?”

  That the guy lived in Common surprised Johnny. Still, he shook his head. “No, thanks. I don’t think we’d have much to talk about.”

  “That’s too bad. I think she’d enjoy showing off her collection of paintings to you.”

  Johnny’s brows knit quizzically. “She?”

  Suddenly Nicole extended her hand the small distance that separated them in the boat. “Johnny Bernard, meet Old Nik. The paintings are mine.”

  She had completely taken him by surprise. “You’re the artist?”

  Enjoying the trick she’d played on him, an impish smile parted her irresistible lips. Then, like a naughty child, she giggled with delight. It was the prettiest sound Johnny had ever heard. “I really had you going,” she boasted proudly. “You should see your face.”

  Johnny shook his head, finally giving up a grin. “Why Kelly?”

  “That was my mother’s name. Alice Kelly. Everyone called my father Nik instead of Nicholas. I just put the two together,” she explained.

  Johnny glanced at the wilderness surrounding them, the gnarled trees, all the shades of color that made up the landscape. “It takes a special talent to make all this come alive with a brush and a bunch of wet, slippery paint.”

  She considered what he’d said. “I never thought of it quite that way, but I suppose it does.”

  He looked back at her. “I’m impressed.”

  “I’m flattered that you are,” she admitted. “I’ve been selling in a gallery in L.A. for about four years. And it looks like I might be doing the same in a gallery in New Orleans if things work out. I’ve considered turning the attic into a studio. Actually, it was Gran’s idea.”

  She stopped herself from going on. Johnny noted that the animation had drained from her face and that she now looked a little ill at ease. “Fixing the space so it works for you would be no problem. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

  She allowed a small smile. “That’s nice of you to offer. Maybe I’ll take you up on it a little later. After the more important things at Oakhaven get done. I told Gran I was taking the summer off, so there’s no rush.” She batted away an irksome fly. “My parents never liked the idea of my being an artist,” she confessed. “They said no one would pay me to paint pretty pictures, and I should go to law school so I could become a partner in my father’s law firm.”

  “Did they eventually understand?”

  “Not really. I always wanted their approval, for them to see me as a success. I guess all kids do. Now, hopefully a little wiser, I think what matters most is how you see yourself. If I had children I would…I’d try to teach them that. Try to let them be whoever they need to be, not what I need them to be.”

  “Sounds like your kids are going to be lucky having you for a mom.” His comment made her look off into the bayou, her face as solemn as Johnny had ever seen it. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

  “No, you didn’t. I haven’t been around kids much. And I never had a lot of friends.” She looked back at him. “You were an only child, too, right?”

  “Yeah. And you already know my status with friends.”

  Aware that her mood had darkened, Johnny was curious why, but he didn’t think aski
ng would be wise. This was the most Nicole had talked to him since they’d met, and he wasn’t ready to squelch it by getting nosey. She had a right to her past, just like he did. Though he couldn’t deny that he was eager to know how Chad fit in—and why, when nighttime came, she got as restless as a cat.

  “I’m boring you,” she said suddenly. “This all must sound ridiculous to you. First I tell you I’m an artist, then I start getting philosophical. I must sound like a complete idiot.” She looked away, embarrassed.

  “No, don’t do that,” Johnny drawled, reaching out to turn her face back to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, cherie. Not with me. Never with me.”

  The words hung between them. They stared at each other while a chorus of crickets trilled. Then an alligator’s low growl echoed through the channel, sending several birds into flight.

  “I don’t usually talk so much,” she said, still looking embarrassed. “How about if you talk for a while.”

  Johnny dropped his hand from her cheek. “I’ve never been much of a talker, either,” he admitted.

  “Well, since I told you something about me, I think it’s only fair you share something with me. One of your secrets.”

  “Secrets? I don’t have any secrets,” he told her. “I’m an open book.”

  She laughed richly. “Liar. A secret,” she insisted. Then with more care and in a sultry, quiet voice. “One no one else knows.”

  The intimate request fell into the silence. It was followed by the two of them sharing another long look.

  Finally, Johnny said, “Something no one else knows, hmm…” He scratched his chin. “How about I show you, instead?”

  “I knew it!” Her eyes lit up like those of an anxious child. “You have buried treasure in the swamp?” she speculated. “You buried it long ago and now you’ve come back to dig it up.”

  Moments ago they had shared a special heat-filled look; now they were sharing laughter. Johnny couldn’t remember when he had really laughed with a woman, when he had felt this damn good.

  It would take twenty minutes to travel to the secret Johnny had decided to share with Nicole. Once their laughter died out, he reminded her again to keep her hands in the boat, then steered them into another hidden channel and headed north. North into the black bog.

  Deeper…deeper still, they slipped through a watery maze so remote and overgrown, it was like stepping back in time to a place no human had ever traveled. Only, there were a few who had braved the bog. Once, Johnny had tried to outrun the sheriff by way of the bog, only to be caught and arrested for vandalizing the Saint and Savior Baptist Church. He hadn’t been responsible for the broken windows, but he had paid for them nonetheless.

  The boat cut soundlessly through the water while egrets and cranes watched from their nests—as did the white ibises, and the shy night herons. An abundance of bofin, spotted gar, crayfish and bullfrogs went about their business in the unseen depths beneath.

  Nicole’s artist’s eye absorbed everything as Johnny pointed, naming various animals one by one—a sleeping barred owl overhead, a red-eyed slider that had come alongside the boat, a tree lizard as red as a brilliant sunset. She seemed genuinely fascinated, and soon began asking questions—questions Johnny liked knowing the answers to. He liked the way she seemed openly impressed with what he knew, and it served to prompt more conversation between them.

  He saw the king snake hanging in a tree long before Nicole did. It wasn’t poisonous, but he pointed it out, anyway. “Harmless,” he assured, maneuvering the boat away from it to ease Nicole’s mind.

  She nodded, then offered him that impish smile he was fast growing fond of. “Harmless? Like you?”

  “Yeah, just like me.” He grinned, steering the boat toward a narrow strip of land. He stood, then leaped onto a spongy green carpet, watching Nicole’s eyes grow wide as the ground beneath him moved. It sank away slowly, bobbed, then stabilized somewhat.

  “Johnny! That’s not land!” she warned. “Hurry, get back in the boat!”

  Her concern was touching. He said, “Easy, cherie. It’s fen. Moving land.” He held out his hand. “Come on.”

  “Are you crazy? I’ve heard stories about people thinking they were safe out here, then they disappear and never come back. Get back in the boat!”

  “Out here you don’t listen to the stories, cherie. You listen to me,” he told her, holding out his hand. “Always.”

  She raised her stubborn chin. “Forget it. I’m not leaving this boat.”

  “Come on, Nik Kelly. Trust me.”

  “Johnny, please. I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.” He stretched his hand out to her. “Come on, you won’t be sorry. Trust me…just this once. Then the next time will be easier.”

  She chewed on her lip, glanced around. “If I come, will you—”

  “I promise.”

  “You don’t know what you just promised.”

  Johnny shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you want, I still promise.”

  She stood slowly, grabbed his hand and hung on tight. “Oh, God! I must be crazy.”

  Then she did as he’d asked. She trusted him.

  The minute her tennis shoes sank into the spongy green fen she let out a startled shriek that flushed a couple of dozen nesting birds from the trees overhead. The sound they made taking off startled her further, and she nearly jumped out of her skin and into Johnny’s arms.

  She clutched him tightly. So tightly, in fact, that he gritted his teeth against the pain that shot through his vulnerable ribs. But it didn’t matter. The warm feeling of her curvy body against him far surpassed his discomfort, and he enjoyed the moment like a greedy beggar.

  After she had regained her composure, he tied up the boat and led her into the dense woods, the ground still moving beneath them. “How far?” she asked tentatively, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Just a little farther.” He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and she squeezed back.

  There was no path to follow, and as soon as they reached the woods, they were surrounded by thick, green foliage. After several twists and turns, Johnny drew them to a stop, pointing toward a massive cypress.

  For a long time she simply stared. Finally she breathed, “This is…unbelievable.”

  The amazement in her voice said it all, both her surprise and delight duly noted. Nonetheless, the idea of her seeing such a private piece of his past made Johnny feel as exposed and vulnerable as he knew it would. But maybe it was worth it, seeing her so in awe of something that was his and his alone.

  “I said I’d show you my secret,” he reminded. “I built the tree house at age eleven.”

  “At age eleven?” She angled her head to one side, amazement gleaming in her bright eyes. Then she smiled, and Johnny felt as if he’d been born anew. “I take it no one knows this is here?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “So it’s a secret only we share?”

  He gazed down at her. “That’s what you asked for,” he drawled softly. He took her hand and tugged her along behind him until they were standing beneath the massive limbs, heavy with tattered moss trailing from its sweeping branches. He hadn’t intended to show her this place when he’d bragged about the giant cypress, but here it was for her to see—a tree that would make a monumental statement if he’d ever let anyone know it was here.

  He released her hand to let down an old rope ladder he’d put together years earlier. Finding it still sturdy enough to hold his weight, he climbed on. “I’ll go first.” He looked over his shoulder. “To evict the unwanted guests.”

  Even with bruised ribs, he scaled the ladder with agility, then disappeared into the moss-covered shack built around and into several high, sturdy limbs. A moment later he emerged with a snake in each hand. The brown snakes could easily have been mistaken for cottonmouths, except for the fact that they were missing the black bands and yellow underbelly of their deadly cousin.

  “Oh, God!”

  “Easy, cher
ie. They’re friendly. When you meet up with a snake remember, don’t move fast, but don’t freeze up either.” Johnny gave the snakes a mighty heave, and the reptiles suddenly became airborne. “Okay,” he encouraged, pointing to the ladder. “It’s your turn. I’ll hold it steady.”

  She hesitated only a moment, then grabbed the ladder and started slowly up. Seeing how delicate she looked climbing twenty feet into the air suddenly made Johnny nervous as hell. The minute she was close enough for him to lay hands on her, he reached out and snared her around the waist. Then, in one quick motion, he swept her inside the dark shack.

  As she clung to him, her head fell back, her slim body molding to his. Breathless, she said, “Your secret is wonderful. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  Her eyes were glittering with pleasure, her body warm and arousing pressed against him. Johnny’s blood raced through his veins. “Thank me another way, cherie,” he whispered. “Kiss me.”

  The request smoldered between them, as sultry and poignant as the moody, black bog surrounding them.

  A minute lapsed.

  Slowly, Nicole went up on her tiptoes and brushed his lips with a seductive feather-light kiss.

  Johnny didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Not until he felt her shudder and move against him. Then he drew her tightly to him and deepened the kiss. In answer, her lips parted, her clever pink tongue turning into a fish lure, dancing and teasing him senseless.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the swamp together. Johnny didn’t kiss her again, not after the heated passion they’d shared in the tree house. Not after the way she had sugarcoated the moment by whispering his name and rubbing her soft body against him.

  The sun was low on the horizon when they arrived back at the farmhouse. Johnny walked Nicole to her car, where it sat in the driveway, and she left not saying much. He watched her drive away, then returned to the boat, troubled by a vague feeling that someone was watching him.

  Nicole closed the book she was reading and glanced once more at the clock on the nightstand. Nine-thirty. Sighing, she swept the sheet aside and climbed out of bed. It was ridiculous to think she could attempt to go to bed at a reasonable hour. The ritual had been set months ago; she needed at least two hours of pacing to unwind. Tonight, maybe three.