Going The Distance

by Artemis Anders

  “What reason is that, Dad? That men like yourself think women are fragile little damsels that need men to take care of them?”

  Tom snorted at that. Tom often took after their father, but even he knew and acknowledged John’s flaws.

  Her dad went on, undaunted. “I’m just saying—”

  “Don’t say,” Hannah said. “Please,” she added, knowing such an addition would go a long way toward shutting her father up. “We’ve been over this before. Women are made for long-distance running. Everyone is.”

  “Not me,” Tom quipped. “You couldn’t pay me enough to run that far. You couldn’t pay me to run a mile, for that matter, unless they had beer at the end of it.”

  “Or vodka,” John chimed in.

  They laughed, and Hannah couldn’t help but giggle along with the rest of them, thankful for Tom’s comic relief. The topic shifted from running to business, a better and safer topic, one which her father could talk about for hours.

  Later, after Hannah helped her mother clean up, John went to take a phone call in his office and Hannah sat down in the family room with Tom.

  “Who’s he talking to?” Hannah asked quietly, darting a quick glance at her father’s office.

  “Frank. From the office.” Tom eyed her. “Jesus, Hannah. Suspicious much?”

  Hannah gave Tom a look. “Oh, like that suspicion isn’t justified, brother of mine?”

  Tom waved her off. “That was ages ago. He’s been a good boy.”

  “He’s not a boy,” Hannah muttered, sipping her wine. “He’s a grown man. And married to our mother.”

  “I know. But the past is the past. Let it go.”

  Hannah sighed, and nodded.

  On her drive back to Evergreen, Hannah tried not to think about her father’s ignorant comments about women and running. She loved her family—they were her family, after all—but she’d come to dread those occasional family dinners and holidays. She dreaded waiting to see what annoying thing her father would say. He always used palatable language, language that was polite and had any edges smoothed and softened, but somehow his words always managed to cut her.

  She’d dreaded the dinner all week, but once it was over, it didn’t seem so bad in retrospect. Her father was who he was. Why her mother put up with him, she’d never know. But then again, what did she know about marriage? What did she know about anything having to do with love?

  That’s why she’d hesitated when Cain had asked her about her dinner plans for Saturday night. She’d had such ambivalent feelings about going, especially after her High Peaks failure, but she hadn’t known how much of that to tell Cain. He seemed to appreciate her honesty, but again, being honest and probing into personal topics were different animals altogether. Cain didn’t share much about his personal life, so chances were he didn’t want to know all about hers, either.

  She’d never expected Cain to assume her dinner plans were a date, and she most certainly hadn’t expected Cain to make that comment about not liking the idea of other men touching her. What the hell was that all about?

  It had scared her a little. Not in the sense that she felt endangered in any way, but it unnerved her for some reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She hadn’t expected him to give a rat’s ass who she dated or even give it a second thought, much less show a reluctance to share her, like he wanted her for himself. It was the kind of thing she’d faced before with other men, men who’d wanted time with her she didn’t want to share, who’d wanted a commitment she didn’t want to give. Who’d wanted more than she could offer. And many of those men had reacted poorly when she made her limitations clear, as if she owed them her time or body or commitment just because they wanted it.

  Yet, that didn’t seem like Cain. And he’d quickly backpedaled, as if recognizing the absurdity of his comments.

  She headed up the hill in her SUV, the breeze from her open window cooler now, blowing her ponytail just a little. And when she passed the road that went to Cain’s cabin, she remembered the other thing she’d felt when Cain had said those unexpected things.

  She’d felt a little gratified.

  The truth was, if any other guy had shown such signs of jealousy with her, she would have kicked him to the curb. But for some reason, she had no desire to do that with Cain.

  She only wanted to know more.

  Chapter Ten

  Monday evening, as the mountain air began to cool off, Hannah reluctantly peeled herself from her hammock, stepping carefully onto her porch to avoid jarring her injured foot. She went inside and pulled out some salmon to cook for dinner. When she peered into her liquor cabinet, just to see what sort of refreshment she might enjoy as she cooked (and maybe in her hammock later), she spotted something unexpected.

  Bourbon.

  She grinned. She’d completely forgotten about the bottle she’d picked up at that Western Slope distillery while visiting Diana. She pulled it out and poured herself a little.

  Bourbon was good for stress fractures, right?

  Hannah remembered Cain’s deadpan expression when he’d offered her water or bourbon. So Mountain Man of him, as if having a fridge full of sodas or San Pellegrino or SmartWater was too city-like and completely unworthy of Grizzly Adams.

  Not that she was much better. Her fridge had food in it, not drinks. She mostly drank water; staying hydrated was a challenge when you lived at high altitude.

  She sipped her bourbon and went over to open one of her big windows and let the breeze come in. The taste immediately reminded her of Cain. She’d thought about him over the weekend, wondering how he was doing at work. She wondered if he would call her, if her reaction to his possessive comment had scared him off.

  She hoped not.

  As she chopped the vegetables, her phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, a local one, probably one of those losers who called her what seemed like every damned day, hoping to separate her from her hard-earned money.

  “Hello?” she said flatly, waiting to hear the voice of some foreign-sounding man, or a recording telling her that she needed to call back right away and give them her credit card number.

  “Hannah,” said a gruff male voice.

  Hannah’s face grew hot. She knew that voice. “Cain. Hey.”

  “How’s that foot?”

  “It’s a little better. The bourbon helps.”

  He let out a surprised laugh. “You’re drinking bourbon?”

  “Yeah. I just realized about five minutes ago that I have some in the liquor cabinet, the same stuff you had at your place. So your timing couldn’t be better.”

  A light chuckle.

  “How are you?” she went on.

  “Alright. Just driving home from the hospital. Feel like getting some dinner?”

  Hannah stood there for a moment, realizing that she was smiling. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking, and I’m happy to share if you want to come over…”

  “That’s awfully forward of you.”

  “I know.”

  “What are you cooking?”

  “Salmon.”

  “Text me your address and I’ll be there in twenty.”

  When Hannah opened her door, she expected to see Cain in a lab coat or scrubs or something like that. But he looked like Mountain Man Cain, in shorts, a black t-shirt, and flip-flops, his dark hair just a little mussed.

  “What?” he said, seeing her look at him. “Am I underdressed for the Christiansen abode?”

  “No,” she said, laughing. She motioned for him to come in. “I just expected you to be in scrubs, or something.”

  “I get out of those damned things as soon as I’m done. They smell like hospital.”

  “Aren’t you used to that?”

  “I’m more used to field hospitals, which are a different thing.” He looked around her place, glancing at the mountain view out her big windows, then up at her high ceiling. “An A-frame. You don’t see a lot of those around here.”

  “I like it. It’s old sc
hool.”

  He nodded. “I like it too.”

  Hannah went to the kitchen. “Get you a bourbon?”

  “You read my mind, Grace.”

  Hannah smiled, remembering Cain’s “ironical” comment. She poured Cain a small glass and handed it to him. He held his up for a moment, and she clinked her glass with his. Cain’s eyes met hers and settled there for just a moment, and Hannah got the strange feeling he was glad to see her.

  “Need some help?” he offered.

  Hannah shook her head. “Have a seat. You’ve been on your feet all day.”

  “You have an injured foot.”

  “It won’t take me long. Sit.”

  Cain did as ordered and took a seat in her living room, close enough to easily chat in a small place like hers. He’d chosen her favorite leather armchair, the one that was worth every pretty penny she’d paid for it, and where she always sat and read near the fireplace when the weather got cold. He stretched his legs out in front of him, resting his glass on his leg and closing his eyes for a moment.

  As the salmon baked, Hannah began sautéing the veggies.

  “You like your hammock?” he asked her.

  “I love it,” she said, spreading garlic butter on a big slice of French bread. “Reading out there might—might—keep me from going crazy while my foot heals.” She stuck the bread under the broiler.

  “What’re you reading?”

  “Jane Eyre.”

  He looked surprised. “For the first time? I thought you were an English major.”

  “I’ve read the other Bronte books, but never got around to that one.”

  “And?”

  She smiled. “I love it.”

  Soon, they were sitting at her dining table, eating dinner. They ate in silence for a bit, before Cain spoke.

  “I didn’t know if you’d answer the phone.”

  “Oh yeah?” Hannah didn’t let on that she knew where this was going.

  “Yeah. Because of that stupid comment I made the other day,” he said, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to hide the fact that he felt contrite.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said, cutting another piece of fish. “No one wants to hear a date talk about other dates. Besides, I assume your don’t-ask-don’t-tell setup works in the reverse.”

  Cain shrugged. “Not much to tell from my end. I haven’t really been in the market for a girlfriend for a while. I haven’t been in the market for much of anything.”

  She smiled. “Does it cramp your Grizzly Adams lifestyle?”

  “Pretty much.” He paused, swirling his bourbon. “Aren’t you going to tell me I’ve got issues? Or that I have intimacy problems?”

  “I would, but then I’d be a giant hypocrite.”

  His eyebrows went up. “So you’ve heard the same thing?”

  “Oh yeah. My friends are more understanding than most. They tell me I just haven’t met the right one yet.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I’ve heard that one, too.”

  Hannah took a sip of her bourbon, leaning back in her chair. “Well, aren’t we a couple of losers.”

  Cain chuckled again.

  “I wasn’t on a date Saturday night, by the way,” she said, focusing on her plate again. “I had dinner with my family, for my dad’s birthday. I got to eat rack of lamb and listen to my father pontificate about how women aren’t cut out for long-distance running, or sports in general.”

  Cain scowled, his dark eyebrows coming together. “Really? That must have been fun.”

  “It was,” she said flatly.

  Cain stared at her a moment, his eyes filled with understanding, but also a tiny and brief twinkle of something… like happiness at knowing she hadn’t been on a date after all.

  Hannah sat there, gazing at him as he gazed at her, his brown eyes swirling with a brand new set of emotions that Hannah couldn’t begin to understand. And then, for reasons that were inexplicable to her and made no sense at all, she felt a tingle run through her, from the back of her neck down to the warm area between her legs.

  Cain pushed away his plate and took another sip of his bourbon. “You know what I think?”

  “What’s that?”

  “That I’d like to strip off those shorts, bend you over this table, and fuck you until you come at least twice.” He looked at her unapologetically but also expectantly, as if waiting to see if his unadorned truthfulness would pay off… or backfire.

  Hannah stared at Cain, a flush of heat spreading through her like a brush fire. “What are you waiting for?”

  “Your foot okay?” Cain grunted.

  “Yes,” Hannah breathed.

  Hannah was bent over her dining table, her breasts pressed up against the cool birchwood and her hands grasping the edge as Cain grabbed her hips and thrust into her again.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, unable to contain herself at how good he felt inside her, not caring that she could barely see anything now that Cain had pulled her elastic band out of her hair, which now lay splayed over the side of her face.

  As if reading her mind, Cain swept the hair from her face without missing a stroke. The table began to shake and silverware started rattling around until some of it clattered to her hardwood floor. Cain put his hand on her back, pressing her against the table, stabilizing her and allowing him to plunge into her over and over again, hitting her in just the right spot.

  “Right there,” she breathed. “Right there.”

  Cain stayed there, giving her what she’d asked for. She gripped the edge of her table even harder, panting, blinded by pleasure that began to build upon itself. She tried to control it, holding off as long as she could, wanting to savor every moment of him, to feel every stroke as one firm hand held her hip and the other held her down.

  But it couldn’t last. She’d already come once before, when he’d leaned her over that table and kneeled down to taste her, his tongue doing its magic on her and making her cry out. She’d thought that was all she could handle, that she was satiated and could enjoy just letting him have at her at his own pace and in his own time. But here she was, lost in a cloud of excruciatingly delicious, table-shaking pleasure, about three seconds from losing it again. And once Cain sped up more, Hannah started to tumble right off the pleasure cliff.

  “You got it, Grace,” he rasped, gripping her tighter.

  “Yes,” she gasped, clutching the table until her knuckles were probably white, angling her hips up until the intensity of it all hit her like a freight train. She cried out with each and every thrust he offered her, until her cries finally waned and she was spent.

  Cain’s hand remained on her back as he gave one last push, until he too cried out, burying himself deep inside her, gripping her so tight that she thought he might never let go. She felt him pulse inside her, pumping the condom full of his warm juices.

  Finally, Cain’s hands loosened their grip on her. Hannah remained there, resting on her table and catching her breath, before she lifted herself onto her elbows. She turned her head around and looked at Cain, wondering what kind of expression he would have this time.

  He looked happy. Or his version of happy, with a relaxed half-smile and a little glimmer in his eye. He didn’t move.

  “Are you going to camp out there for a while?” she teased.

  “I might,” he said, still inside her and his hips fused to hers. “You’re hotter than ever from this angle.” He slapped her ass.

  Hannah made a face. “Pig.”

  Cain chuckled. He finally pulled out, and he carefully scooped her up and set her on the couch. He disposed of their protection, then went to the freezer and pulled out her ice pack, strapping it onto her foot before elevating it onto a pillow. He went over and opened her big window a little wider, and a breeze came in and cooled Hannah’s sweat, bringing the scent of the mountains with it.

  Cain grabbed his glass of bourbon and joined her on the couch, stretching out opposite her, his legs on either side of hers.

  “Ar
e you a naked-on-the-couch sort of girl?” Cain said. “Or am I making some kind of ass-couch faux pas?”

  “I’ll just burn it and buy a new one.”

  Cain smiled and sipped his bourbon. He held out his glass to her, offering her a sip. Hannah shook her head, content with just lying there, the mountain breeze cooling her while she rested next to a burly, naked Cain. The truth was, she’d lain naked on her own couch tons of times. But no man had. Not until now. She felt like she could lie there forever, her smooth legs mingled with his hairy ones, reveling in the aftermath of their thunderous table sex, this mountain man with the big brown eyes sharing her space with her but never trying to overtake it.

  “I lied to you,” Cain said.

  Hannah raised her eyebrows. “You did?”

  He nodded. “About the Grace Kelly thing. It’s true that I was being ironic, but that wasn’t the main reason I called you that.”

  “What was?”

  “You look a little like her. Grace Kelly. A classic beauty.”

  “Really?” Hannah said, surprised. “Even that night? With the skinned knees and the bad attitude?”

  He nodded. “Grace Kelly with an edge.”

  “Huh.” No one had ever told her that before. And she liked hearing it. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t get all full of yourself now,” Cain said, a twinkle in his eye.

  “Too late.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Great. Now you’ll let that ponytail down and all these assholes will want to go out with Grace.”

  She scoffed. “You keep fucking me like you did tonight, and those other guys no longer exist.”

  Yeah, she said it. It just came out. But it was the truth.

  Cain stared at her, blinking a couple times. “Why do I like hearing that so much?”

  “Because you’re a guy,” she replied. “And… because you like me. And when you like someone, you don’t want them fucking other people.”

  “Is that so?” He swirled his bourbon, watching her.

  She nodded. “I like you, too. Not that you asked.”